Every word feels like broken glass coming out of my mouth. But it had to be done. I see how she’s looking at me, and I can almost feel her claws sinking in. Bevan has this siren-like pull over me; if I get too close, I’ll taste heaven, but then she’ll send me slamming back down to hell. For my own sake, and so that she doesn’t get any big ideas, I needed to draw the boundary. Doesn’t mean I relish this, though, especially when the toughest girl I’ve ever met looks like she’s about to cry.
“Understood.” Her voice is tight, and she whirls around, slamming my door after her.
I’m sure everyone downstairs is groaning, since I haven’t been here for more than seven minutes and Bevan and I are already fighting. I hate what we put them through, the uncomfortable moments and terrible screaming matches.
What I said was a lie, though, wasn’t it? I’m not doing better. Most days, I barely hang on. It’s only recently, since working at the summer camp with the kids this summer, that I finally started to come out of the fog of major depression I’d been sitting in.
Being this close to her is dangerous. I’m teetering on a high wire suspended between two skyscrapers, with no safety net below. Appearing unaffected and no longer in love with her is the only way I’ll survive.
Even if it’s the biggest damn lie I’ll ever tell.
8
CALLUM
The sounds of an elementary school gym class fill my ears, and my heart feels like it’s home.
The squeak of sneakers on hardwood, balls being thrown at padded concrete walls, kids yelling and competing against each other. My memories from this time of my life are some of the best I have. It’s really no wonder that once I realized I wanted to be a physical education teacher, everything clicked into place.
“Thank you so much for coming on short notice.” Robert, the head physical education teacher at Byron Elementary, shakes my hand and then turns to walk me through the facilities. “We have three student teachers this semester, and one had to drop out due to personal reasons. So it’s great you could come through for us.”
I nod, grateful myself. “I honestly should be thanking you. I’m a late addition to the major and haven’t been able to get any of my student teaching hours in, so this is actually a godsend. Plus, I can’t wait to teach. Your school looks great.”
It’s a little on the older side, but these kinds of gyms have the best character. You can smell the must of old soccer nets, see the banners of little league championships hanging in the rafters. In the middle of the gym sits about two dozen tittering, loud fourth graders. I can make out some of their roles from here. The class clown who is attempting to walk on his hands to impress everyone. The queen bee and her two minions, separated from the group holding court about their nail polish colors. The quiet girl with a book in her hands, even in here. How funny is it that even at this young age, their personalities are carved out this much.
“Well, if you can handle this group, you’ll ace being a teacher. We’ve got a lot of goofballs and whiners in this class, don’t tell them I said that.” Robert winks, and I know he’s probably seen some things in his many years of teaching.
“I was one of those goofballs, I think I know how to handle them.” Or at least I can fake it until I make it.
“Class, this is Mr. Strass. He’s going to be your gym teacher for the next two marking periods, and I need you to be polite, listen well, and you’ll all have fun together.”
I give a little wave after Robert’s introduction. “Hey, everyone. I’m so glad to be your teacher, and we’re going to have a bunch of fun. Now, who likes to play kickball?”
A few hands shoot up.
“Okay, well, we’re not playing it today,” I say in a goofy, sarcastic manner.
The class giggles collectively, and I beam inside, having scored some funny adult points.
“Instead, we’re going to play survivor. Anyone heard of that before?” I rub my hands together, because this was one of my favorite days in gym class every year.
The class is pretty silent, telling me they haven’t. “All right, how it works is, there are two mats on the opposite sides of the gym. You have to get your entire team across the gym and onto the other mat, with nothing but a scooter, four dots, and a jump rope. If any one person touches the ground, you have to start over.”
Not only does the game take athletic ability, but it’s all about strategy. In sports, much as in life, strategy counts for ninety percent. Talent and strength are much less needed.
The class buzzes with excitement, and I know I have their interest peaked. I can already see them forming groups, trying to pick their own teams, but they don’t think I’m that dumb, right?
“Line up by birthday, okay?” I instruct them, and Robert backs away.
I’m well aware he’s letting me run with this but watching closely at the same time, and I feel like I’m back in my element at the summer camp I worked at.
I pair the teams off, choosing the youngest and the oldest as the anchors, and then pointing to kids at random. I don’t know them, their strengths, or their personalities, and I want this to be as fair as possible. I’ll never be the teacher who chooses captains and has the “weakest” student always being picked last.
By the time teams are chosen and the equipment is laid out, I blow a whistle and they’re off. It’s funny watching them work out how to get across initially, because that’s the hardest part. This game relies on everyone, the thinkers, the loud talkers, and who is going to ultimately become the leader of the tribe. One team goes for the approach of pushing a teammate as hard as they can across the floor on the scooter, where he promptly gets stuck. The other team throws their four dots down and has their first sacrificial lamb run across and then dive onto the scooter. He actually makes it to the other mat and sends the scooter flying back.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” one of the little girls giggles as she asks me this through her fingers, clearly bored as the students make their way across the gym one by one.
I shake my head, bouncing the basketball on the floor. “Nope. I can’t seem to keep one.”
“You don’t?” One of the little boys in an orange Nike shirt puffs out his chest. “I do. It’s easy. All you have to do is buy ’em chocolate milk.”
A smile splits my face. “Is that it? Darn, I’ve been doing romance all wrong.”
“I could give you some tips if you need them. My girlfriend and I have been together for almost three weeks.”
“Such a long time.” Another little boy gives a sage nod, and I have to cover my mouth with my hand.
“Love is dumb. I’d rather play soccer and go to the mall.” A girl with black hair and blue eyes rolls those big irises.
Uh oh, it’s a mini-Bevan. Better not piss this one off.
“Soccer and the mall can be really fun,” I agree. “My favorite store is the Disney Store. How about yours?”
She scoffs. “The Disney Store is for babies. I like Forever 21.”
Wasn’t this girl a little young to shop there? Now that I think about it, Bevan wore leather jackets when were fourteen, and never stopped.