Page 6 of Inside Out
“I didn’t want you getting the wrong impression.”
“Oh, Jules,” she said wistfully. “You meant to say you didn’t want me to get my hopes up that a grand love awaits you. Baby, I’m never going to stop wishing that for you. I’m also going to keep asking why you’re not pursuing him. I heard something extra in your voice when you said his name, and a mama just doesn’t let that go for long.” I wasn’t surprised to hear my voice sounded different when I said his name, because I’d felt a jolt of electricity when he touched me. I’d never felt anything like it with another man. I’d felt lust and raw desire before, but this was…different. I felt it down on a molecular level.
“He’s the superintendent of schools, and I’m a teacher, Mom,” I said as if that explained everything.
“Is there anything in your contract that states you’re not allowed to date anyone in the administration? I looked him up on the school’s website, by the way.” I groaned, but she didn’t acknowledge me. “His silver hair looks as soft as silk, and that square jaw just begs to be nibbled on. And those eyes. Mmm-mmm-mmmm. He has those penetrating eyes that make you think he can read your thoughts. Better shield yours just in case, baby boy.”
“Mom,” I cautioned. “I know how to act like a professional, and I haven’t exactly searched my contract to see if it prohibits me from getting involved with him.”
“Because you don’t want to know. You’d rather play it safe.”
“And if I do?”
There came a deep sigh from her end of the call. I wouldn’t say it was disappointment, per se, but she wasn’t happy with me. “No mother wants her children to have loveless lives, Julius. Love is worth the risk.”
“How can you say that?” I asked, remembering the devastation etched on her face when my father died suddenly and unexpectedly from a ruptured aneurysm.
“How could I not say that?” she countered. “You saw how much your father and I loved each other. There was no level of hatred we would allow to come between us. Every day with that man was a gift, and even though I miss him with every breath I take, I wouldn’t trade the love and life we shared to avoid feeling the hurt. I know that’s hard for your scientific brain to compute, but I know your musician’s heart knows precisely what I mean.”
“Mom,” I began to say but didn’t get any further.
“I hope you take a chance someday, Son. And I think that’s where we’ll let this conversation end because we both have work to do.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, Julius.”
My mom’s words played over in my brain while I unpacked boxes and tried to make my classroom both a place to educate and also a place that incited the desire to learn and explore. I needed more than a periodic table to grab their attention and hold it. I knew the success of my classes depended on my teaching style rather than the appearance of my room, but I felt it was a great idea to set the right tone. I’d slipped my AirPods in my ears and turned on some Bach to chase away the wispy tendrils of discontent that lingered after talking to my mom. I pulled out my framed photos of my favorite scientists which included one of their famous quotes. I thought the young ladies might be inspired by Marie Curie and all of us need the reminder from time to time to never give up, which Thomas Edison is renowned for. Of course, my favorite is Albert Einstein, who looks every bit the mad scientist with his wild hair.
I looked up from the box to search the room for the best placement when I caught movement from the corner of my eye. I turned and saw three students standing in the doorway of my classroom wearing mixed emotions ranging from hopeful to wary. I pulled the AirPods from my ears and slid them inside my pocket.
“Hello, Ellie,” I cheerfully said to the one student I recognized because she was on my tennis team. “I wasn’t aware there were students in the building today. I’d hoped to have my room setup before—”
“We’re not worried about how your room looks,” said the young lady with the long black hair. Seeing them standing together in my classroom reminded me of Veronica, Betty, and Jughead. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from pointing it out.
“Oh? What can I do for you?”
“First, allow me to make introductions,” the Veronica lookalike said. “You already know Ellie since she’s one of your captains on the tennis team. I’m Clara Simpson.” Then she gestured to the male student who stood between the two ladies. “And this is Curtis Langston.” I recognized their names and knew they were enrolled in my advanced chemistry class, so I anticipated they wanted to speak to me about the curriculum.
“I’ll be handing out your syllabus in class on Wednesday,” I said. “It wouldn’t be fair if I gave you guys information before anyone else.”
“We’re not here about that either,” Ellie said.
“What can I do for you then?”
“We need someone to help us compose the melodies to go with the original lyrics we wrote for our school play,” Curtis said. “I heard you have a background in music, and we wondered if you’d be remotely interested in helping us.”
“We know that tennis practice and matches would need to come first, but do you have any extra time you could spare?” Ellie asked, sounding hopeful. “We thought the opportunity to produce the play we wrote was lost when Mrs. Frazier had her baby early, but we’ve received a second chance.”
“You wrote the play your school will perform?” I asked, sounding as impressed as I felt. That was no small feat. My respect grew when I learned how long they’d worked together on it. I noticed the way Curtis’s face flushed when they talked about his coming out in eighth grade being the catalyst for their creation. I thought the play sounded unique and timeless. “And you’ve written the songs to go with the play?”
“I have,” Curtis said humbly. “I’m not sure the songs are as great as Ellie and Clara say, but—”
“They’re amazing, Mr. Shepherd,” Clara rushed to say. “I mean, we could always record Curtis playing the acoustic guitar and singing the songs he wrote, but certain songs would sound amazing with strings in the background.”
“Maybe we should show him the lyrics so he can see for himself.”
“I’d love to read the lyrics,” I told Curtis, who stood stiffly and stared at his feet like he was expecting me to reject their ideas. Something about these kids really got to me. When Curtis raised his head, he looked hopeful and the tension had eased from his body.