Page 97 of Teacher of the Year

“I think he’ll love that,” I say.

Half of her mouth turns up in a hesitant smile, and she nods. For the first time since this all began with Olan, the unsureness of how dating her father might impact Illona in a negative way washes over me. Why didn’t I think ahead? I love all my students, and the prospect of hurting them brings me immense distress.

“Please remember, you can always talk to me if you need to.”

“I know.”

At dismissal, as I walk the pickups down, I roll my shoulders back and steady my breath in an effort to slow my heartbeat and ready myself to see Olan. We’ve had the entire weekend apart, and my conversations with both Jill and my mom have helped me finally register how much I actually care for him. No, how much I love him. And I need to tell him. It’s time to put my cards on the table and stop being afraid of what-ifs. Olan Stone is the kindest, smartest, sexiest man I’ve ever had the luck to be with and letting him slip away feels asinine.

We turn the corner, and Dr. Knorse and Kristi stand at the table, offering pleasantries as adults sign the large binders releasing their children to them. I scan for Olan, but he’s not here. I spot Cindy and she gives me a kind smile and a little wave. My stomach drops as I raise my hand to return the gesture. Where’s Olan?

Illona runs over and takes her hand. Of course, I wouldn’t dare ask Cindy anything. My stomach quivers and I scamper back to my cell phone in the classroom as quickly as my legs will carry me. No messages await me. My chest feels like a bear has selected the spot for hibernation.

Marvin: Didn’t see you at pickup. Hope you’re OK.

And I wait. I stay longer than typical, prepping the message for tomorrow and gathering materials for a math activity.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” Jill asks.

At lunch today, I explained how I confessed my feelings for Olan to my mom and how I need to tell him. Soon. Jill knows I’m never here this long after the kids have departed.

“Olan didn’t pick Illona up. I texted him, but he hasn’t replied.”

“Oh, Marvin, damn, I’m sorry,” she says, sitting on the table nearest the door.

“I’m not sure what to do.”

“I mean, I think you just have to wait to hear from him.”

I pull my lips in tight. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Look, you’re going to tell him how you feel. It’s going to be okay.”

“I hope so.”

“Let’s go,” she tells me, and I grab my backpack. I want to believe Jill, but my stomach feels shaky and uncertain about why Olan didn’t show up and hasn’t replied to my texts. Perhaps the Prince of Blowing It will ascend to King.

Chapter32

Cindy picks Illona up all week. There’s no communication from Olan. No reply to my text. No call. No carrier pigeon. No skywriting. Nothing. Not hearing from Olan, not seeing him, makes the tiny cracks in my heart splinter and expand. My body yearns for him. To be close. To kiss his soft lips. To hold him tight. The desire to text, call, or show up unannounced at his house nags at me, but I also want to be respectful of his feelings, especially around Illona and recovery.

“Fuck his feelings. You need to fight for him!” Jill declares over lunch on Friday.

I pick at my cheese sandwich, eating the slices of Swiss slathered in mayo and leaving most of the cold bread. My stomach lurches at the thought of carbs, a telltale sign of heartache.

“Go to his house, bring a boombox and blare a love song over your head. Make a grand gesture, Marvin. This is the point in the movie where you step up and go to battle for love.”

“Can we please talk about something else?”

“No. Marvin, you love him. Youlovehim. He’s Tevye and you’re Goldie.”

“Wait, why am I Goldie? Why can’t I be Tevye? ‘If I Were a Rich Man?’ That’s my song. He’s literally a rich man already. Why would he ever sing that song? Plus, he’s much more reserved. He’s totally Goldie.”

“Fine, you can be Tevye. I don’t care. The point is you love him.”

“I do. I really do. But is that enough?”

Jill puts her fork down on her half-eaten lasagna, reaches over, and takes my hand.

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