“Catch me before you go.” I turn to Xander, and he looks more dressed up than normal. “Congrats on the show.” I tip my chin toward the person behind him. The guy’s typing away on his phone, head down, and invested in his screen. “Who’d you bring?”
“Dad, this is—”
“Busy,” the man says, holding up one finger. “Hold on.”
Xander stares at his feet. At school, he’s always joking and laughing with friends, asking me a billion questions. Tonight, though, he’s folding in on himself and taking up as little space as possible. These students come into class and act so adult sometimes, but they’re still kids—kids who want validation on one of the biggest nights they’ve ever had.
It’s a movie I’ve seen before.
“Now, what’d you want?” His dad looks to his son, then to me, eyeing me top to bottom. “You the teacher?”
“I am. Xander is an extremely talented artist.”
“He’s something, alright. I’ll let his mom know. She insists on keeping him in these classes, since he likes the doodles and stuff.” Xander’s dad gives the kid a noogie, ruffling his hair. “I’ve got a call I have to take, kiddo. Meet you in the car. We need to be on the road in ten.”
He strides away, ignorant of the damage he’s doing.
“You good?”
Xander shrugs. “My dad’s kind of an asshole.”
He is, but I don’t think I can admit that to a student. “I’m glad you’re here. And I meant what I said—you’re very talented. Don’t let what he says, or anyone else says, matter.”
“So what you say doesn’t matter?”
“You’re a smart-ass, you know that?” I smirk at him, something like fondness crawling up my chest. “Not everyone will understand, and that’s okay. The right people will.”
Xander shrugs and stares down at his shoes again.
“You know, I’m sure someone could drive you home. If your dad’s cool with you carpooling with a classmate, you could volunteer as a greeter.”
“Spots were filled when I looked.”
I peer around the room. “I just opened up another one.”
“Really?” His face brightens with his smile.
“Sure. Check with your dad first, though, okay?”
“Yes, Mr. Dub,” he says, racing off and almost bowling over three people. “Thank you, Mr. Dub!”
“That’s not my name,” I mutter, though a smile pulls at the corner of my mouth.
“Hey, you.” Daisy curls one hand around my biceps, nestling into my side. The stress of the evening vanishes, and I lean as much into her as I can without looking obscene.
“You meet June and Aidan?” I ask. “They’ve got this cool project I think you’d like.”
“I did. They were more interested in talking about you and how great you are and how any woman would be lucky to have you. Ultimate wingmen.”
“I paid them to say that.”
She snorts a laugh, and I want to grab her face in my hands and kiss her, but I shouldn’t because I won’t be able to stop. When I look at Daisy, her eyes are on my mouth momentarily before flitting up to meet my gaze.
“So,” she says, tilting her chin in the direction of the door. “What was that about?”
“You remember Xander? His dad’s with him, but he’s kind of like my folks. Not so interested in art.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
