Page 6

Emerson’s day is not off to a good start.

For the sixth time in the last two weeks his bus is late. It wouldn’t be such a big deal if Emerson were capable of handling being late to things but he’s not, especially when he has no idea if the bus is going to be two minutes late or ten. Last Friday he tried taking the earlier bus to the school to avoid this happening, but it turned out that losing almost an hour of his morning to catch a different bus threw his entire routine off so badly that Emerson had wanted to cry. He hadn’t because he doesn’t cry every time he’s out of sorts anymore like he did as a kid. Instead, he had gone through half a bag of Warheads to try and combat the rising deregulation, because he read a tip online once that sour candy helped with anxiety. Unfortunately all the Warheads did were make him mildly nauseous, which only increased his anxiety.

After that day, he realized he shouldn’t take the earlier bus to campus since he can’t handle a full day of teaching without having a little quiet time in the morning to wake up slowly. He likes to roll over and read his kindle in bed for twenty minutes before puttering to his kitchen and putting on the kettle. While he waits for the water to boil, he takes a very quick shower and by the time he’s out the water is ready. While his tea brews, he makes two Eggo waffles, eating them one-handed while he packs his lunch. Always the same—a plain peanut butter sandwich on white bread, a container of Ranch Doritos—never a baggie because who wants broken chips—and a banana. This has been Emerson’s morning since he started student teaching and deviating from it, while not impossible, is not preferred. It took him a long time to find a routine that helps him start his day regulated and calm.

Unfortunately, this morning he is not feeling remotely calm. He got to the bus stop at the time he was supposed to, yet ten minutes later the damn bus still isn’t here. Emerson was raised in a big city, and while he much prefers the picturesque landscape of Santa Leon to his hometown, the one thing he sorely misses is more reliable public transport.

With a heavy sigh, Emerson looks at his watch. He set a stopwatch when it hit 7:15am, and it’s been six minutes. So far there has been no rhyme or reason or discernable pattern to the days the bus is late or amount of time it deviates. Once it was one minute, another time was fourteen minutes. It makes Emerson’s insides churn uncomfortably. He dislikes unpredictability.

Why are you always so difficult? Why can’t you be more flexible? Why can’t you relax like your cousin?

Emerson clears his throat, pushing his aunt and uncle's voices from his head. He’d hoped putting some physical distance between them might also put up a mental one, but so far that’s not been the case. Growing up, they made no secret of how much they wished he was more like his cousin Landon. Even after his autism diagnosis in high school, they’d struggled to accept and accommodate the way his brain worked. They were of the mentality that everything could be overcome with hard work and a positive attitude. They were so sure he could be different if he just tried harder or wanted it more—so sure he could be like Landon, who was easygoing and successful. It didn’t matter that he was also a massive asshole; he was charming and friendly enough when he wanted to be that everyone turned a blind eye, including his parents. Landon was their baby boy and the light of their life, and they stoutly refused to believe he could be a bully. Then again, they didn’t see any problem with their own behavior either, so maybe it wasn’t so surprising.

As a kid, he’d been told he should be grateful his aunt and uncle took him in when he had nowhere to go, but the older he’s gotten the more aware he is that he shouldn’t have had to mask everything just to have a home. Emerson was thirteen when he realized that’s why his mom never lived close to her brother, why they only talked on holidays. They didn’t understand Emerson, and they’d clearly never understood her, not in life or in death.

Thinking about his mom makes his eyes water, and Emerson breathes the salty scent of sea in the air through his nose, his throat tight. He thought coming here might bring peace but so far all it’s done is make him feel like the inside of a snow globe someone won’t stop shaking. When he was five, his kindergarten class had a field trip to the zoo. His mom handed him a ziploc bag with a small stack of crumpled one dollar bills from her waitressing job, whispered ‘have fun and don’t let them make you feel bad’ before she dropped him off in front of the school to go to work. He used the money to buy a plastic snow globe with little monkeys and tigers on it, shaking it up hard so all the glitter would float through the water. He cried so hard when it broke a few months later, glitter clinging to his small hands and his mom’s lips pressed to the top of his head promising it would be okay. The next day there’d been a new snow globe on the table when he got home from school. If his mom wasn’t hungry for dinner that week, he hadn’t noticed because he’d been too happy with his gift.

Emerson sighs again, scrubbing his hands over his face before looking at his watch for what feels like the millionth time. If the bus doesn’t get here in the next two minutes, he's going to end up being late for work, a possibility he doesn’t want to think about.

“You need a ride?”

Emerson jerks his head up at the question, surprised to see a familiar face. Emerson has maybe, possibly, gone out of his way to avoid said face. Because it’s very distracting to be thinking about how handsome someone is, and wondering why they’re being nice to him while trying to focus on being a functioning adult. And also because he’s unequivocally certain that if Jason got to know him, he would get annoyed with him the way Emerson’s family always did. That’s why it’s easier to just stay away from people. Especially people like Jason who are handsome and friendly and well-liked by everyone.

“I’m just waiting for the bus,” Emerson announces with more confidence than he feels.

Jason turns to look out the window before returning his gaze to Emerson. “I don’t see the bus. This route can be kind of unreliable. We get a lot of kids marked tardy because of it. The principal has been emailing the city about it but—” he stops and shrugs. “Anyway, we’re obviously going the same way, so you might as well let me give you a ride to school.”

“Why are you smiling?” Emerson asks, unable to stop himself.

“Why not?” Jason counters with another easy smile.

Emerson can’t imagine smiling so much for no discernible reason. He can’t deny the smile looks good on Jason though, natural even. As natural as Emerson’s resting frowny face. Growing up, he’d been chastised more times than he can count for looking mad or ungrateful, even though he hadn’t even felt those things. He learned how to smile on command, but it takes a lot of effort. Somehow, Jason makes it look natural, the lines at the corners of his eyes and the deep dimple in his chin making it appear as if his smile is actually meant to be there. Between his rich brown eyes and striking black hair, he’s handsome in the most devastating way. The kind of way that reminds Emerson he’s never been on a date, or kissed someone and probably never will. It’s impossible to do those things when you can’t relax enough around someone to even be friends. He supposes some people kiss and date, or even have sex, without that component but it’s not something Emerson is interested in. He spends enough time masking in his day-to-day life, he’s never wanted to do it during more intimate moments too. Even when that means it robs him of opportunities.

“Emerson?” Jason prompts, his smile unwavering. “Can I give you a ride?”

Given his past experience with jocks, namely Landon, his first instinct is to say no, but Emerson bites the response back. Breathing in slowly and deeply, Emerson tries to approach the offer with logic. It seems impossible that Jason is as nice as he seems, especially being a football coach. Jocks aren’t this nice. That’s not even touching how attractive Jason is or the fact that in the two weeks since Emerson started teaching he’s come to learn that he is, without question, the favorite teacher at Santa Leon High. Even if it wasn’t verified by the award he won the last two years—displayed in the gym according to one of his students—it’d be easy to see from the way students and staff talk about him.

Even avoiding Jason’s side of the school, there’s been no escaping his presence. Something Emerson definitely tried, if only to take a moment to shield against making a fool of himself in front of the unequivocal star at his new school. He thought becoming a teacher might free him from the unfavorable social dynamics of his past. Yet there’s no escaping the popularity chains and friendship groups he is not a part of. All that taken into consideration, there is literally no reason for Jason to be offering him a ride unless he feels sorry for Emerson. Which, well, sucks because Emerson hates when people pity him or assume he’s not capable of things just because he needs different accommodations. There’s no place for Emerson’s wounded pride today unless he wants to be late, and the last thing he needs is to look unreliable at work.

“Alright,” Emerson says, fighting his instincts screaming at him. “You can give me a ride.”

There’s no reason for Jason’s smile to widen but it does, his large body tipping sideways so he can swing the door open. The only thing worse than developing a crush on someone popular and easy to like, is developing a crush on someone who is most likely straight. Pushing those thoughts aside, he walks to the truck and opens the door, surprised when Jason holds a hand out for his bag.

“I can do it myself,” Emerson points out.

“Now what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t help?” Jason asks with a wink, taking Emerson’s bag and setting it in his backseat while Emerson hefts himself into the truck.

Emerson wants to point out that Jason doesn’t need to keep helping him, but that seems ungrateful and also pointedly untrue given that he, in fact, needed his help on more than one occasion already. Sighing heavily, he reaches for his ring and realizes it’s not there. He always puts it on before his shoes, but one of his neighbors had knocked on his door this morning looking for their lost cat, and he’d been so worried about being late after being unsure how to get out of the conversation, he’d hurried from his apartment apparently without his ring.

A knot forms in the pit of his stomach. He always wears it. Always.

“You alright?” Jason asks, waiting until Emerson buckles his seatbelt before merging into the busy morning traffic.

Emerson has enough experience with neurotypical conversations to be aware this is probably one of those times where someone is asking him a question they don’t really want the answer to. The thing a lot of people fail to understand about Emerson is that he’s perfectly capable of reading social situations, sometimes. He just doesn’t understand the logic in the frequently arbitrary rules and therefore often can’t bring himself to follow them.

“No,” he answers. “I forgot my ring, and I always wear it, and now I won’t have anything to fidget with, and it’s going to throw off my entire day.”

“Do you want me to turn around so you can go back and get it?” Jason asks, already tapping the brakes as if to slow down and make a u-turn at the next intersection.

“No,” Emerson answers because the prospect of being late is worse than not having his ring.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any rings, but—” Jason pauses, opening the center console. Inside is an array of brightly colored fidgets: a puzzle ball, a spinner, a little tub of theraputty and a couple squish balls.

“Why do you have all this?” Emerson asks.

“Alec,” Jason answers, resettling his eyes on the road. Whether that’s because of the increased traffic in front of the school or to afford Emerson a moment to search the little treasure trove in his truck, he has no idea. Usually he prefers no one noticing him, but Jason’s manner of picking up on something being wrong isn’t to point it out in a cruel way or correct him, and that’s kind of, well—nice.

“Who is Alec?” Emerson blurts. It’s possible Jason was going to offer up that information next, but Emerson tends to lack impulse control when curious.

“My baby brother. Well, twenty-two last month, so he’d probably kick my ass for calling him a baby, which naturally means I gotta do it as often as possible.” A solid laugh rumbles out of Jason’s chest but it’s fleeting. “He uh, had a pretty nasty car accident last year. Needed a lot of physical therapy and doctor’s appointments. Me and the twins?—”

“What twins?”

“My older brothers,” Jason offers, seemingly unbothered by being interrupted yet again.

“How many do you have?” Emerson asks. He might’ve been raised with his cousin for half his life but he certainly never felt like Emerson’s sibling. At least not one he wanted. He wonders if Jason is close to his siblings. From the way he talks, it seems like he must be, but then everyone probably likes Jason. Emerson doesn’t have that kind of amiable personality, unfortunately.

“Three, well four, if you count Theo but that’s kind of a grey area since he’s marrying Alec.”

“Your brother is marrying your brother?”

There’s an awkward moment of silence during which Emerson worries that his tendency to interrupt people when he has a question, or his brusk mode of asking those questions, might have rubbed Jason the wrong way. Thankfully the moment passes when Jason’s booming laughter fills the cab of the truck while he pulls into a parking spot then shuts off the engine.

“Holy fuck, no,” Jason snorts. “But also, yes I guess, but also no.”

“I’m so confused,” Emerson mumbles, settling on one of the squishy stress balls. He wraps his fingers around it, focusing on the give of silicone beneath his fingers and the resistance each time he squeezes. It relaxes some of his tension, affording him something else to focus on while Jason tries to stop laughing.

“You know what, how about I explain over lunch?”

“Lunch,” Emerson repeats.

“Sure. The whole twins slash Theo slash Alec story. It’s a great one. Lots of drama and pining and intrigue. Hell, it could be a book.”

“I—I like books,” Emerson says, unsure what to make of the flutter in his chest when Jason directs his smile at Emerson.

“Good, then we’ll have lunch together. Where do you usually eat anyway? I haven’t seen you around the teacher’s lounge or the cafeteria.”

“Were you looking for me?” Emerson gapes.

“Well sure,” Jason answers easily. “We hit it off so well that first day.”

All Emerson can do is blink. They hit it off? That’s certainly news to him. He’d liked Jason well enough, in the way you like a complete stranger seeing you at your worst when you don’t really like anyone. He supposes he likes him more this morning than he did before. Probably not something he should voice out loud, though.

“Anyway,” Jason continues, saving Emerson from having to figure out how to continue the conversation. “I usually have an open door lunch in my office for the kids on Fridays but the LGBTQIA+ club and the football team, which are the kids who usually come by, are busy. There’s some kind of last minute meeting. I saw the notification in my group chat with Stevie who heads the club. Have you met Stevie? He’s great; he teaches sophomore algebra. Anyway, my assistant coach is running some plays by my guys after lunch since we’ve got our first game tonight which means my office is all free.”

Emerson sits up straighter. The head football coach and PE teacher at Santa Leon high hosts some of the LGBTQIA+ club in his office with the football players? Emerson has never heard of anything like it. At his old school there hadn’t even been any kind of queer club, and the kids who were openly queer, like Emerson, were absolutely never allowed to associate with the jocks.

“That is, if you’d like to join me. We could have lunch in the cafeteria if you’d rather but—” Jason stops, his lips curling up at the corners. “I’ll take it that’s a no.”

“Was my face answering before my mouth again?” Emerson asks with a sigh. No one was ever able to train him out of that. Turns out, he can’t force the socially acceptable expressions onto his face when he is supposed to, or keep the unacceptable ones off his face either. His entire personality is like one of those giant orange traffic cones, no one can look away from but everyone avoids.

“It was,” Jason laughs. “To be fair, the cafeteria is pretty fucking loud. I think I’ve got some Loops in the center console, which Andrew left, but you’re welcome to borrow them if you want. Honestly it’s not my favorite place to eat though. I usually make an appearance once a week because the kids like it. And my freshman players especially need the morale boost, but once the semester goes on, I’m usually free to eat in the teacher’s lounge or in my office in peace.”

“Except Fridays,” Emerson notes.

“Except Fridays,” Jason agrees.

“Why?” Emerson questions.

“Meet me in my office for lunch and I’ll tell you,” Jason says as if trying to entice him. As if he wants Emerson to be there. It makes absolutely no sense. Jason King makes no sense.

Normally, Emerson hates things that make no sense, but something about Jason feels less irrationally annoying and more like a puzzle he eagerly wants to piece together.

“I could do lunch,” Emerson says.

“Great, I’ll see you?—”

“Coach,” someone shouts, hitting the front of Jason’s car with a football. Emerson jumps a foot, but Jason just laughs, high tailing it out of his truck and grabbing the ball, throwing it all the way across the quad and back to the group of players in the grassy area. One of them, the blond kid who’d interrupted them that first time, makes a perfect catch leading to a series of catcalls and hoots as the players cheer—whether for Jason or their own, Emerson has no idea. But he suddenly feels far less like he belongs here than he did when it was just him and Jason hidden away in the cab of his truck.

“Sorry about that.” Jason runs a hand through his hair. “So lunch, you know where my office is? You know what never mind, of course you don’t. I’ll meet you at your classroom and walk you there. Don’t leave without me, alright?”

Standing in a sea of students, people still calling Jason’s name while the first bell rings in the background, all Emerson can do is nod.

“See you later,” Jason grins, leaving Emerson alone with his confused thoughts and a strange warmth in his chest at the memory of two dimples and warm brown eyes.

* * *