20. Georgia

TWENTY

Georgia

Max comes back to school the next week. I observe him from afar for a few hours, letting him settle back into the routines of the classroom. He seems… off. This normally energetic (and that’s describing him positively, diplomatically… Oliver would be proud) is pretty reserved. He’s keeping to himself, moving slowly.

Worried, I pull him aside for a private conversation. “Hey, Max. How’s it going? We missed you last week.”

He won’t make eye contact, looking everywhere else in the classroom but at me. “Fine.”

“You don’t seem fine. I miss your energy. I haven’t seen you smile yet today.”

He meets my eyes, then. They seem tired. Tinged red around the edges. “My dad said I’m not allowed to talk to you.”

I frown. “But I’m your teacher. How do you expect not to talk to me all day?”

He shrugs.

“Okay. Well, I don’t want to force you to speak to me. But just know that I’m always here, if you ever want to talk. ”

He doesn’t respond, turning and walking back to his desk, slumping down in his seat once he reaches it.

I make a note to tell Oliver about Max when I see him after school. After Saturday, when I absolutely did not have a good time (despite the slight trauma hiccup), our coaching meetings have merged with our fundraising meetings and we’ve spent another full week together after school. It’s become somewhat of a routine. I stop by his office on the way out of the building for the day, and I end up staying. Something about ending my day with him makes me feel… settled. Calm. Safe.

It dawns on me that I’ve done a total one eighty in just a few weeks, and that it crept in on us out of seemingly nowhere. But I can’t seem to pull myself away from my chair in his office.

Oliver tells me to dial it back with the parental drama. He says that, for some reason or another, due to “compounding circumstances”, or whatever, that the district does not want to hear another complaint from a parent in my class. I tell him they can eat shit, and that Max’s dad deserved all that I gave him and more. I ask him to call and check on Max, and he promises he will try his mom. I tell him I will avoid any further direct confrontation, but if dad ever comes for me, Max, another student, or family in my class, I will not hesitate to step in.

“No,” he says, his beautiful caramel eyes wide with mild panic. “Absolutely not. You promised you will call Lina or me. We will handle it appropriately.”

I shrug. “We’ll see.”

“Georgia, both of our jobs are on the line here, and you’ve told me several times that you need to keep yours. ”

“Are you threatening to fire me? Over defending a student and her family from a violent man?”

“No, but there is only so much I can protect you from if the Superintendent decides to make a move.”

“Okay. To me, for this, it’s worth that risk.”

On our lunch break, Mia and I decide to walk over to my best friend, the Bodega Man, to pick up a quick sandwich.

“Hey, you. Remember me?” I ask him, walking up to the counter.

He studies me. “No refunds.”

I wave my hand at him. “You did me a solid and made my backpack considerably lighter that day. It’s okay.”

He grunts.

“Can I get a baconeggandcheeseonaroll?” I ask him, switching into the familiar bodega based vernacular, common amongst the Brooklyn set.

“Make that two, Rajesh. Please,” Mia says behind me.

He grunts again and moves behind the grill to start our orders.

Amidst the sound of sizzling, I wander to the back of the store. I’m poking through the chips in the chip section ( who am I kidding? Takis Fuego is the ultimate and only obvious choice ), when I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

“Hey, Georgia,” that sinful, gravelly voice says behind me.

Turning, I’m shocked to find him standing closer than I expected. “Whoa. Hey, Oliver.”

Neither of us makes a move to step back. We look at one another. I’m close enough to count the freckles across his cheeks, to notice that his lips are equally sized in lush fullness. His arm reaches up, slowly, towards my face. I am frozen, watching his beautiful hand moving to touch me. I close my eyes, waiting…

…and hear the rustling of a chip bag next to my ear.

My eyes snap open. Oliver is standing there, smirking and holding a bag of Takis Blue.

Blood rushes to my face. I feel this inexplicable need to touch him, so I shove him with both hands. It’s like trying to move a boulder that’s settled in a valley millions of years ago. He doesn’t move an inch. “Takis Blue? Are you a freaking lunatic? Really? The worst Takis flavor?”

The corners of his mouth turn downward. “I love this flavor.”

“What are you doing eating Takis, anyway? You strike me as more of a cut fruit guy. Pond scum protein shake or something.”

“I’m not a psychopath, Georgia,” he says, shaking his head, eyes alight.

“Hmm…” I cross my arms, and his eyes flick down. Preening, I say, “So, what’s your sandwich?”

He scratches his head, getting stiff. “Salad,” he mumbles.

I cup my hand behind my ear. “What was that?”

“I get a salad,” he half-yells, overcompensating. “Rajesh makes a fantastic salad. He gets his produce directly from his cousin’s farm in New Jersey. He charges a quarter of the price of those fancy salad places, too.”

“Knew it.”

We’re standing there, looking at one another in comfortable silence, inches apart, when Rajesh yells, “Baconeggandcheeseonaroll!”

“That’s me,” I tell him.

“I’ll see you after school today?”

“Probably,” I saw, waving.

I meet Mia at the counter. She eyes me as we pay. I hum .

As soon as we step out the door, Mia explodes. “What the hell was that?!”

“What was what?” I answered, trying like hell to keep nonchalance in my voice.

“That moment ? With our boss ?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mumble, panicking.

“Well, let me tell you what it looked like to me. To me, it looked like you gazing into each other’s eyes for, like, a full thirty seconds. While standing two inches apart. To me, it looked like about a hundred HR violations against the DOE code of conduct. For both of you. Especially him. Georgia, he’s our boss !”

“Nothing was happening. Nothing is going on,” I assure her.

We walk into the building, and she keeps pestering, but I plead with her to keep her voice down. She manages to keep it together as walk up the stairs, but loses it once we reach the third grade section of the hallway. Thankfully, all the students are down at lunch. “Georgia, are you sleeping with him ?” she whispers quietly.

I clap my hand over her mouth.

Emmanuel’s head pops out of his classroom. “I KNEW IT!” he screeches. “TAMIKA. TAMIKA, GET OUT HERE. YOU OWE ME TWENTY DOLLARS AND ONE OF YOUR PREPS!”

Tamika pops her head out and eyes me disappointedly. “Girl.”

“Everyone, get back in your classrooms,” I whisper hysterically. “I am ABSOLUTELY NOT sleeping with?—”

“Sleeping with who?” Lina’s voice says behind me.

I whirl around as the doors to three different classrooms slam shut. It’s suddenly just me and Lina in the hallway.

“Huh,” is what comes out of my mouth .

Lina looks around, confused. “Where did everyone go?”

I shrug, ears burning. “Dunno.”

“Mmmk. How are you anyway? Haven’t talked to you in a while. New boyfriend?” Lina smiles warmly.

“Nope. Zero. Zilch. Men are trash,” I tell her, slowly backing away towards the door of my classroom.

“Amen!” Emmanuel’s voice yells from the other side of his door, so loud you can tell he is standing right next to it and definitely listening to every word we’re saying.

Lina frowns, tilting her head.

“Well, Lina, would you look at the time?!” I glance down at my wrist, at a watch that I’m not wearing. “I gotta go prep for my next lesson. And… gotta pick up my kids. Let’s catch up soon, okay?” I say as I reach my door, reaching behind me and blindly searching for the knob. I find it and wrench it open. “Bye!” I shout and slam it shut behind me.