“I don’t believe that for a minute.”
“These kids don’t know me. They need someone like you, or like Ms. Pat. Hell, even Emma would be better suited! I met with one girl, Birdie something? And it took everything in me to get through discussing her social dilemma ofwinter formal,” Ellie says this with disgust and I bite back a laugh. “Should she wear red? She likes red but it mightclash with her hair. And Claire likes red so maybe she will wear red, and you definitely can’t have two people wearing red. It won’t look good in the group photos, right? And who should she go with? There are five prospects. Whomever should she choose?” Her voice is getting more animated and dramatic as she continues her story. I couldn’t resist laughing.
I know Birdie. Everyone knows Birdie. So I can only imagine the torture this conversation was for her.
“She compared each of these boys to me for over an hour. Coming to the final conclusion that she should go with hergalsbecause she is a woman—a woman who doesn’t need to be paraded around by a prepubescent boy.” I am laughing way too hard at her point as she continues. “But here’s the kicker”—she points a finger at me—“she will still go to the after party with one of them so she doesn’t look ‘too available.’” Her hands go up to give air quotes, “What does that mean, you ask? Apparently going to the after party alone issad. But going with someone you’reactuallydating is sadder. So you have to meet in the middle—go with someone you wouldn’t mind being seen with, but also could care less about actually making out with.”
Ellie throws her arms up in the air, rolling her big green eyes, clearly annoyed.
I try to catch my breath from laughing. “That sounds like Birdie. Her priorities might be a little . . . skewed.” I laugh again.
“Trya lot. It was very hard to sit through, and now she wants to meet weekly?” She groans. “I have no earthly idea why! I can’t endure this week to week.” She puts her head in her hands in a very dramatic way. She’s adorable.
I take a moment and look at her, no more laughing. Reaching over and pulling her hands away from her face I say, “Because you are good at what you do. Even if you don’t know it at the moment, you are. And these kids are lucky to have you.”
“How could you know that? You can’t see me do my job, that’s illegal.” She rolls her eyes at me and looks down at her hands.
“I just know.” And that’s the truth. I can’t explain it, but there is something about Ellie. My infatuated feelings aside, I can sense she’s not just good at this job, she’sgreatat it.
She blows breath out of her lips and deflates in her seat.
“I just have a good feeling we chose the right person for the job.” She doesn’t look up so I keep going. “You are compassionate without even trying. You stay engaged when you could easily zone out,andyou make people laugh.” Her smile pulls up on one side of her mouth.
“When Kate brings her vegan food, you partake without hesitation when I know for afactyou would rather down a double bacon cheeseburger with a fried egg on top.” She lets out an“mmm”sound. “When Malcolm called in sick, you offered to sub for his class—a math class—and you’ve barely been here two months! Some people have been here for over ten years and theyrefuseto sub.” I scowl at the stubbornness of my faculty. “You advocate, making sure we feel encouraged to share rather than discouraged. In our meetings, you sit quietly and patiently, letting everyone around you share their troubles. And you doodle shorthand in your notebook so you can remember what everyone shares.” I was aware that I didn’t need to continue with this rant but something in me didn’t want to stop reminding her of how valuable she is.
“And I can tell not all of your doodles are in that therapist-taking-notes sort of way. They’re in a thoughtful way, so you can remember the little things. I know this because Bill, whonevercomes to our meetings, came in one day to complain about his mop bucket being broken. Isawyou listening, then you started doodling. The next week Bill had a new mop bucket. Now who did that?” She gives an innocent shrug at my question. “Well it sure wasn’t me, andI’mthe one he was talking to.”
She gnaws on her lip as she looks down at the table.
I take a deep breath and continue, “Everything is warmer and brighter around you. Like the sun or something hotter, if that’s possible. You’re this bright light. And I just think if you can bethatwith these ridiculous teenager situations, thenwhenthese students have real issues, because theywill. . . you will be the one to help them.”
I was looking down at my hands at this point, nervous that I may have said too much. But instead of running out the door like a sane person, Ellie got up from her side of the booth, and sat next to me. She leaned her head on my shoulder and hooked her pinky finger around mine.
“Thank you.” Her voice was a whisper.
“You’re welcome.” I can’t control myself when I look down at her. I brush her cheek with my thumb, wiping away a small tear before it falls to her lap.
“You’re something else, Benny.” Her voice is tender and the taste of her sweet breath hits me as she looks up at me—our faces almost touching.
I gaze down at her, taking in her soft skin and dark hair. Committing what I see to memory, refusing to blink so I don’t miss a thing.
The next morning faculty meeting was a little tense, to say the least.
The events of last night kept swirling through my head. One moment Ellie and I were looking for Frankie, the next we were holding pinkies?! Andthenwe walked back to the car, and Ihuggedher?
What was I thinking?
I aminsane.
We were in dangerous territory and I felt so out of control of my actions, I can’t imagine what I might do next. I was putting her job and mine at risk.
Malcolm was leading the meeting, going over the next month’s events. My head was spinning as I tried to focus on what he was saying to the group.
“I’m tired of being the only coach. I want to work in my garden and feed my chickens, and I can’t do that when I’m stuck at practice all night.” Malcolm was pacing back and forth, grimey coffee pot in hand.
“I know, we’re working on it. We have the job posted—” I stop talking mid-sentence when I see Ellie walk into the break room. I stare at her like a madman, and everyone looks in her direction, making her blush. She looks at me with big eyes and rushes to sit down. I’m still not talking and now everyone is looking back at me, then at her, then back at me.
“So . . . you said the job has been posted?” Emma joins the conversation, saving me.
