Page 115 of Hate You, Maybe
So while the crowd clapped for us, Dr. Dewey came out to the track and took the mic, thanking everyone for coming to support the school. Then she thanked the teachers for their phenomenal presentation and the students for all their hard work. Finally, she took credit on behalf of the district for making this visitation from the Southern Accreditation Committee for Secondary Schools the best one yet.
Quietly, off mic, she told Dex and me the school board would convene to discuss “the other matter” the following week.
So. Dex and I went ahead and spent every waking minute together in the meantime, waiting and—I’ll be honest—we were pretty much celebrating. There was no way they wouldn’t see our side, right?
Wrong.
Yesterday, the school board and Dr. Dewey came back with the same argument they had before: There’s simply not enough money in the FRIG to fully cover two big projects. They told us if we have hope of eventually funding both, we’ll have to do one now and wait for future grants from the state. So our request to share the money in the ultimate collaboration was a no-go after all.
I suppose it was foolish for me to believe our enthusiasm and hard work would be enough to shift that course. But I’ll never regret putting faith in what Dexter and I can accomplish. And after we got shot down, he didn’t feel nearly so bad telling Dr. Dewey he’s staying at Stony Peak.
Meanwhile, spoiler alert: We did not get rejected by the Southern Accreditation Committee for Secondary Schools. In fact, the SACSS gave us a glowing appraisal and a four-year reprieve before they visit again.
Still, I’m right back where I started. In second place after Dexter. My coworker.
Adding insult to injury, we’re here at school. On a Saturday.
The rest of the campus is deserted, but Mr. Wilford asked us to make hard copies of the SACSS report for the entire faculty, even though we already received an electronic file with their assessment and recommendations for next time. Nevertheless, he wants a printed report in everyone’s mailbox by Monday morning.
If you ask me, this is a glorious waste of our time, not to mention the world’s paper supply. But no one asked me. Which is why Dex and I are in the teacher workroom now,standing at a long table, collating and stapling and grumbling.
More specifically, I’m stapling and grumbling. Dex is just collating.
“I should be at home carving pumpkins,” I say. Although, if I’m honest, it comes out more like a whine. “Loren and I always roast the seeds after.” I staple the pages of a SACSS report a little harder than necessary. Slam. Slam. Slam. “We put cinnamon and sugar on them.”
“Sounds fun,” Dex says.
“I could be warm and dry by a roaring fire. Instead, I’m here in wet yoga pants.”
“Yeah.” Dex glances out the window at the sheets of rain and endless gray. At least he was smart enough to wear a waterproof jacket. I should’ve known better when all practices were canceled due to soggy fields.
“Sorry.” I send him a tiny smile. “I know I’m preaching to the choir.”
“Nah. No choir for me anymore.” He adds a freshly collated report to the stack. “I’m off performing arts director duty, remember? The accreditation’s over, and we go back to our usual roles on Monday.”
“I remember.” I pick up a new report to staple. Slam. Slam. Slam. “But I really think all the sportsball people are going to miss me.”
“Well, you’re much prettier than I am, and you smell way better. So trust me. They’ll definitely miss you.” He sends me a look. “The question is … will I?”
“Willyoumiss me?” I huff a laugh. “You’ll have to answer that for yourself, mister.”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m talking about whether or not you decided to stay at Stony Peak. I didn’t want to bring it up, but are you still thinking about going to that arts magnet school?”
“Oh, right. That.” I flash him a frown. Slam. Slam. Slam. “Well, let’s see. I didn’t get the FRIG, and you aren’t transferring to Harvest High, so if I keep working here, and we try to date, I’ll have to accept that I’m going back on every promise I ever made to myself about not getting involved with a coworker. Is that what you’re wondering about?”
“Maybe.” He lets out a soft chuckle. “But at least you’re not making the situation sound dire.”
“I’m a drama teacher,” I say. “I have a flair for the dramatic.”
Dex sets down the pages he’s holding. “Actually, we prefer the term theater.”
I look up at him. “I know you’re only joking around, and I hate being all serious, it’s just …” My voice trails off, and I fight the tears stinging at the corner of my eyes.
“Hey, hey. Come here.” He takes my hand and guides me over to the couch. “I get it.” He drops into one corner and pulls me down next to him. “You’ve had to be a grownup since I don’t know when. Kindergarten?”
I sniffle over a laugh. “Pretty much.”
He reaches out to stroke my cheek. “It must’ve been exhausting, always being the biggest adult in the room. The one thinking through all the consequences. The sheer volume of clipboards.” He lets out a whistle. “I can’t even imagine.”
