“The guy doesn’t read, Liv. He wants to be a model. Those photos on his social are from a photo shoot he did with a talent agency. He’s leaving for LA as soon as we graduate. He already has some gigs lined up. His name isn’t even Malik—it’s Mike, but the talent agent thought Malik had more of a mystique to it.”
Olivia pressed her hand to her stomach, feeling lightheaded as her voice ticked up a notch too high. “His name isMike?” She didn’t mean to sound so shrill and pitchy, but she couldn’t believe it. Everything about Malik’s persona was false. He didn’t even read.
How had she been so wrong about him, and why had no one told her?
“Yeah.” Hugo nodded, his mouth falling slightly open. “I’m so sorry. I seriously thought you knew. It’s not like it’s a big secret. All our teachers called him Mike at the beginning of the school year, but he told them he prefers Malik.”
“I guess I wasn’t paying attention,” she said softly. Not wanting to add that she’d been so caught up in his stylish and good looks, drooling over him and doodling hearts in her notebook on the first day of classes that she probably hadn’t even heard any of their teachers calling his real name. “I’m such an idiot. I’m a complete fool.”
“No! Don’t say that.” Hugo rushed to her defense. “It’s not you. I should have mentioned it sooner.”
She appreciated his pep talk, but she couldn’t believe she’d had tunnel vision when it came to her crush. How had she been so wrong?
FORTY-ONE
DARBY
Darby had to admit that the Christmas lights on her house were a nice touch, but as she got ready for Monday’s classes, she put thoughts of Samesh aside and prepared for the last week of school before winter break. The energy in a high school building the week before vacation was unparalleled. Hallways buzzed, the tension was palpable, and getting students to concentrate on lesson plans or engage in discussions was nearly impossible. That’s why Darby used the last week of classes to weave fun back into reading. Their week of reading for pleasure would culminate with a book bash on Friday. She was assigning each student a role this morning. They would be required to come in costume and bring food served in the book’s pages to share with the class. If the book they had chosen didn’t feature food, they could get something from the time period the book was set in.
Last year, one of Darby’s students readHow to Eat Fried Worms. The class had voted his dish the best—deep-fried gummy worms.
This was the part of reading that brought her students joy.
She had found that her students’ creativity shined in the exercise. From cupcakes themed likeHow the Grinch Stole Christmasto peach pie fromJames and the Giant Peach, herstudents embraced bringing their childhood reads or a book that completely captivated them and sent them on a path of becoming lifelong readers.
That was her sole goal as a teacher. If her students never mastered appropriate comma usage, she knew they could google the answer (which, in her book, was the Oxford comma); however, igniting a love of reading had the potential to shift the course of these young lives. She would consider her job complete if she could arm them with a stack of books that would see them through future successes and heartbreak.
Her greatest delight was bumping into former students who would share that they had taken her advice to heart and never left home without their library card or ebook. That was the reward of teaching. That’s what kept her going, at least for now.
Lately, Darby had been considering retiring more and more. The district had offered her an extended leave of absence after Jim’s death. She had declined. Looking back, it probably wasn’t the best decision she’d ever made. But in those first days, she had to do something—anything. Teaching gave her a purpose. She wouldn’t have had a reason to get out of bed if she hadn’t kept teaching.
That wasn’t as true now. The problem was, what would she do next?
She could travel. But traveling alone didn’t have the same allure as traveling with Jim by her side.
She had always wanted to write a book about some of the women who paved the way in American literature but had never received the same kind of attention or accolades as their male counterparts. If she retired, she could finally start giving the book real thought.
Darby sighed and gathered her things after parking in her designated space. Olivia and her group of friends were waiting at the entrance with more boxes of candy canes. School didn’tstart for another hour. “Good morning. You all are up early,” Darby noted with a smile. “Let me guess, more candy canes?” They were slotted to pull off the prank tomorrow night, and it couldn’t come fast enough. Darby’s classroom could moonlight as a candy cane factory.
“Yes. Good morning, Mrs. Reynolds. Can you let us in?” Olivia asked. Her cheeks were pink from the cold. They matched the stack of pastel candy precariously balanced in her arms.
“Sure. As long as you’ll solemnly swear that you’re up to no good.” Darby winked.
Oliva and her friends chuckled. “We’re gearing up for Project Candy Cane and a little something else that we can’t tell you about, but I promise it’s something good.”
“Oh, a mystery.” Darby raised her eyebrows and used her key card to open the doors. She trusted Olivia. This particular group of students was active, engaged, and high-achieving. Darby wasn’t worried that they would vandalize the bathrooms or graffiti lockers.
Olivia’s friends peeled off to the gym after they deposited the final batch of candy in Darby’s classroom.
Darby tidied the desks and set out worksheets for their first assignment. Olivia hung back, fiddling with the zipper on her puffy, rainbow-striped vest. “Did you need something?” she asked, sensing Olivia wanted to talk.
Olivia gnawed on her pinkie. “You know our discussion about Shakespeare last month?”
“Sure, of course.” Darby wasn’t expecting a Shakespeare question, especially this early.
“I guess it’s just hitting home.” Olivia blew out a long sigh.
“Really, how?” Darby could tell her student was upset. She turned on the soft lighting in the cozy reading nook and waited for her to say more. Over the years, she’d learned it was better tosay less and hold space for her students to share when they were ready.
