“Physical,” my class of eight-year-olds chants dutifully. I am pleased to hear only two or three other ‘p’ words of varying levels of inappropriate-ness.
“But don’t worry,” Elias continues, in his English Dracula voice. “There will be different levels of physicality! Obviously athletes will be doing the most. But referees and judges and sportscasters need to be familiar with the sport in order to make sure everyone follows the rules! Or to score the athletes! Or… sportscast! So you’ll have to participate a bit. Most refs also need to be running around on the courts with the athletes, so they will have a more middl-y level of physicality!”
I am truly impressed with the number of words Elias has managed to invent in one breath.
Most kids look psyched. Sean, along with some other kids who are more sit-around-and-chat-at-recess kids, still look pretty hesitant. I see Elias note who they are, though.
“Okay everyone, our first sport is going to be… Kyle guessed it… Kyle, what’s it going to be?” Elias points at him with finger guns.
“Basketball!”
“So for basketball, we’re going to need athletes, referees, and sportscasters. Let’s get into groups. Pick which one you wanna be and go stand with the others who picked the same.”
I raise my eyebrows. We actually hadn’t discussed this part, but I’m impressed, because it’s a natural way to separate kids into “levels” without anyone feeling badly about themselves. I watch Sean and the other athletically disinclined kids shuffle over to the far corner of the gym.
Elias takes the rest of the period to teach and practice dribbling, making sure to spend extra time with the sportscaster group, taking it pretty easy on them and making them feel comfortable.
By the end of the class, all the kids are really psyched. Like post-recess psyched. Like, I could be in trouble when I take them back upstairs, psyched. But I don’t care, because everyone is glowing—my kiddos, Elias, and myself.
“So over the next few classes, we’re gonna go over passing and shooting and lay-ups. Then…” he pauses dramatically here. I imagine the Dracula theme song playing, if there is one. “…we will have our very first Olympic basketball tournament, complete with referees and sportscasters.”
My heart melts when I see Sean crack a smile.
“Turning it back to the wondrous, amazing, fantastic, Ms. Roberts!” Elias shouts. “Adios, amigos.”
He winks at me on our way out.
“You were really spectacular today,” I tell him earnestly on our walk out of the building, his arm slung around my neck. I’m thrilled to have my Elias back. It was a long fucking week indeed.
He smiles, and it’s a sincere, cozy thing, his green eyes alight. “Thanks, Mia,” he says genuinely. “You’re an amazing teacher. But seriously… that was mostly your idea. You’re inspiring. You’re legit extremely good at what you do.”Just sex, just sex, just sex, I think, melting a little bit now.
The thing about Elias is he’s never shied away from compliments. He rains, nay pours, positive reinforcement. He could make an ogre feel like a supermodel. He could find something nice to say about a serial killer. “So thorough,” Elias would tell him. “The way you slice an appendage off so cleanly. You’re legit extremely good at what you do.”
“They could’ve done without the posh Dracula accent, though,” I manage.
He frowns now. “That was my Ancient Greek accent.”
“The Olympics didn’t start in Ancient Greece, Elias. They started in 1869.”
“Oh.” He slips a handful of individually wrapped string cheese into my backpack. “Ms. Barbara gave these to me. I know you’re always hungry after school.” He takes one, opens it, and hands it to me, slipping the trash into his back pocket.
I squish my lips together so I don’t say something insane, like “I think I’m obsessed with you,” or “the last week without you was one of the hardest weeks of my life.”
“Well, I gotta get to the gym. See you at home.” He slaps my ass before he walks away. “Good evening!” he says, in his Dracula voice.
We’ve always called it home, but it somehow has a different connotation now.
EIGHTEEN
Elias
We finda shaky sort of routine. It’s fast. Really fast. We go home together. We feed each other. I’m never not touching her. We send each other nudes. I get pictures of her tits; she gets dick pics. It’s all strange and different though, because we’ve always been roommates, always been close. The trust is already there. Mia is right, our beds are fifty feet away from each other… and we fuck… every night. In one of our beds.
Sometimes, we even fuck under the guise of lessons.
The first is a lesson on the use of various toys. She only has the one tiny vibrator, so we go to a shop in Clinton Hill together. I know this is going to be my best lesson yet.
I hold the door open for her, gesturing her in like the gentleman I am.
