So understandably, I was nervous when I arrived at C-Cool. I waited for a lull, students working quietly at their desks, before offering my work. She flipped through the handouts and markers I’d created; I couldn’t tell what she thought from her expression.
Finally, she glanced up. “It’s a game show format?”
“I thought I could give out small prizes for correct answers.”
Maybe I was wrong, but she didn’t seem thrilled. “These students all have focus issues, Nadia. How do you think they’ll respond to buzzers and Happy Meal toys?”
“Um. I didn’t plan to use buzzers.”
But she broke it down for me, all the hundred reasons why this would never work. In my structure, I had focused far too much on the fun aspect, not enough on the learning part. I needed a fresh, creative vehicle to deliver a reading lesson that wouldn’t also turn the room into pandemonium. Her criticism was on point, but I still felt horrible. She concluded, “We have to be especially careful in here. A number of our students on the autism spectrum have trouble with too much stimuli—lights, noises, colors. It’s our job to manage the environment.”
“I’ll do it again,” I said quietly.
“Have something else ready for Friday, okay? Remember, I’m rooting for you.”
“No problem. I’ll do better, I promise.” If I didn’t impress her and finish strong, she’d tell my new mentor for spring semester all about my failures, and when you started with certain strikes, the supervising teacher could make your life hell in so many interesting ways.
“Your idea was creative. In a traditional classroom, it would be a huge success.”
That made me feel a little better, enough that I mustered up the will to circulate and help students with their work. An hour later, I left the school, stewing on my mistake, went home for lunch then changed into my work clothes. The rest of the week flew, but I didn’t come up with anything that sounded better than what I’d originally produced.
And time was running out.
At four in the morning on Friday, I paced, trying to be quiet, conscious that I might be bothering Ty. Sure, I could structure something on a lesson plan I found online, but I wanted to be better than that. I sank onto the living room floor, surrounded by a sea of balled-up papers. Anyone could copy other people’s ideas; that seemed like the mark of a very by-the-book teacher, exactly the kind I didn’t want to be.
But staring at the crumpled pages gave me an idea. I didn’t have any on hand, and it was kind of old-school, but maybe— I got out my tablet and checked a couple of things. This is better. This can totally work. I stayed up all night printing up cards and then I stopped at a convenience store on the way to C-Cool to buy a newspaper. We’d need more for Wednesday, of course, provided Ms. Parker agreed.
She was in a good mood, smiling as she taught the lesson and then broke the kids into small groups. Her sets were never random, either; she put students together based on how well they could work together, often with complementary skills. It felt like I had an American eagle flapping around my guts while I waited for her to review my materials.
“This is a great idea,” she said finally. “I suspect most of their parents don’t even have subscriptions, so they don’t look at newspapers very often. This is an interesting twist on vocabulary sentences.”
I beamed. “So I’ll be teaching on Wednesday?”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Somehow I contained my excitement until I got out to the parking lot. Then I did a little dance beside my car. I still had some stuff to put together, but at least I had a firm direction now. The good mood carried me home, singing, so I was rocking out as I parked the Toyota. Max zoomed up as I got out, but he didn’t look happy. In fact, I’d rarely seen him so pissed off.
“Lauren trouble?” I guessed.
“I took your advice,” he said flatly. “But she shut me down.”
“Oh shit, Max, I’m sorry.” Lauren tended to play her cards close to the vest; she was quick with a joke and a hug, but digging beneath the surface took time, effort and a sharp trowel. Maybe I needed to do some gardening.
“It’s not like it came as a complete surprise, after what happened.” That had to be a cryptic reference to their shared secret. “But...it’s good to have closure, I guess. She also said there’s somebody else.”
“Huh?” Max was the last guy she’d mentioned to me, but only to say that sleeping with him had been a mistake. I hated to be the one to break it to him, but... “Sometimes we use that as an excuse when we aren’t into the guy asking us out. What exactly did she say?”
“‘Let’s not make this complicated. We both know this isn’t going anywhere.’ So I went for it, like you suggested. I said, ‘Lauren, there hasn’t been anyone else for a while because I’ve been into you for, like, six months.’ She got this sad look, shook her head and goes, ‘You only think that. You don’t really know me. Nobody does.’”
“That’s slightly alarming. I wonder what’s going on with her.”
“No idea.” He sighed, climbing off his bike. “So tell me, Conrad, how do you get over a broken heart?” His tone was facetious, but I could tell he was hurting.
I shrugged. “Nobody’s ever broken mine.”
Max wore a layered, disquieting expression. “Give him time.”
I followed his gaze toward the building, toward apartment 1B, and I couldn’t honestly say that he was wrong. But knowing it would probably end badly for Ty and me, it wasn’t enough to warn me off. I only needed to think of him for the sweeping warmth to carry me under, drowning me in dreams of him.
“You’re probably right. I should quit him, before it’s too late. But forewarning won’t make me wise.”
“It never does,” Max said softly.
As he already knew, some mistakes had to be made in glorious color, as the sweetness of irreplaceable memories lasted forever, long after the ache of loss faded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The rest of December flew by in a rush. I nailed the teaching aspect of my lesson plan; the kids were engaged when looking for vocabulary words in the newspaper, and nobody melted down. After that, I kept my head down and crammed for finals while also getting ready for the holidays. We got a tiny tree for the apartment and decorated one night while drinking hot mulled wine—courtesy of Angus—and hung up more lights than we really needed.