Ameet-cute is the scene where the hero and heroine meet for the very first time.” I sigh dreamily and clutch “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” to my chest. I know it’s considered a Halloween story, which is why my students are reading it this time of year, but at the core, it’s about a love triangle.
Sardonic laughter yanks me from American gothic literature back into my classroom’s circle of desks. The closest thing my students get to a party like the one Ichabod Crane attended will be this weekend’s homecoming dance.
“Meet-cutes are just made up for the movies,” Brock the Jock scoffs. I picture him as the headless horseman for all the times he forgets to use his brain. The kid is a natural leader though, and I’m hoping I can help turn him the right direction so others will follow.
“Oh, my young friend, meet-cutes are very real.” I straighten my favorite houndstooth scarf. “Let me tell you a tale.”
The class groans collectively, and I know it’s because they are required to as teenagers.
“It’s for the screenplay I’m pitching this weekend. I still have to figure out a new ending, but I’ve got the meet-cute down.”
“Maybe we can help,” offers Samantha, the cheerleading captain who’s in charge of the homecoming dance.
“Sure,” I shrug. I’ll take all the help I can get. “Here’s how it starts. I was duct-taped to a chair.”
The room hushes.
Samantha raises her hand but doesn’t wait to speak. “Wait. Is this your screenplay or your life?”
“Uh …” Why are kids so smart? “It happened to me when I was researching for a screenplay.”
Brock gives a scarecrow’s smirk. “Of course it did,” he says, and I’m reminded very much of the man who used to say that to me all the time.
Huh. Maybe my students will be able to help after all.
“Anyway.” I pull out the seat from behind my desk to use the chair for reenacting the story, then plop down. “I twisted and thrashed and growled …”
Long blond strands of hair flip into my face. I blow them away to find Brock filming me from his phone. I’ll be on TikTok before the day ends, but I just consider this a compliment.
I pause dramatically. “Little did I know that my neighbors saw me through the window and called the police.”
The students’ eyes bulge.
“Wait.” Brock shakes his head. “You had a meet-cute with a cop?”
“Yes.” I sigh and picture Karson. “He had the look of Hawkeye from the Avengers. They both have the same brooding blue eyes and widow’s peak.”
Taylor and Samantha glance at each other. The girls must know the actor I’m referring to. They also pull out their phones, but I’m too lost in my narrative to care.
“When my roommate opened the front door, the officer charged in to rescue me.”
Brock’s chin drops. “That’s how you met your boyfriend?”
I laugh and wave my hand. “No, we’re not dating.”
“He didn’t ask you out?” Samantha flatters me by sounding shocked.
But the truth is that we never went on an actual date. No dinner and a movie. No holding hands and walking along the river. No driving me home and kissing on the front step until Charlie flicked the lights at us.
“No, he did not.” I gaze out the window.
“Why not?” Taylor asks.
I blink and find my students waiting for the explanation as to why I need help with my happily ever after. “He has a backstory that wounded him.”
As I speak, the door squeaks open. Hawkeye stands there. “You wounded me, Gemma Bennett,” he says gruffly. “You flipped me over during the self-defense lesson of citizen’s police academy.”
Wow. My imagination has never been so vivid.
