Page 28 of Interpreter

“We can make it a picnic!” he excitedly says as his little feet eat up the distance to the door.

“I don’t know about a picnic,” I try to ease, but it’s no use; the little munchkin is not to be argued with. “Right, a picnic it is. But first, we have to find Mr. Tim. I hope you’re good at hide-and-seek.”

I’ve never seen a kid look more confident. “I’m the best.”

It’s been eighty-four years….

I’m joking. Come to find out, Oliver was right. He is pretty damn good at hide-and-seek. I, on the other hand, am good at stopping every person I see wandering the halls, asking if they saw a tall, handsome pain in the ass go by here.

Together, Oliver and I end up at a wooden door, both of us with our ear to the grain—too chicken to knock yet.

“Take them off,” demands a woman who I will take a wild guess is Ms. Peak, our music teacher.

“No.”

We all know who that is.

“Yes.”

“No.”

Well, it looks like her conversation with Tim is going just as well as mine do.

“Don’t give me that look, boy. You do not lurk at my door and then intrude on my lunch hour just to argue with me. Now, take them off.”

My eyes go wide, and I look at Oliver. “You knock.”

He shakes his head. “No. She sounds scary.”

Exactly. That’s whyheshould knock. She won’t be able to look at his cute little face and yell. Would she?

Ugh. “This was your idea.” Oh my gosh. I have stooped to the lowest of lows. I’m blaming a first grader, trying to make him feel bad and knock on the door. “Fine,” I whisper hiss, sucking it up. “But if we never make it back out, I want it to go on record that I was willing to let him starve.”

Oliver nods like he can live with that, so I suck in all my adulting points and raise my hand to knock.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” I pull back my fist with a hiss, and Oliver and I both snap around and see a fifth grader with his arms full of football equipment. “Ms. Peak hates knocking—it messes up the music.”

I look at Oliver, my eyes saying,See? I knew this was a bad idea.

“Just go in. She’d rather you do that than knock.”

I look at the wandering kid and debate if he’s fucking with me. Most of the time they are. School gets boring, and they like to drum up some fun by fucking with the teachers. At least that’s what Gretchen swears, but then again, she has more than one “Samuel” in her class. That may be the truth. I, on the other hand, can’t really say. Apart from Samuel, I have the sweetest kids. For now. After Christmas break is over, they tend to come back a little different.

The football helper shakes his head like I’m being ridiculous and walks off toward the gym without another word. Maybe he’s telling the truth.

“Do you think he’s lying?” I ask the little boy next to me, signing the words since I haven’t had time to teach him today because we’ve been on a Tim-hunt.

“I think we should go in,” he says, not looking as certain about this decision as I would like for him to be.

“Fine.” I do it. I freaking put my hand on the knob and turn, easing into Ms. Peak’s room with a little boy acting as a hemorrhoid and pulling up the rear. As soon as we have both feet in the music room, I know this must be the worst freaking decision ever made. Worse than the time I asked Felipe if he bleached his asshole. Do not judge me. I was going through this self-awareness thing and Gretchen had made an appointment. Well, Pe and I had a few drinks and,Diosito ayúdame—God help me—he showed me the before and after pictures on his phone. Needless to say, no, I didn’t make an appointment. There are some things I just can’t spread.

“Tell me what you feel,” coaxes Ms. Peak, bringing me back to the cold, hard reality of what I’ve just walked in on.

Shit. Barging into the music room is definitely worse than the asshole incident. Instead of checking out before and after pics, I’m locked into the scene before me—a raw, intimate moment that no one should witness. Tim is barefoot with his hand on the top of the piano as Ms. Peak plays a haunting song, her hands flying across the keys, lightly and in a lower key. Tim’s eyes are pinched together as if he were in pain—deep and excruciating pain.

“Tell me where you feel it.”

Oh no. See? After the moment Tim and I had in the hallway, this is last place I need to be. I don’t need to take another opening—another glimpse into his soul.

---