Page 42 of A Hexcellent Chance to Fall in Love

Until the Store Closes

Christina

Three years ago, after Halloween, I was hit with what I call the “blahs.” A feeling that sat in my chest like a boa constrictor slowly tightening, a sensation that would last well into the spring, and each year it has gotten worse, with last year being the worst of them all.

It wasn’t until this past summer that I started feeling normal again. I’d been living in survival mode.

Now, thanks to Pepper, I’m happy. With no hint of the “blahs” at all.

This Halloween is different.

The energy in the classroom today is like a mirror to my own feelings, buzzing like a busy beehive.

All the kids are gathered around the stage playing a game that’s essentially freeze tag but while acting—where two kids are onstage acting out their scene and someone in the audience yells “Freeze” so the two onstage stop moving, and the new person comes and tags one out and starts a new scene in the same position as the tagged-out person, which the other person onstage has to follow.

It sounds more complicated than it actually is and only took me watching for about five minutes to get the hang of it the first time.

It’s a classroom favorite, and since I’m in such a great mood—regardless of the impending issues still needing to be fixed at the haunted house—instead of teaching, I’m letting the kids play improv games.

It also lets me work on other things instead. Sue me.

A burst of laughter comes from the front of the room, which means I’m going to get another note in my box about “loud noises,” but at the moment, I don’t care.

Kids should have fun. I think other teachers are jealous that this is one of the kids’ favorite classes, and that we actually get to have fun and laugh, not like in math.

What’s fun or funny about quadratic equations?

Nothing. At least theater makes you think on your toes, gives you confidence in public speaking, and allows for creativity.

Not many other classes can have all those claims to fame.

However, maybe if I made friends with one of the math teachers, these spreadsheets wouldn’t be giving me such a headache.

I didn’t major in accounting for a reason.

We should be right on budget, even with our little pipe incident, and if all goes well, turn a nice profit.

Or I could’ve messed up the formula, and we’re royally screwed.

Either way, I need to make sure I have everything in order to get my reimbursement for the year. My personal bank account is hurting.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the period, and loud groans followed by applause come from the group before they scatter off to grab backpacks for their last class of the day—seventh period—which also happens to be my prep period, so I have another hour and thirty minutes before I have to be at the haunted house to greet all the kids.

That includes the five minutes I have to drive over there and have a quick daily freak-out—just normal panic about all the things we still need to do and that could go wrong—before they arrive. I’ll be so glad when this event is over.

“Bye, Ms.Loring,” someone yells as the door closes, and the once boisterous classroom falls into complete silence.

It takes a moment for my ears to adjust, and I slouch back into my chair. Maybe a ten-minute nap first wouldn’t hurt. As soon as I close my eyes, the classroom door opens.

Cami pokes her head in. “Have a moment, Ms.Loring?”

“Of course, Ms.Alvarez.” It’s always weird to be so formal, but on school grounds it’s expected for everyone to address one another the way they want the kids to address them.

Her growing stomach makes an appearance before the rest of her slides in the door, and she closes it behind her.

“Monster wants tachos. Do you have time?” She rubs her belly.

I love that she makes up silly names for the newest member of the Alvarez family, insisting she won’t know their name until they come out to meet her.

Cami already has her purse—which is just a giant canvas bag like mine these days—flung over her shoulder.

I glance at my mess of spreadsheets. “And maybe an adult fruit punch for me.” I close my laptop, slip it into my bag along with the piles of receipts I’ve been keeping, and hoist the giant thing onto my shoulder. I think teachers carry more crap around than the students.

“I won’t tell,” she says.

I circle back to my desk to grab my cell phone before I forget it—again—and head out the door with Cami. At least this time I didn’t leave my wallet at home.

Less than fifteen minutes later, we’ve placed our order at the counter of Take It Cheesy and search for a place to sit.

“Are they giving food away today?” I ask as I follow Cami, who waddles through crowded tables.

“I’ll be glad when October is over,” she says, then glances back at me. In front of her is the only booth available—the one we never sit in.

“Doesn’t look like we have another choice,” I tell her, and she gives me a sympathetic grin.

I don’t know why but something about this booth gives me chills.

Maybe because it’s a little darker and tucked in the far corner away from everything.

Like it would be easy to be murdered there and would take hours before someone found your body.

Cami sighs with relief as she slides across the vinyl. A few more weeks and she’ll have to move the table to make room. “I could kill those women who are nothing but baby. I feel like the Marshmallow Man.”

“I told you about this table.”

She laughs. “Okay, there might be some relevance to your murderous theory, or it could be that this table is smaller than all the others. Or I’m just bigger.” She gestures to her stomach as if it were some kind of giant balloon that’s ready to burst.

“You’re beautiful.” Which is true. Her dark brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail and her brown skin practically glows, even in this low lighting.

Cami has always had a sense of style I could never pull off; she’s wearing a flower dress that curves around her baby bump, a chic denim jacket, and Adidas Superstars instead of flats or heels—which are probably more comfortable, too.

They aren’t the technical “business casual” we’re supposed to wear to school, but she said she’s never had a problem with anyone complaining even before she started showing.

Maybe I should get myself a pair instead of always wearing these black flats that make my feet smell terrible.

That’s another thing I need to pick up—foot powder for these shoes.

“I don’t feel beautiful,” she says.

Once she’s settled with her feet stretched out to rest on the opposite bench, I take a seat, setting our order number at the edge of the table.

This booth isn’t as bad as I thought. Not that I assumed I would immediately die if I sat here, but the feeling I usually have about this space has waned even if Cami has made it so there’s less room on my side—not that I’m complaining.

I’m not in the process of trying to create another human, so she’s welcome to all the room she needs.

Like all the other tables here, there are things carved into the wooden top, like people’s names, or—my finger slides along the grooves—here someone took the time to etch in a picture of Taylor Swift.

It’s really quite impressive. And, of course, to keep things “cheesy,” lots of people have carved their names with someone else’s and big hearts—it’s actually encouraged here.

“Thanks for coming with me. I know you’re slammed with all the haunted house stuff.” She takes a long drink of her chocolate milk. “I promise I’ll help you next year.”

“If there is a next year.” I take a gulp of my sangria—the sweet red wine and fruit juices with a hint of cinnamon ease some of the tension out of my shoulders.

“Don’t say that. You’re doing amazing.” But the reality is she has no idea how I’m doing. She hasn’t seen the mess at the house, or the damage from the burst pipe, or my disastrous spreadsheets.

“I don’t know if I’m going to be able to pull it all off.” Will this be the first year in history that Clover Creek doesn’t have a haunted house? If we don’t get back on schedule and get the final room put back together, it’s possible.

“At least it’s not the end of the semester. You’ve got that going for you.”

“I’m sure my students love that they don’t have any assignments, but how do I grade them if they’re playing theater games?”

She takes another big gulp of her milk, finishing half the glass. “Just give them all A’s.”

“If it were only that easy.”

We both laugh. Teaching is great but also the hardest job I’ve ever had. At least I don’t have to deal with the parents like some of the other staff do.

I take a deep breath. “It’s crunch time, and there are still a million things to do. I’m sure you heard about our attempt to make a swimming pool in one room.”

“What about your helper?” Cami raises her brows at me, and my cheeks are immediately set on fire. “You seem happier these days, even more so than when I first met you.”

“Pepper is good. Better than good.” I take a drink to cool my face down, but it doesn’t work. Nor does Cami say anything—meaning she’s not letting it go.

“I bet she is.” Cami’s brows bounce up and down.

“Stop.” I bite my lip. “But I really like her.” Which is not a lie but also…“Actually, I think I’m totally in love with her.” The words escape through my lips, and it feels good to finally say them out loud to another person—even if that person isn’t Pepper.

“OMG. Have you told her?”

“No. Not exactly.” I grimace. It’s complicated.

Cami throws her hands in the air. “Girl, what are you waiting for?”

“I haven’t really dated a girl since college.” And that was more like messing around. “What if it’s too soon?” It’s only been, what? Not even two months?

“Who cares? And she’d be an idiot if she didn’t feel the same way. You’re a catch.”