Just two grown adults playing footsie under the table,no big deal.
Devon comes back to our table, setting down our plates. His face is lit up like a billboard as he awkwardly says, “Enjoy.”
I glare at the stalky lineman as he saunters away, there’s no way he won’t run and tell all of his football buddies about my giddy behavior. I’ll never be taken seriously if he does.
“How has your week been?” he asks as he starts to cover his eggs in hot sauce. My throat is on fire just watching the red sauce splatter across his plate.
“Insane!” I pour syrup on my waffle. “I wish someone would have told me how intense college acceptance week is. I feel blindsided. Yes, one would think I would know what to expect, seeing as my entire life plan hinged on my college acceptance letter.” I add a dollop of butter and Benny watches my every move with a hungry intensity, licking his lips as he eyes the concoction on my plate. “You have your own, you know.” I place my chin on the back of my hand, letting my fork dangle over the plate.
“Yours look better,” he says with a quiet, husky voice. Matching my position, he rests his chin in his hand, still looking at me, eyebrows dancing up and down at me. I force my eyes away from him nibbling his lips and focus on the syrupy squares of my waffle.
A long moment passes, a tense silence building. I canfeelhim still looking at me and heat splotches across my cheeks at his continued eye contact. I stare intently at the waffles sitting between us.
Maybe they will fly off my plate.
“But . . .” I clear my throat and revert back to the previous conversation. “Being on this side of things, as a sounding board for the students' erratic emotions surrounding these letters, it’s an entirely other beast I wasn’t expecting.Intenseis actually an understatement.”
Benny breaks his gaze, opening his napkin and buttering up his waffle, and pouring a heap of hot sauce on the side of his plate. “It’s a pretty big deal. I figured Pat would have told you what to expect.” He shovels food into his mouth—not in a gross way, but in a comfortable way, like he trusts me not to judge his table manners too harshly.
“She mentioned it, but I think she glazed over the high-stress-all-hands-on-deck portion of it,” I say, nibbling at my waffles like a squirrel. I felt nauseous, being around Benny was always comforting and easy, but the lingering “Define the Relationship”conversation, or“DTR”as Birdie would put it, was about to make my stomach bubble over.
“What can I do to help?” He stops eating to face me, giving me his full attention.
“Well for starters, maybe you can help me figure out how to understand these kids. I am so out of my element here and I don’t think I’m giving them the best support. It is so hard for me to work with their ‘the world is ending’mentality. I get that this is a huge deal for them, even monumental in some ways! But so what if they don’t get into their top choice? They know there are thousands of colleges across North America, right?” I stab at my waffle out of irritation. “The amount of crying, screaming, and storming out of my office moments I’ve encountered this week is comparable to treating a bipolar client! This is not what I was expecting working with students.”
Benny purses his lips as he studies me. “It can be a lot, for sure. College is a huge stressor for some kids, and the idea that their hopes and dreams could be hanging by a thread is enough to crumble their spirits completely. They make plans for their futures and bank on the acceptance being the key to getting to the next step.” He places his hand down on the table and I can almost feel a spark from how close it is to my own hand. His eyes are softer and his tone is light when he asks, “Haven’t you ever had a plan that failed because of one thing?”
I sigh, immediately thinking of Liam.
Ugh, I don’t want to think about him when I’m with Benny. “I have.”
“It sucks. Obviously we know there are different avenues you can take to still attain your overall goal, but these kids haven’t experienced life the way we have.” He shrugs matter-of-factly. “The only way to a successful life, in their minds, is going to the college of their choice.”
“I can’t imagine the amount of stress that puts on them.”
“I’ve tried reorganizing how we approach college applications, but a lot of our students are influenced at home and by their friends, we can only do so much to prevent it from getting so bad.” He continues eating. “It’s helped a little. But there’s still that cloud of dread looming if their plan doesn’t work out the specific way they want.”
“So, what are we supposed to do then? How can I help them if I can’t make them look at other avenues?” I roll my eyes.
“We might not be able to control how they see it, but we can control how we respond to it.” He smiles.
“So wise,” I say, rolling my eyes again.
“Just take it one step at a time. Focus on one student individually, not the entire senior class, otherwise, you’ll drown. And then I’ll drown trying to save you.”
I ponder his plan. “Alright, one student at a time. I think I can do that.”
Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult. As of right now, out of the entire senior class, I had eight rejection crises to focus on, and three contingencies. The contingencies were easy so I directed my attention to the rejections. I pulled out my notebook and started scribbling down information. I could feel Benny watching me as I went to work, jotting down a list of students in descending order of solvability. I took into consideration their emotional response to the situation, how many colleges they applied to, how attainable their goals were, and the connections I had with different admissions counselors.
Benny leans across the table, watching as I write down names, giving me important factors to consider. I try to focus on his words when all I can think about is how close his face is to mine . . .
“Now, Charlie won’t want to live more than four hours from his family. And Emily Warren wants to study abroad.” He taps his index finger on my paper. “Sammie Gordon is a strong volleyball player, she can probably attend tryouts somewhere.” I write that down. “And Garrett . . . heneedsfootball, in any possible way. He needs to be a part of the team.” He gets up and joins me on my side of the booth.
Excitement was surging through me as I was scribbling and erasing all over my paper. “You are brilliant! Thank you!”
“They don’t call me vice principal for nothing.” He winks, taking a swig of his coffee.
I continue writing down my ideas. “I think I have a few ideas! I’ll start small”—still writing, erasing, clicking my pen—“I’ll call about spring tryouts at TU and ASU, then I can ask around for some open slots with study abroad groups.”
