Page 38

37

TJ

Thursday morning, I pulled into the parking lot of Astaire High School thirty minutes before I was officially supposed to start, killed the engine, and took several deep breaths. The last three days had been a whirlwind. After receiving the text from Jimmy Monday morning, I’d taken exactly five minutes to mull over whether this was something I wanted to pursue before calling the district office, explaining who I was, and inquiring about what I needed to do to apply to become a substitute teacher. As it turned out, only sixty hours of college credit was needed to become a sub, and they’d had me come in for an interview just after lunch. They’d hired me on the spot, but it had taken a couple more days for the background check to come through before I could officially get started.

And now I was staring at the brick-and-stone facade of the high school, feeling…excited. Like I had a purpose and direction I hadn’t even realized had been lacking since returning to Nebraska.

My phone buzzed and I pulled it out, smiling when I saw the message was from Jimmy.

Sunshine

Good luck today!

Thanks!

You’re going to be great!

See you at lunch

Looking forward to it

I stepped out of the car into the drizzle, a smile plastered on my face as I made my way inside.

* * *

By lunch, the excitement had melted into exhaustion. The students and staff at the high school had been friendly for the most part. It hadn’t hurt that a couple of girls from one of my dance groups were in my first period. They’d spread the word that I was “fire,” and by second period, multiple TikTok videos had been shared of me in various performances. Absolutely zero learning had taken place by the time I left to head over to the middle school for lunch and to teach my afternoon classes, but I figured a little bit of relationship-building was worth it if I was to be successful the rest of the semester.

I sat in the teacher’s lounge at the middle school, relieved that it was empty for the moment. As much as I enjoyed meeting new people, my brain was overloaded, and I appreciated the moment of peace. Starving, I grabbed my sandwich out of my lunch sack and took a bite. Moments later, Jimmy came in, making my day instantly brighter.

“Hey,” he said, taking the seat opposite mine. “How’s it going so far?”

“I’m exhausted. I can’t believe I still have an entire afternoon of classes to teach.”

“There’s no tired quite like teacher tired. You’ll get used to it.”

“I’m sure I will. Though it’ll be tricky balancing teaching here and teaching at the studio. It helps that Drea was able to shuffle the teaching assignments around so I have Tuesdays off now. I already had Mondays, so that’ll give me two days off in a row.”

The door to the lounge opened and a group of teachers entered, some carrying trays and others with thermal lunch bags.

“Oh, Jimmy. It’s nice to have you join us for lunch today,” an older woman said. She wore a blue cardigan, had reading glasses hanging around her neck, and looked to be somewhere in her fifties. Based purely on stereotypes, I would guess she was a reading or language arts teacher. “We haven’t seen you down here for lunch since the first week of school.”

Jimmy’s cheeks flushed. “I’m eating with my…friend, TJ. He’s subbing for Mrs. Robertson.” I didn’t miss the way he stumbled over the word “friend.”

“Oh, I heard what happened to Eddie Salas. Poor thing. I think Miranda’s organizing a meal train for him up in the office.”

Introductions were made, and the rest of lunch passed quickly as everyone drilled me with questions. It turned out they were all seventh-grade teachers with various years of experience, most of whom had grown up in Astaire themselves. About ten minutes before lunch was over, I excused myself, wanting to get down to my classroom before students started arriving. Jimmy kindly chose to walk with me.

“That was a lively group,” I said as we made our way down the hall to the electives wing.

He chuckled. “Most middle school teachers are. Sarcasm and the tendency to not take ourselves too seriously is how we survive this age group.”

“If that’s the criteria, I should fit right in.”

We stopped in front of my classroom. I could hear the sounds of the band playing from somewhere a few doors down.

“I have no doubt you’ll fit in perfectly,” Jimmy said, a glint of mischief in his eye.

“I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a compliment.”

“Mmm. You can take it any way you like.”

And then the little shit left me standing there, and I chuckled as he walked away.

* * *

By the end of the day on Friday, the two days I’d taught felt more like two weeks. I was no stranger to exhaustion, having performed eight shows a week, traveling all over the country for years. But the sheer volume of questions hurled at me throughout the day and the constant decision-making that had to be done on the fly had worn me out in an entirely different way.

So much so that when a group of us went out for happy hour on Friday after work, my brain literally short-circuited when the server asked for my drink order. Jimmy came to my rescue, ordering an Infusion Vanilla Blonde for me and a wild cherry seltzer for himself.

Mary Ellen, who was indeed an English teacher, studied the two of us while sipping her margarita. She eyed us shrewdly, then asked, “So, how do you two know each other?”

We answered at the same time.

“We were roommates in college.”

“We dated in college.”

I looked at Jimmy, who was blushing furiously, so I clarified. “Both things are true. We were roommates and we dated.”

“But you’re just friends now?” She looked pointedly at the arm I had slung over the back of Jimmy’s chair.

I hadn’t even realized I’d done it. Nor had I noticed how much closer his chair was to mine than everyone else. He’d pushed it over when he’d arrived just a few minutes after me, and I hadn’t even noticed it. We had this tendency to gravitate toward each other like there was a magnetic force between us. Was it an old habits-died-hard sort of thing? Or was there really still some deeper connection between us that had been too strong to sever completely? I knew what I hoped the answer was, but I wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

He seemed uncertain of how to answer, so I simply said, “Yep. Just friends.” But I didn’t remove my arm and he didn’t move his chair, and I didn’t know what any of that meant.

“Maryellen, leave the boys alone. Quit your meddlin’.” Caleb Dickerson, the history teacher and basketball coach, said with a wink in our direction. “Now, did you see that email we got from Jordan’s mom?”

Suitably distracted, Maryellen launched into a diatribe about the ridiculousness of the request she’d gotten from Jordan’s mom, to which several other teachers followed up with similar examples of interactions they’d had with the same parent. This wasn’t a student I had in class, but I was entertained by their stories nonetheless. The conversation continued to flow, topics turning to other student issues, the upcoming spirit week, and eventually moving on to non-school-related subjects. I listened, contributing minimally, while Jimmy said very little as he sipped his seltzer.

When he began to fiddle with the empty can, I leaned closer so only he could hear. “You okay? You want another drink?”

“What? Oh no. I have to drive back into the city. I probably shouldn’t drink anymore.”

“Didn’t you say your lease was up soon? Have you given any more thought to moving out to Astaire?”

“It’s up in two weeks. I was actually going to spend some time looking for places over the weekend.”

“You want some help?”

“You want to help me look for places to live?”

“I want to be your friend, Jimmy.”

“Just my friend?”

Unable to help myself, I brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. He’d let it grow some since I’d been back, and his curls were getting a little wilder again. I loved it. “That’s up to you.”

“I, um, I’d…love your help looking for a place.”

That wasn’t exactly how I hoped he’d respond, but I still took it as a positive that he was inviting my help at all.

“I’m done with dance classes tomorrow around two. You want to meet up after that?”

“Sure. Thanks.”