I leave the car without looking back, feeling like I’m walking away from something I didn’t even know I wanted. And I hate myself for it.
17
HARRY
On Thursday afternoon,I’m sitting in my classroom after school, staring at the pile of essays on my desk. We’ve been exploring the theme of fear inLord of the Flies, particularly irrational fear, and the stack of papers stares back at me accusingly.
The thought of tomorrow’s trip to Hartford hangs over me like a dark cloud I can’t shake. We’re supposed to leave for the finals tomorrow after school, but I have no desire to go. I’m avoiding Darius, which I know is childish, but I can’t help it. I’ve spent the whole day dodging him, like a frightened mouse.
When I walked the kids to PE earlier, I stopped in the hallway and let them enter the gym without me. It’s not unheard of for me to let them enter a special class independently, but it’s not typical. And even though the kids have no idea what’s going on between Darius and me, I’m sure they were all giving me judgmental looks as they passed me.
I know it’s silly, letting those old insecurities aboutsports and masculinity get to me. It’s unfair to Darius, and I hate that. But I can’t seem to shake it—and I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine.
Christine pops her head in the door. She must’ve seen me wandering the halls earlier with a lost look on my face.
“You okay, Harry?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe with a curious smile.
I give her a tight smile and nod, but she’s not buying it. She steps into the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
“You sure?” she presses. “You’re looking a little . . . off. Something on your mind?”
I don’t want to talk about it, but Christine can be persistent. I know she’s just trying to help, but I’m not sure how much I want to share. Especially after I pushed her to give Darius a chance.
“It’s nothing,” I mutter, flipping through a stack of essays to distract myself.
She raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. ‘Nothing.’ So, you and Darius are good, right? I thought you two were, well . . . you know, getting along. You went to the Mariners game with him last night, right? What happened?” Her chin lifts as her nostrils flare. “Did he do something?”
I stiffen, and for a split second, I feel that familiar flush of frustration creeping up my neck. I shouldn’t feel this way, but I can’t help it.
I don’t know what I want to say. I don’t want to talk about Darius, but somehow, I can’t bring myself to ignore her accusation.
“Christine, it’s not him,” I finally say, dragging myfingers through my hair. “It’s me. I don’t think I’m ready for . . . whatever this is. Was. I mean, we’re just . . . we’re too different. You know?”
She looks at me, confused. “Oh, Harry.” She walks in and sits at the table closest to my desk. “Talk to me.”
I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to explain it. I think about the hockey game, about how I realized it wasn’t just Darius’s charm or his smile that I’d been drawn to. It’s more than that.
“We’re two completely different people with different lives, different interests. Darius is the PE teacher, the hockey coach. He goes to sports events. For fun. And I’m—well, I’m the English teacher. I like classical music. I enjoy staying home on Friday night and reading.”
“He’s Travis, and you’re Taylor.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about, but sure.”
“Oh, sweetie.” She pats my knee.
“He wears a baseball hat everywhere, and I don’t even own a baseball hat.”
“I mean, it would be a crime to cover those curls.” She offers a smirk.
“We’re just . . . too different, Christine,” I say, shaking my head. “I thought I could make it work, but I can’t. I realized it at the game last night. It’s not him—it’s me. Sports make me—I don’t know—really uncomfortable. It was different with the kids. They’re little. We were there to help them. This wasn’t like that. This was . . .”
“Super hetero?”
“Exactly.” I sigh, wishing the unease in my chest to settle. “I don’t think I’m able to see past our differences.”
Shelooks at me with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. “Able to, or don’t want to?” she asks softly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ve been on two dates. It sounds like you were really connecting. But, it’s your life.” She shrugs. “Regardless, you need to talk to him. I saw him moping by the office. You can’t just leave him hanging.”
“I know,” I mutter. “I’ll figure it out.”
