“I should… go,” Ben said, his voice slightly rough.“Big test on the French Revolution tomorrow.”
“Right. The Reign of Terror,” Maya said, her own voice a little breathless.“Can’t keep the guillotine waiting.”
He nodded, backing toward the door.“Goodnight, Maya.”
“Goodnight, Ben.”
He walked out into the empty hallway, the sound of his footsteps echoing. But his mind wasn’t on Louis XVI or Robespierre. Itwas on a stolen sketch, a flush of pink on a painter’s cheek, and the thrilling, terrifying realization that he was no longer just interested in co-existing with the chaos across the hall.
He was becoming deeply, undeniably attracted to it.
Chapter 6:
The Staff Room Showdown
The success of the illuminated manuscript project did not go unnoticed. It was the kind of feel-good, cross-curricular story that school administrators dream of. It also, inevitably, attracted the attention of Cynthia Briggs.
Cynthia taught AP Chemistry. She was sharp, ambitious, and had long considered Ben the only intellectual equal in their wing—and a potential partner in building a perfectly ordered, academically elite life. She had been circling him for months, leaving perfectly graded lab reports on his desk and suggesting they "compare pedagogical methodologies" over coffee.
She cornered him in the staff room during lunch, her voice carrying over the clatter of microwaves and the gossip of the English department.
"Ben, I heard about your little art project. Very... quaint," she said, stirring her yogurt with surgical precision. "But really, is pandering to a underperforming student's fantasy doodles the best use of your time? We have state standards to meet."
Ben felt a prickle of irritation. "It's not pandering, Cynthia. It's differentiated instruction. Leo's engagement is through the roof in both our classes now."
"Engagement is a soft metric," she dismissed. "I'm talking about rigor. The kind that gets students into top-tier universities. Not art school." She said the last two words as if describing a contagious disease.
Across the room, Maya was digging through her bag for a missing granola bar. She heard every word. Her shoulders stiffened.
Before Ben could formulate a response, Maya was there, sliding into the chair next to him with a calmness that belied the fire in her eyes.
"Cynthia," Maya said, her smile sweet as poison. "I couldn't help but overhear. You're right, rigor is important. The rigorous application of logic. For instance, the logical fallacy you just employed—a false dichotomy. Suggesting that creativity and academic rigor are mutually exclusive."
Cynthia's smile tightened. "I'm simply stating a fact. STEM fields drive progress."
"And art asks why we're progressing, and where," Maya countered, her voice still light. "It questions the progress. It humanizes it. Without that, your 'progress' is just a soulless machine. And correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't Leonardo da Vinci both an artist and a scientist? I'd say that's a pretty rigorous combination."
Ben sat, utterly silent, watching Maya dismantle Cynthia's argument with the precision of a surgeon. He was captivated.
Cynthia bristled. "That's a historical exception, not a pedagogical strategy."
"Is it?" Ben found his voice, and it was firm. He turned to face Cynthia fully. "Maya's project has required Leo to conduct historical research more thoroughly than any textbook assignment I've given. He's analyzing primary sources on parchment-making and heraldry. He's writing a coherent, complex historical narrative for his fictional kingdom. Hiswriting has improved dramatically. That sounds like rigor to me." He paused, letting his words sink in. "It also sounds like he's learning. Deeply."
Cynthia looked back and forth between them, seeing the united front. Her planned conquest of Ben had been thwarted by the woman in the paint-splattered jeans.
"Well," she sniffed, gathering her lunch. "It seems you've found a new... collaborator. Don't let it distract you from the core curriculum."
She walked away, her heels clicking a staccato of defeat on the linoleum.
The staff room was quiet for a beat. Then, Maya let out a slow breath and turned to him. "Sorry for jumping in. I just... I really dislike yogurt."
Ben let out a startled laugh, the tension dissolving. "You were amazing," he said, his voice full of genuine admiration. "You eviscerated her with logic and a Renaissance man reference."
A blush crept up her neck. "You weren't so bad yourself, Mr. Human Spreadsheet. 'Deep learning.' Look at you, using the progressive edu-jargon."
He smiled, a real, unguarded smile that reached his eyes. "I guess I'm learning a few things from my neighbor."
Their gazes held, the leftover adrenaline from the confrontation morphing into a different, more potent energy. The staff room, with its buzzing fluorescent lights and smell of burnt popcorn, had become the site of a different kind of revelation. He hadn't just defended her. He had stood with her. And in doing so, he had drawn a line in the sand, choosing the vibrant, chaotic worldof color over the sterile, monochrome one he’d almost settled for.
