Page 6 of Isn't It Obvious?
He’s a little early, so there’s only one person here. Ms. Koenig, presumably. Her back is to him and her left foot is tapping away as if she’s impatiently surveying the circle of chairs she’s made. She’s wearing an off-white T-shirt under burnt-orange corduroy overalls and deep-red cowboy boots. Mrs. Baptiste, the septuagenarian librarian of his high school years, she is not.
“Hey,” Ravi says. “I’m Ravi. I signed up to volunteer?”The end pitches up in question, even though he doesn’t mean it to.
She turns to face him. “I’m Yael. Ms. Koenig if you’re underage. Which I desperately hope you’re not; otherwise I’m still in a severe adult shortage.”
He notices a few things in quick succession: her thickly lashed brown eyes, her full cheeks, the crease in her bottom lip. Familiar, somehow.Veryfamiliar.
“Did you find us through the posting on the PPS website, or did you see one of my flyers?” she continues. “Please tell me it was the flyer. I was very proud of myself for that one.” She laughs to herself.
Ravi squints, trying to place her. He’d remember her from her hair alone, surely? Tight curls that reach just past her jawline, dyed an almost-burgundy-red. A piece from just above her temple braided and strung halfway with light brown wooden beads. “Yeah, it was the…”
Charles’s roommate.Clear-eyed and energetic this time, but unmistakable.
“… flyer,” he finishes lamely.
It takes Yael a couple of extra beats to get there, and he watches her brow furrow and her lips pout to fill the space. “You,” she finally says, and he feels filleted by the single word.
“Should I leave?”
“I’ve had flyers up for weeks, and you’re the first person to volunteer?” Her voice drips in disbelief, and she presses on as though she hasn’t heard him. “God, that’sliterallyincredible. There’s, like, half a million people in this city, and I got Charlie’s shittiest one-night stand?”
Ravi frowns, crossing his arms. “Yes, I know, you think I’m an asshole.”
Yael appraises him. “I caught you climbing out of mybedroom window after you slept with my roommate! ‘Asshole’ is a fair assessment.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he protests.
She laughs. “Oh, is that why? To assuage your guilt? One kindness cancels out the havoc you’ve wreaked on the men of Northwest Portland?”
“Christ, I haven’twreaked havocon the men of anywhere! I’m here because the flyer made me laugh and I had the time.”And I wish I’d had something like this, he doesn’t add.
“I still don’t understand how you, of all people, saw it,” Yael mutters.
Ravi scoffs. “If you wanted it to be someone you’d never met before, maybe you shouldn’t have advertised four feet from your home.”
“That’s not—”
“Hey, Ms. Koenig! Is it time yet?” A voice comes from behind Ravi.
Ravi follows Yael’s line of sight to a clock on the wall, watches her cheeks round and her eyes crinkle with a smile. “On the dot,” she says. “Come on in.”
YAEL TAKES Aseat in her chair circle, reminding herself that she is bound by district rules to have a second adult chaperone for a group of this size after hours. Beggars truly cannot be choosers, and bedroom guy—Ravi—clearly got past the background check. And, more impressively, Sherine.
And, okay, he has a point with the fact that he’s here. Yael hadn’t even been able to rope in any of the other queer faculty members, despite weeks of pleading. Alan, the drama teacher, has the fall play. Ilana of IB Calculus said, “Only ifyou agree to help with Math Club,” and then when Yael did, in fact, agree, they said, “I didn’t think you’d actually take me up on it.” Gina, who teaches art, didn’t give a reason, and Ms. Watson (Yael still can’t mentally refer to her as Jean; she’s been the IB Bio teacher since Yael was a student) flat out laughed at the idea of reading more than one book a year.
So, objectively, it’s a nice thing for Ravi to do. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t a dick to Charlie—he definitely was—but people are complex. She knows that. Even so, she can’t exactlynotexpress her displeasure. What is she going to do? Go home, tell Charlie who the saving grace from Sherine’s email turned out to be, and when he asks how it went, say,“Well, I was perfectly pleasant to the man wholied to you and snuck out of my bedroom while you were making him post-sex breakfast?”God, no.
“I think we should read through Chuck Tingle’s back catalog next semester,” Zoe says, sitting in the chair farthest from Yael. Students always do that. Yael would take offense if she didn’t know she’d always done that herself.
“I love the enthusiasm,” Yael says, “but I’m pretty certain I’ll get a cease and desist from Oregon Republicans if I let you guys read erotica. We can doCamp DamascusorBury Your Gayswhen we get to horror, though.”
“Why is horror okay but erotica isn’t?” Zoe pouts.
“I’m just trying to avoid being part of the next outrage bait! Take it up with Fox News.”
Ravi chooses the seat that bisects the arc of chairs between Yael and Zoe, laughing softly as he sits but averting his eyes when Yael looks at him.
Admit it—you think I’m funny, she wants to say, but he already did that, didn’t he? He specifically told her so—the flyer that Sanaa said would work on“abso-fucking-lutely nobody.”
