Over the weekend, he finally read my synopsis and sent me a few little pointers for clarification. As usual, he has some great advice. But I can’t think clearly about it when I’m so torn up inside over the dress and his text.
On Monday morning, I’m teaching my calculus class, and I should be happy. It’s Pi Day, my favorite day of the year. I’m wearing my “I ate sum pi” shirt and jeans, my students are measuring the circumference and diameter of donuts (a formality, something they should have learned many years ago), but I can’t shake the unease I have from Ryan’s text.
Normally Ryan and I go out to lunch and eat pie. Our schedules are a little off, so it would have been a late lunch, but Ryan hasn’t breathed a word.
Things are weird between us, even after I told him we could still be friends, and now I worry I’m losing my best friend.
“This is the best day ever,” my student Calvin says from the front row.
“Can we have donuts every day?” Blake pipes up from the back.
“One day a year,” I say with a smile. “Be glad you’re in my spring class. The fall semester doesn’t get a treat like this.”
Happy munching sounds surround me, and I feel a little better. I grab a chocolate glazed because I need the sugar high, and we spend the last few minutes of class eating donuts. Right at one forty-five, the students pack their things and start leaving.
“Bye, Professor!” Calvin says. I can only wave, because my mouth is stuffed with donut.
“I hope you have room for pie,” a voice calls from the open classroom door.
Ryan’s voice.
I look over, the bright sunlight obscuring my vision, and all I can see are…balloons?
“Ryan?” I ask, taking a few steps over to the door.
“Happy Pi Day!” Ryan steps into the classroom withdozensof balloons in one hand. Yellow, gold, blue, all with the pi symbol printed on them, and a few that are actually pi-shaped.
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “What is this?” I ask.
“Uh, Pi Day?” He furrows his brow at me, like he doesn’t understand why I’m having a hard time. “Only your favorite day of the year?”
I notice now that the female students are lingering in the classroom, trying to get a glimpse of Ryan. Their telltale smirks let me know exactly how hot they think he is. I say quickly, “You’re hilarious. Let’s go to the office.”
“We’re still doing our lunch, right?” he asks, and it almost sounds like he’s nervous. Why would he be nervous? “You didn’t make other plans?”
“No, of course not!” I gather my supplies as quickly as I can, but as I make my way to the door, I drop all the dry-erase markers on the floor. So much for a quick exit. I kneel and start picking up markers, and a couple students stop to help.
“Here.” Kneeling on the floor in front of me, Ryan holds out the last marker.
“Thanks.” I take it from his grasp, our fingers brushing in the process. Tingles spread up my arm and into my chest, and I look up at him, alarmed. His blue eyes study me carefully, and I swear he can see right through me.
Not wanting to dwell on what’s happening, I push off the ground and stand. “Let me set all these things down in my cubicle and then we’ll head out.”
He nods. “I’d give you the balloons, but it looks like your hands are full.”
Safely out of the classroom and away from my students’ prying eyes, we walk together from the classroom to the office.
Ryan asks, “How was your class?”
“Good. They were excited to have donuts.”
“I would be, too. Except we’re having pie.”
I look over at him and grin, so thankful that he still wants to have our lunch despite how weird things have been between us. When we reach the office, I ask, “Are you bringing those balloons in here?”
“Up to you,” he says. “Do you want them in your office or in your apartment?”
“Hmm.” I think for a moment. “Let’s leave them here. I’m moving next week during spring break, and I don’t want to worry about them getting popped or in the way of the packing process.”
