Nick plopped his bag down on the table and took his seat.
Elena leaned toward him. “Hey, sorry about Friday. Something came up and I had to take care of it.”
Nick focused on his crinkling lunch bag. “No problemo.”
“She can make it this Friday,” I said.
“Great, Friday it is.” Nick peeled the tinfoil off a peanut butter sandwich. “So, Elena, what could possibly have been more important than happy hour at Friends Brewery?” His voice held an edge.
My teeth clenched. Nick’s ego had been bruised. Still, he didn’t need to be a dick.
“Oh.” Elena straightened herself up in her chair. “I, uh—”
I cleared my throat. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell us.”
“No. It’s just that…” Elena’s eyelids fluttered, her pale skin reddening. “I recently broke up with my boyfriend and I had to return some things to him. He was trying to come over and pick them up from my new apartment. It’s a long story, but I didn’t want him to find out where I lived, so I had to meet him.”
Hope sparked in Nick’s eyes. He’d probably spent the weekend stewing, not allowing himself dream of a scenario so much in his favor. His lopsided grin found Elena, his left eye winking at her. “Poor bastard.”
Elena failed to stifle her smile, her cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red. “Dean was so selfish. I just want to put it all behind me.”
I debated pulling Nick aside and giving him a refresher course on the district’s policies against sexual harassment. On the other hand, Elena seemed to be basking in his not-so-subtle flirtation. A change of subject would be my safest escape.
“Hey, Nick, congrats on your big win on Saturday.”
“Thanks.” He squared his shoulders, the bulge of his bicep muscle straining against his shirt. “My boys got it done.”
“Who did you play?” Elena asked.
“The Wildcats. Our biggest rival.”
“Awesome.”
“We went to the finals last season. Hoping we can do it again this year.”
“Impressive.” Elena tucked a few loose strands of her golden locks behind her ear. “When’s the next game? I’d love to watch.”
Her eyes hung onto Nick’s a moment longer than necessary. I was caught in the middle of an electromagnetic connection; two charged particles on a collision course.
“Thursday night, 5 p.m. It’s a home game against The Cyclones.”
“Great. I’ll be there.”
“Hope it goes well,” I said, chewing as fast as I could. I finished off the fried rice and swallowed the final segment of my orange. My chair scraped back from the table as I lifted my hand to my lunchmates. “I’ll leave you two good-looking humans to your food, I’m off to get some grading done.”
“Bye, Jane,” Elena and Nick said at the same time, neither one bothering to look at me.
The coffee splashed into my travel mug as I inhaled the addictive aroma and praised science for the purine alkaloid known as caffeine. The beans were perfectly roasted, thanks to a non-enzymatic browning process known as caramelization. I’d made it to Thursday, and with the coffee, it was possible I’d survive another early morning. Lifting my cardigan from the back of the kitchen chair, I slung it around my shoulders. Morning shadows loomed on the other side of the window—7:05 a.m. Another day, another dollar. If I left now, I could get to my classroom by 7:25 a.m., twenty minutes before the first bell.
The house sat silent, except for Craig’s heavy footsteps creaking down the hall. I’d already been asleep by the time he’d stumbled home late last night from an emergency plumbing job.
“Morning, sunshine.” He lumbered toward me and kissed my head.
“Morning.” I reached for the sugar jar as he extended his battered Nike shoebox toward me, lid propped underneath.
“Looky here.” He pointed into the box. “We have a new addition.”
Inside the collapsing box, a jumble of shiny objects stared back at me—a toy soldier; a rusty old ring; a plastic, beaded bracelet; coins from faraway countries; and a variety of rocks. A miniature Rubik’s Cube balanced on top, king of the trinkets.
“Where’d you find that?” I asked, pointing to the tiny, discolored cube.
“Caught in the washing machine drain trap. Owner said I could keep it when I told her about the sculpture.” He chuckled.
Over a few beers several months earlier, Craig and I concocted an idea to create a sculpture out of the random objects he’d collected from drain traps, backed-up pipes, clogged garbage disposals, broken dishwashers, and dryer vents. We enjoyed arguing over whether to entitle the masterpiece “The Secret Life of a Handyman” or “Clogged.” Either way, the idea kept us entertained and Craig’s collection continued to grow.
“The cube will add some much-needed color.” I said. “Have an awesome day.”
“You, too. Keep those kids in line.”
“Always.” I ventured into the dark morning, travel mug in hand, and drove to school.
When I pulled into the parking lot ten minutes later, handfuls of students clustered in groups outside the side entrance. Rowan’s shadowy outline came into focus as I approached. He sat alone on a far step, shoulders hunched, and head hung low. His eyes peeked through a ragged curtain of bangs. Piercings glistened from his nose and a ratty trench coat swayed around his knees.
Following Elena’s lead, I continued my path toward him, treating him as I would any other student. I cleared my throat. “Hi, Rowan.”
Rowan’s head jolted up, startled. He didn’t speak. He only stared at me, his thin lips pressed together, and his steely pupils burrowing directly through me. My feet slowed at the awkward exchange, then moved at warp speed through the double doors. I released a breath as the door swung shut behind me. It wasn’t so much Rowan’s goth look that bothered me. There were plenty of students with unkempt hair, piercings, and somber clothes whose motives I’d never questioned, and whose alternative looks suited them. My unease had more to do with his morose demeanor and the chilling emptiness in his eyes.
Suddenly, Elena’s poetry club made perfect sense. How else could anyone connect with this strange boy? Rowan was exactly the sort of tortured soul who would spend his free time scribbling dark, cryptic poems for others to decipher.
I hurried through the hallway, sucking in my gut to squash the tremor that Rowan’s stare had set in motion. My cynicism was no match for Elena’s idealism. I wondered if her poetry club would be enough. The odds were equally good that her efforts could backfire, that she could become an object of his obsession. I hoped her naivety wouldn’t get her into trouble.
I didn’t let myself fully exhale until the bell for fifth period—my free hour—finally arrived. I planned to spend it alone in my classroom in silence. I’d take a quick refresher course on tomorrow’s lesson plan, and the lab equipment needed cleaning. But first, I had to run to the ladies’ room.
As I stepped into the empty hallway, in-session classes hummed around me, but Elena’s classroom door sat slightly ajar.
“Seriously. Relax!”