Chapter 27

Twenty-Seven

It’s a new week, ohana! And that means a fresh set of requests. With the rainy weather, more parents have been utilizing our car drop-off lines. Let’s keep all hugs and last-minute reminders as brief as possible to keep the line moving! We want all our students in their seats and ready to learn on time.

NOLAN

When I impulsively agreed to stay on at the school, I figured Merry’s resistance would be measured in hours. Then, okay, yeah, apparently, he needed days. But now we were into double-digit days of his hold-out. One week had turned into two. We weren’t fighting per se. But we also weren’t dating. He was wasting precious time, and my irritation was reaching epic levels even coffee couldn’t touch.

“Ready for another day of teaching?” Craig asked as I helped myself to a second cup of coffee in his kitchen. He was still enjoying some lighter duty days and regular hours coming off his deployment, so he’d been around the house more, making me feel like a third wheel. I was struggling to make myself useful, so I’d arrived with donuts before walking to school with the girls.

“Yeah.” I took a long, bracing sip of heavily-sweetened coffee. “I guess so.”

“Why the long face?” Holding the baby in the crook of his arm, he leaned against the kitchen island. “The girls say you’re one of the most popular teachers at the school. You’ve got to be loving that.”

“Huh.” I guessed it was nice that the girls didn’t have a bad report of me as a teacher, but being popular wasn’t the same as being good at something, as I well knew. And I wasn’t crazy about Craig implying I strove for popularity or validation, even if it was true. But my brother was trying. He didn’t deserve me snapping at him, so I went with the truth. “Boy problems.”

“Ah…uh…not my level of expertise.” Craig swallowed hard and pushed the donut box closer to me, jostling the baby in the process. “But I could try to listen. Or fetch Cara.”

“It’s okay.” I offered him my best fake smile as the baby started fussing again. He’d recently been fed and changed and was fighting the need to nap. I commiserated.

“We might need Cara anyway…” Craig peered down uncertainly at the baby. He’d always been one of those dads who was awesome with slightly older kids. Since returning, he’d been very involved with both girls while remaining slightly clueless with the baby.

“Here, let me.” I plucked the baby from his arms, transferred him to my shoulder, and started humming the baby’s favorite golden-era musical number while marching around the kitchen to help convince the overtired baby to sleep.

“Oh. Look at you marching.” Craig let out a brief whistle. “We could have made a soldier of you, after all.”

“So sorry to disappoint,” I said curtly, continuing to march but with much less gusto now.

“What? No.” Craig leaned forward, eyes uncertain. “Nolan, you don’t think I seriously wanted you to follow me to West Point, do you?”

I shrugged, which made the baby hiccup.

“If ever there was someone less suited for military life, it’s you. I was only joking.”

“I know.” My voice was flat. “I wouldn’t have made a soldier, but you’ve always been firmly on team Nolan Needs a Real Job.”

“Mom and Dad’s tired old argument?” He shook his head, expression seemingly genuinely perplexed. “You have a job.”

“Here, yeah.” I rolled my eyes as the baby finally gave an exhausted huff and closed his eyes. Same, kid. Same.

“No, you have a…what do they call it?” Craig frowned. Vocabulary had always been my strong suit, not his. “A calling? Passion? Avocation? That’s it. The sort of thing where you’re that identity no matter what else you do. You’ve been a performer since you were younger than Stella. You’ll be a performer at ninety. That you’ve found work teaching is awesome, but don’t discount your theater life. I tell people about my brother the actor all the time.”

“You do?” I wasn’t sure I could be more shocked if Craig had started to fly Peter Pan-style around the kitchen or launched into a stirring musical number.

“I tell folks my brother is an amazing uncle. Dropped everything to fly out to Hawaii when he heard my wife had pregnancy complications.” Craig stopped to clear his throat. “I talk about how my little brother can make a whole room laugh. Like at our grandfather’s funeral. You were young then, still in college, and wow, you delivered a showstopper of a eulogy. I’ve always admired that.”

“You?” I made a shocked noise, which startled the baby, starting a fresh round of marching and patting. “You’re on your way to becoming a general. You admire me ?”

“Sure, I’m good at making rank. But have you heard me give a speech? And I’m definitely not the fun uncle in this family. I walk into a room, and people are ready to hup two, but you walk into a room, and everyone lights up. There’s a difference.”

“ Oh. ” I stopped in the exact center of the kitchen, as surely as if someone had placed a mark there, jaw dropping open even as my chest swelled.

“Whatever you do, you do it with your whole heart, and it shows. Being an uncle. Starring in a play. Tutoring. Teaching. So, hell yeah, I’m proud of you.” He gave me a mock salute, and that was it. The waterworks were unleashed.

“Way to make me cry before eight a.m.” I waved a hand helplessly as the girls and Cara streamed into the kitchen.

“Dad broke Uncle Nolan.” Athena came to give me a hug, followed closely by Stella and Cara, who gently relieved me of the baby.

“He didn’t break me. He…helped.” I swallowed hard. For years, I’d assumed acting was my grand rebellion and something the family would never fully understand. And it turned out Craig had seen me this whole time? And not only that, he appreciated me? I felt ready to rush back to Broadway and find the role of a lifetime, buoyed by fresh confidence, and also like I no longer had to. Like proving myself was so last decade.

I let those thoughts rattle around in my head as I walked the girls to school and started my day.

“The room smells.” The seventh grade class was apparently in competition with the eighth grade for who could complain the most, but the kids had a point. After almost two weeks of living with the leak and a bucket, the windowless room had taken on a rather musty odor to go along with the harsh lighting and poor airflow.

“Yeah, I don’t like it in here.” Another student pretended to be queasy, putting his hands on his skinny neck and pretending to retch. At least, I hoped it was pretend. I’d had enough stomach bug cases to last the remainder of the term.

Ordinarily, I’d ignore all the complaints about the room, but I was already in a cranky mood and the room was only making things worse. On the walk to school, the sun had been shining, no hint of rain, and we were stuck here in mildew land again.

“Everyone up.” Not waiting for the class to comply, I scooped up my portable speaker and teaching notes. “Grab your things. We’re headed to the courtyard.”

“We can sing outside?” The same boy who’d pretended to throw up looked rather dubious about my proposal. Before I could reply, one of his friends thumped him in the back of his head.

“You did for the holiday performance, doofus.”

“Don’t call me?—”

“Follow me.” I interrupted the brewing argument to lead the class to the courtyard, where the sunshine helped lift my mood at least, and the novelty of the setting seemed to brighten the students’ attitudes as well. In fact, it worked so well that I took the eighth grade choir outside right after taking attendance.

However, unlike the seventh graders, the eighth graders were unimpressed by the change of scenery. With the holidays behind us, I’d picked several selections from recent Tony-winning musicals as possible numbers for the spring showcase. In theory, the unit also provided a chance to discuss the rich history of musical theater, but I might as well be asking them to sing the periodic table.

Heck, that might get more excitement than this sunny ditty the class seemed determined to butcher.

“Let the sunshine inspire you! Upbeat voices, everyone!” I instructed, but barely half the class was actually singing. “Remember, every part counts! Let’s take it again, from the top.”

“I hate this song.” Kaitlyn was always passionately against whatever I was in favor of, but this outburst was loud even by Kaitlyn standards. She stood from her perch on one of the picnic tables to wag a finger at me. “I don’t want to sing happy songs. You’re always happy, happy, happy.”

“Not always.” If anything, this unit had been a struggle for me as well, trying to bring all the fresh new-year energy to the term and stay in a good mood for the students’ sake.

Kaitlyn shook her head. “You are . And my parents are getting a divorce. Not that anyone cares, but I hate everything happy.”

“Oh, Kaitlyn.” Her friend group erupted into sympathetic noises, group hugs, and more than a few tears.

“Kaitlyn. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Mine got divorced last year.” One of the boys spoke up. “It’s been okay.”

“It’s never gonna be okay again.” Kaitlyn looked ready to go on the attack, and I was in danger of losing the class altogether.

I clapped my hands together.

“Then we’ll sing angry songs. Mad songs. Sad songs.” Reaching for my phone and speaker, I cued up my personal playlist for wallowing in my feels, the one I’d had on repeat since New Year’s Eve. “Let’s get mad.”

“What?” Wrinkling up her face, Kaitlyn stared at me. “We don’t have to sing this sort of stuff. It’s okay. I can try the other song.”

“No, you made an excellent point.” I met her pained eyes before sweeping my gaze over the room. “Music is not simply for when we feel good or to make our audience feel good. It’s to feel , full stop. Sometimes, it feels better to rage in a song or cry or shout than to sit with those big emotions. Some days, you simply need an angry anthem.”

I pushed Play on another song and let one of my personal mad at the world favorites fill the courtyard. A hush descended over the kids as they listened, eyes going wider.

“I know this song. It has a curse word.”

“More like a curse verse.” Liam K. was quick as ever.

“You’d let us sing like that?” Kaitlyn asked quietly, a softness coming over her features.

I considered for a moment all my careful plans for this unit and the buildup to the spring showcase. Then, I mentally lit those plans on fire.

“Yeah. Yes, I would.” For once, my impulsiveness was an asset. “In fact, that’s what we’re going to try.” I glanced at my watch. Darn it. The period was about to end. “Tomorrow, come to class mad. We’re gonna let it all out.”

After the bell rang, Kaitlyn was last to leave the courtyard to join the rush toward the lockers for the end of the school day.

“Thank you, Mr. Bell. You didn’t have to be so nice to me.” She looked down at her black sneakers with pink laces. “And we don’t have to sing something angry tomorrow only for me.”

“Oh, I’m going to have fun finding the loudest, angriest songs for all of us.” I smiled until she gave me a tiny one in return. “And thank you . You provided an excellent reminder that we don’t always need to hide behind a happy mask or cheerful song. Sometimes, we’re sad. Sometimes, life sucks. And that’s okay.”

Kaitlyn exhaled so hard her bangs ruffled. “It’s okay to not be okay, like that poster in the hall says.”

“Yeah, it is. It’s okay to have a bad day or a whole bad month.” I bent slightly so I could meet her gaze again. “And I don’t know everything that’s happening at home, but I know you have a lot of people here who care about you and are ready to listen anytime. Like me.”

“Uh-huh.” She gave a sharp nod before turning toward the cafeteria entrance to the building. At the last moment, though, she tossed off a hurried, “Thank you.”

“Wow.” Applauding slowly, Principal Alana made her way to me. She wore a long purple-themed floral dress and her hair was swept into a white clip. She looked crisply elegant, while I was pretty sure I looked like I’d just gone ten rounds with a heavyweight champion.

“Um. You heard that?” I gestured vaguely.

“You’ve taken over the courtyard.” She chuckled, not sounding particularly put out that I’d vacated my assigned classroom. “I like the sound of singing filtering into my office, but I heard the raised voices at the end of your class. I came to see if you needed help. But you had it handled.”

“Did I?” I’d been prepared to say sorry for sharing my playlist with the kids, but she continued to smile up at me. “It’s so hard to know what to say or do.”

“You did perfectly.” The principal touched my arm. “You’re what these kids need, Nolan. You’re authentic and responsive. Can’t ask for more than that.”

“I promised them angry music.” I quirked my lips, offering an apology with my eyes. “It might get loud.”

“Good.” Principal Alana used her firm school-assembly voice. “This is a middle school. A real one, not As Seen on TV . We get messy and loud here, and sometimes, like today, we just might make a difference.”

“Because that’s why we teach.” I sank onto a nearby picnic bench.

“Yep.” She sat next to me. “Look, I know you haven’t had the easiest start this term, but these kids need you. The school needs you. I’ve been worried you’d ask out of your agreement to substitute, but today made me hopeful again. You’re finding your sea legs, so to speak.”

“I’m staying,” I promised with far more enthusiasm than I’d mustered since our initial New Year’s phone conversation. Regardless of Merry, I was needed here in a very real way. And maybe I still wasn’t staying for me precisely, but I’d finally found a few non-Merry-related reasons to get excited about. Naturally, I wanted the Merry situation to work out, but for the first time, I believed I might be okay either way. Maybe Merry wasn’t yet to the point where he could take a leap of faith, but I was, and smiling at Principal Alana, my shoulders lifted, whole body lightening. “This semester is going to rock.”

She grinned back. “And roll.”