Famous last words.
Nothing seemed amiss when they first walked in, but as soon as the families started arriving, they realized they’d misjudged what today’s turnout was going to be. It seemed like a never-ending swell of people kept coming until finally, Jules was left changing plans on the fly to make sure there would be enough supplies for everyone.
The room they used for arts and crafts buzzed with the chatter of excited children. Kids darted between long folding tables, their laughter bouncing off the high ceilings. Parents sipped coffee from paper cups, chatting in clusters near the back. The scents of fingerpaint and clay hung in the air. Somewhere, someone hadcued up a playlist that alternated between acoustic covers and indie folk, the kind of music Jules usually loved.
Today, it made their teeth ache.
They stood at the front of the multipurpose room, arranging watercolor sets—carefully spaced, perfectly aligned, no palette missing a single color. They weren’t sure why it was suddenly so important that everything be perfect. Part of what they loved about teaching the kids was the way they embraced imperfection.
This side gig was supposed to be fun. It had started out that way, anyway—a once-a-month workshop for kids who wanted more time for art than they got in school. Jules got to teach messy creativity in a judgment-free zone. But now there was an official sign on the bulletin board and an email list with expectations, and one parent had asked if Jules could teach a “color theory unit” next month. That wasnotwhat they’d signed up for, and it was just another way the fun was being sucked out of something they loved doing.
Jules didn’t do units. They barely did structure. Perhaps they should have seen the note with the changes as a sign of things to come today.
They reached for another stack of construction paper, only to realize they’d already handed it out. Their fingers hovered for a second before dropping to their sides. Everything felt slightly off-kilter—the way the light hit the glossy linoleum, the scratchy texture of the name tags they’d prepped that morning, the way their own heart kept galloping without warning.
“You okay, Jules?”
They turned at the sound of Murray’s voice. The community center director looked concerned, his brows drawn together under a mop of graying hair. Jules forced a smile that felt paper-thin.
“Yeah. Just…running through the mental checklist.” They debated whether to mention the note pinned to the board, but opted against it because this time was supposed to be about the kids. Bureaucratic bullshit could wait until later.
Murray nodded like he didn’t quite buy it, but he wasn’t going to push. “Class looks great. I’ll be in the office if you need me.”
“Thanks.”
As he walked away, Jules dropped into one of the plastic chairs and rubbed the back of their neck. There were only a few minutes to go before the workshop started, and Jules needed to figure out how they’d keep kids busy when not everyone was doing the same activity. Their legs felt like lead and their stomach was a tightly coiled rope of nerves that wouldn’t unravel.
They didn’t notice Keaton until he was right beside them, his presence a quiet gravitational pull.
“Hey.” His voice was warm and low, a rough kind of comfort. “Didn’t think I’d catch you before things got started.”
Jules blinked up at him. He looked annoyingly good in a gray Henley and fitted jeans. He held out a to-go cup from Brew & Barrel. “Got you your usual when I saw how many cars were in the parking lot.”
Jules took the cup with a small smile. “Thanks.”
Keaton sat in the chair beside them, stretching his long legs out in front. “This is a great turnout.”
They nodded, sipping the coffee even though it was scalding. “Yeah. We’ll have to see what the parents have to say at the end of the session. Apparently, some are upset it’s more of an open house for free expression after a quick lesson.”
“There are always going to be people who have something to say about how others do things,” Keaton said, his voice softer now. “Just remember, there’s a reason you’re the one standing in front of the room. Run things the way you want to. Screw them.”
Jules didn’t answer right away. A kid dropped a tin of crayons across the floor and scrambled to pick them up. The noise was loud enough that Jules flinched before they could stop themselves.
Keaton noticed. Of course he did.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, his hand brushing lightly against their knee. It was a casual touch, one Jules wouldn’t have noticed two months ago. Now it felt like oxygen. Calming them.
“I’m fine,” Jules said automatically.
Keaton studied them, eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s okay to admit if something’s bugging you.”
Jules forced a laugh. “I mean, I have a class starting in five minutes, so kind of not an option.”
Keaton scowled, raising his hands in front of him in surrender. “Sorry, I was just trying to help.”
And that was a huge part of the problem. Keaton wasalwaystrying to help. Jules wished they could make him see thatsometimes they just wanted someone to listen, not fix things. But as they’d pointed out, there wasn’t time to get into all that with class about to start. “I know. And I’ll be fine. See you in a couple of hours?”
Keaton took the hint. He brushed his fingers across Jules’s cheek. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. As Jules watched him leave, a hollow pit formed in their stomach. Keaton was going to slip away from them if they didn’t get their shit together.
