Not So Nice Guy(34)

Monday morning, my wakeup call never comes. I sleep straight past first period; that’s how much I’ve come to rely on Ian. Fortunately, Principal Pruitt assumes I’m still recovering from food poisoning, so there’s no need to explain my tardiness or the fact that they had to pull in a sub to cover for me. During lunch, Ian avoids the teachers’ lounge and I’m forced to converse with other people. It’s so annoying. I have to complete my sentences and everything or they get confused. Ashley asks me how the Valentine’s Day dance went and I’m so paranoid, I snap my gaze to her and ask her what she means.

Her face scrunches in confusion. “Just, like, was it a total bore or what?”

Oh.

I tell her it was fine, eat the rest of my lunch in two bites, and then scurry right back to my classroom. It’s not exactly a smart move. After all, it’s the scene of the crime. The desk we made out on should be removed from rotation and enshrined. Students have sat at it all morning, oblivious to the fact that Ian rocked my world in that exact spot not 48 hours ago.

I’ve thought about him a lot since our kiss, obsessed over him. As proof, my mind can warp any topic right back to him. While my students take a test, I look out the window of my classroom at the cloudless blue sky…Ian blue. After class, I overhear my students dissecting last night’s Game of Thrones episode and wonder if Ian watched it without me. I scroll past a funny meme on Reddit and resist the urge to text it to him.

I never wanted to tell Ian how I felt because I was scared of our friendship crumbling. I didn’t want to have to experience life without Ian, and it turns out my fears were valid because this fucking sucks.

One of my students comes up to me after sixth period, after most everyone has filed out. Her name’s Jade. She’s sweet and she takes my class seriously. I like her.

“Ms. Abrams, could I get your advice about something?”

I’m in no state to be doling out advice, but her eyes are hopeful and I’d feel terrible turning her down. “Sure thing. What’s up?”

“Well, I was wondering…I have this best friend, Truman. He’s in your fourth period. Anyway, we’ve been best friends since like sixth grade, but I think I want it to be something more.”

I blink at her question.

Is this a joke?

“What are you talking about? Did someone put you up to this?”

I can tell from the trembling of her lower lip that she has no clue what I’m talking about. “Sorry. I can talk to someone else—”

“No. Sorry, ignore that. What’s going on?”

She tells me the facts quickly and it’s like I’m talking to a younger version of myself. The conversation feels like a weird therapy technique. I wonder if it was her note that was confiscated and read aloud in the teachers’ lounge the other day.

“Do you think I should go for it?” she asks. “Y’know, tell him how I feel?”

I don’t hesitate before confidently replying, “Do not, under any circumstances, tell him how you feel. Take your feelings to the grave.”

“The grave?!” Her mouth drops.

Too morbid?

“Okay, just take them to college. You don’t want to ruin that friendship.”

“It’s just—we were reading that Tennyson poem in your class the other day, the one that ends with ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’”

“Oh, Tennyson? He’s a quack.”

“But you said they made him a lord because of the strength of his poetry.”

“Did I say that? Well, the point is, why would you risk what you have right now?”

“I think it could be something even more.”

“More?!” I want to shake her. “Why do you need more? Isn’t your friendship great as is? Isn’t spending time with him your favorite part of life? Why would you want to go and screw that up?”

There are fat drops of water collecting in the corners of her eyes. I realize I’ve been shouting.

She turns and runs from the room, backpack nearly taking her down as she swoops around the corner.

Well, my work here is done.

Except, the next day, I see her and Truman holding hands in the hall. Truman leads her over to her locker and then cages her in against it for a kiss. If I had a foghorn, I’d blow it in their ears.

Fortunately, Ian is on hallway duty and he breaks up their display of young love before I can.

He tells them to save it for after school, or better yet, for when they turn 25, and then he turns and our eyes catch. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in two days. There’s emotion clouding his usually friendly gaze. His trademark easy smile is gone. His dark brows are furrowed into a line.

It’s all my fault.

I have to suppress the urge to run and fling myself into his arms.

Be my friend again, please! I want to shout.

His smoldering gaze warns me away. Even more, it says, That could be us. I could pin you to a locker like that if only you’d let me.

At least I think that’s what it says. I don’t have much time to translate it because he passes me by quickly, without a word. My breath whooshes out of me and it feels like I’ve been shot.

“Ian!” I shout after him impulsively.

He shakes his head and keeps walking. “I have to get back to my classroom.”