I didn't know how to answer that. I didn't think he wanted me to pull him into my arms and promise everything would be all right, that I'd make it all right. I didn't think he wanted me to swear I'd do everything in my power to protect him.
"And this is the middle grade hall," I announced. "We try to keep the big kids contained, but the little ones come up here for art and music. Art is Linling Hsu and she's so freaking talented that it's scary. Music is Tiel Desai, also scary-talented. Like, seriously, she teaches third graders to play violin. How is that even real?"
Jory shook his head. "I don't know, but I love it. I can't wait to see that."
"The special needs folks have classrooms up here too. You probably met a few of them today since we're growing that team a lot this year." I motioned between a pair of doors across the hall from each other. "Noa Elbaz and Clark Kerrin are in here." Jory nodded, but I could tell he was trying to remember all the information I'd rattled off downstairs. "Language arts and history."
"Oh, right," he said, touching his fingertips to his forehead. He glanced at the other pair of doors. "Is this math and science?
"Yep. Juliana Avila is on the right. She's math. And this"—I pushed away from the wall and swung his door open—"is your new home."
He stepped into his classroom with his hands fisted at his sides. He didn't say anything for whole minutes—minutes!—as he studied the lab tables, books, shelves of equipment. It was the longest silence of my life, but as I watched the worry leave him like air from a balloon, I didn't mind it. If it was possible, I enjoyed it.
Perhaps I was exaggerating—getting ahead of myself again—but it seemed to me that Jory didn't make a habit of sharing things with others. I didn't know that for sure, though I'd noticed the way he'd pulled on a mask of complete calm when stepping into the library this morning. He'd shed the apprehension that had plagued him since the second I'd found him on the sidewalk, looking confused and miserable.
The truth was he hadn't shed that apprehension, not at all. He'd hidden it under a layer of cool control, one that almost read as boredom. He didn't bother with those layers and masks when he was with me.
Or, that was the story I wanted to believe. I wanted to jump ten steps ahead. I wanted to be the one who absorbed his worry and cushioned his overwhelm. I wanted that and I'd want it until he told me otherwise.
"I'd put together a plan," he said, pacing in a small circle. "I had this plan written out with all the work I figured I'd need to do in order to be ready for the first day of school because I've always been stuck with the worst classrooms—if I even had a permanent classroom. I've always been the teacher bumped from one campus to another at the last damn minute and never had decent supplies." He waved at a glass cabinet filled with important-looking science-y things. "I don't know what to do if I don't need to spend the next week working on my plan. I'm good at preparing for the worst and getting through the worst, but I'm not good at adapting when the situation isn't that bad. I guess what I'm saying is, I don't know how to be relieved." He brought both hands to his temples. "I don't know why I'm dumping all of this on you, either. I'm sorry. I'm not one for talking about my emotions, but I can't seem to stop."
"You don't have to stop." I shrugged. Stuck my hands in my pockets. Pulled them out. Clasped them in front of me and then shook them out because it felt weird. Shifted from foot to foot. Then, "Since you have some free time, you could go bowling. With me."
Jory stopped pacing. "I'm not very good."
"I'll help you with that," I said. "Not that it matters. Beer and bowling are supposed to be fun, nothing else."
He moved toward me, stopping only when our shoes touched. "I think I'd like that, Max."
"I think I'd like…" My voice trailed off as I reached for him, my hand lingering a breath from his cheek until he granted me permission by tipping his head toward my touch. "I think I'd like to fall in love with you. If you'll let me."
He pressed his lips to my wrist and my knees damn near buckled. "I think I'd like to let you."
Part II
Autumn
3
Jory
A full month.
That was how long it took me to take Max up on that date.
His patience was adorable. He invented excuses for me like he was an old pro at dealing with someone else's anxiety. Sometimes I wondered if he was.
Every time I sidestepped his offers and nearly burst into flames in the process, he made it all better with "No, you're right, you need time to unpack and settle into your apartment" and "Things are too hectic with the first weeks of school anyway" and "Forget I mentioned it. You need a minute to get into a groove. I'll be here whenever you're ready."
Max's excuses weren't too far removed from reality. Things were hectic and I was still living out of boxes in my apartment—not to mention learning how to cope with a roommate whose control freak tendencies were not part of the rental agreement—and my groove had thus far escaped me in the classroom.
But I didn't want him to go away. I didn't want him to stop asking me out.
When I'd first started teaching, I'd believed the school year would go well if the first days and weeks went well—and this was generally true. Setting the tone and establishing expectations right off the bat was essential, even if that thought process was catnip for my perfectionism. It made all my rituals and checklists even more important and built up those initial classes to do-or-die levels.
I knew better—somewhat—now. Imperfect starts didn't mean the year was going to be a disaster. It was okay for me and my classes to spend time getting to know each other and finding good vibes. And I didn't have to lock myself in my classroom for sixteen hours each day, reinventing my lesson plans, rearranging desks, and constructing mind-blowing experiments.
I could spare a minute to hang out with the cute coach…if that sort of thing wasn't triggering the shit out of my anxiety.
The fucked-up thing about anxiety was I couldn't say yes even when that was exactly what I wanted to do. Avoidance was always my first and most powerful instinct and I couldn't climb over it to let myself explore this connection with him. Avoidance was safe and secure, while exploration was an opportunity to get hurt, to be rejected, to prove anxiety right.
I didn't want anxiety to be right.
Irrational fears aside, I didn't want to be in the position of starting something with a new colleague only for it to blow up in my face before the end of the first marking period. I couldn't change schools or teaching assignments again. I could not handle that after several years of teaching in ever-changing grades and content areas.
The minute I thought I'd figured out physical science and sixth graders, I was switching over to eighth grade and life science. It didn't seem like a big deal but it was rather significant. Understanding the instructional goals and the ways that precise group of kids learned best required practice. Bouncing between grades and contents meant I'd only practiced adapting.