Page 61 of Hate You, Maybe
When were Sayla and I ever one? Did I miss that day of school? I steal a glance at her, and she’s nodding. I wish I knew if she’s into this stuff, or if she thinks it’s a crock.
“I want you both to close your eyes now and think about why you’re here,” Fern says. “Not just at this retreat, but on this planet. In this universe.”
Oh, man.
Crock.
But I squeeze my eyes shut, because I’m a good sport and a team player.
“This is a retreat for professional development,” Fern goes on. “So presumably, you want to improve your work performance. The first step is to silently contemplate what you already love about your current position. Why is the role you play vital to the success of your school? You can’t prove your worth to anyone else until you believe it yourself,” she says. “So in a moment, I’ll give you a chance to explain to us why what you do is important.”
Ummm, all right. This I can do. I’ve got no trouble talking about the value of athletics in kids’ lives. We’re quiet for another minute or so. I’ve got my eyes closed and my legs crossed. Feeling a little awkward.
Then Fern asks us to open our eyes.
“Now tell us, Sayla. What have you been thinking? Why is what you do at Stony Peak High School important?”
Sayla takes a deep breath, blows it out, and I’m kind of relieved I don’t have to go first. “As humans,” she says, “when we see a sad scene in a play, or listen to a sad song, or watch a sad movie, we get the chance to work out how we’d cope with that moment in our own lives. Then afterward, we have the relief of knowing the pain was fictional. We’re safe after all. On the flip side, a comedy makes us laugh out loud and forget the pain for a moment.” A smile tugs at her lips. “And love stories … well, those let us hope for happily ever afters.” She pauses to swallow. “I think a hero overcoming obstacles helps us strive for more. And all this makes the performing arts kind of … magical.”
“Wow,” Bob exclaims. “I never thought of it that way.”
Yeah, me either.
“So as a teacher in the arts,” Sayla goes on, “I help my students explore both the tragedy and the comedy in life. Theater. Choir. Band. Orchestra. These kids wear their hearts on their sleeves and put themselves out there for the pure joy of it. And there’s a home for everyone. We’re a safe space. A family. Not to mention, kids who wouldn’t necessarily win scholarships for their academics or athletics can sometimes get them in the arts.” She darts her eyes to me. “But that’s a whole other subject,” she says. “And I’m going on too long.”
Fern lets Sayla’s speech hover for a moment, and my chest constricts. I can’t compete with that. Don’t get me wrong. Iknow firsthand how important sports can be, I’m just not that good at putting things into words. And I’m afraid my emotions might betray me if I get that deep. Maybe I should?—
“Dexter,” Fern says, jarring me back to the circle. “What do you think about what your colleague just shared?”
“Uhhh.” I blink. Gulp. “I thought I was supposed to talk about my job now.”
“We’ll get to that,” she says. “But first, I’d like to give you a moment to respond to Sayla. If you have any thoughts for her. If not, that’s fine too.”
“I mean, I think Ms. Kroft is an excellent teacher,” I say, directing my comment at Fern. “And I know she cares about her kids a lot. Her students, I mean. She puts her whole heart into her classes, and the plays she directs are really impressive. But she doesn’t just want the drama kids to succeed. She advocates for the whole department. The whole school. She teaches English too. I respect that. And a lot of what she just said I’d never considered before.”
Beside me, Sayla draws in a breath, but I avoid making eye contact. I meant everything I said, but that doesn’t change the fact that the athletic department needs the FRIG. Whether or not performing arts deserves it, too.
So I’m not sure how to reconcile those two realities.
“Thank you for that,” Fern says. “I’m sure Sayla was delighted to hear such kind words about her.”
“Thanks, Dex,” Sayla says.
“Well, it’s true,” I grunt.
“Would you like to tell us about your position now?” Fern asks.
“Yeah.” My chest goes even tighter. A part of me can’t wait to defend my department, and I’ve got a lot to say. But at the same time, I don’t feel right trying to beat Sayla here. All along, I’ve been telling myself she’s the one coming for me.But it’s in my nature to want to be the best. And I’m working alongside a woman who’s after the same thing. Wilford had a point. We’ve both been trying to be superstars.
Not partners.
“Go ahead, Dexter,” Fern says.
“All right.” I take a deep, fortifying breath. This all feels so weird, talking about what I do—about who I am—in front of virtual strangers. Besides Sayla, of course. But that’s what this whole retreat’s been about. Putting ourselves out there. Taking risks. So I lean in, maybe for the first time since we got here.
“I teach health and physical education,” I begin, “which a lot of people would argue are fluff classes.” I cast a quick glance at Sayla, but her focus is on Fern. “Even some of my coworkers think PE is about telling kids to run a mile. And health class is just talking about the updated food pyramid. So maybe I help the kids pass a national fitness test each year. But that’s easy, right? It’s not like I’m unraveling calculus. Or exploring gravity. Or translating Shakespeare.”
“Dexter,” Fern interrupts. “You’re supposed to be telling us why you think your job is important. Not what other people think about it.”
