"Thea!"
I look up. It's Warren Schwartz from the community center—the one who runs the GED prep classes I helped with last year. He's wearing his usual plaid shirt and jeans, his dark hair slightly messy like he just rolled out of bed, his smile warm and genuine and completely uncomplicated.
"Warren, hey." I smile back. A real smile this time. The first real smile I've managed in two days. Because Warren is safe. Warren is easy. Warren doesn't make my heart do complicated things ormake me count inches between bodies or make me want things I can't have.
Warren just makes me feel normal.
"I haven't seen you in forever. How've you been?"
"Good. Busy. You know." I set down the dispenser, actually glad for the distraction. "How are the classes going?"
"Great, actually. We have three students graduating this spring." He leans against the counter, completely relaxed, his elbows resting on the surface like he's settling in for a real conversation. "Including Mrs. Bonitez—remember her? The one who was terrified of the math section?"
"Oh my gosh, yes. She used to get so stressed she'd start crying."
"You spent like three hours with her that one Saturday, just going over fractions." Warren's smile widens. "She still talks about you. Says you're the only person who ever made math make sense."
"That's—" I can feel my face warming. "I didn't do that much."
"You did. You're really good at this, Thea. At helping people. At making them feel like they're not stupid for not knowing something." He shifts his weight, and his expression turns more serious. "Actually, that's kind of why I'm here. We're doing a fundraiser next month for the program. Would you be interested in helping? You were so good with
the students last year, and we could really use someone like you."
"Oh, I don't know if I have time—"
"Come on, it'll be fun. Remember that guy who couldn't pronounce 'throughout' and you made up that whole song about it?" He laughs, and I find myself laughing too, the memory bubbling up. "He still sings it. Every time he sees me. Last week he was at the grocery store and just started singing it in the produce section."
I can only shake my head. “Seriously?”
"Yes. Full volume. People were staring." Warren's grinning now, that infectious kind of grin that makes you want to grin back. "The cashier thought he was having some kind of episode."
I'm laughing now. Really laughing. The kind that makes my shoulders shake and my eyes water slightly. "That's amazing."
"It was mortifying. But also kind of great?" He leans forward slightly, his eyes bright with amusement. "The point is, you made a difference. You make people feel like they matter. Like they're worth the time." His voice softens. "That's a gift, Thea. You should use it more."
I can feel my cheeks heating up at his words. I’m just not used to hearing such nice words, and I’m not sure how to take it.
"So what do you say?" Warren asks. "One afternoon? Maybe two? I'll buy you coffee afterward. The good stuff, not this swill you serve here."
"Hey, our coffee is excellent."
"It's passable at best."
"It's award-winning."
"What award? The 'At Least It's Hot' award?"
I grab a dish towel and swat at him, and he ducks, laughing. "You're terrible."
"I'm honest. There's a difference." He's still grinning, and I'm still smiling, and this—this is what easy feels like. No tension. No counting. No measuring the distance between bodies or wondering what he's thinking behind that unreadable mask.
Just—laughing. Joking. Being myself without feeling like I'm about to shatter into pieces.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "Yeah, I can help."
"Yes!" Warren actually pumps his fist, which is so dorky it makes me laugh again. "You're the best. Seriously. The students are going to be so excited."
"I doubt that—"
