Page 16 of Mixed Signals
Maybe we should date each other.
I might as well be Jeremy reciting horrible rap lyrics in Spanish.
“That was an interesting assignment, Mr. Alvarez.”
I slam my knee on the underside of my desk and my bag goes toppling to the floor. It takes a cup of pens and a tiny ceramic turtle in a sombrero with it. Alex bought it for me my first week of teaching—said it would make me seem cooler. I’m starting to think he was making fun of me.
Emma, the eighth grade English teacher, winces from the doorway.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine,” I say, as I heave myself out of my chair and start collecting the pens scattered across the floor like a school supply firework blast. “My mind was somewhere else.”
On Layla, specifically. On the butter croissant I should have had for breakfast and the way her laugh sounds when she’s covered in flour and sugar up to her elbows.
Maybe I’m not over my custom cake crush.
Emma comes further in the room, bending gracefully to her knees to help collect pens. “Must have been. I wasn’t even trying to be sneaky.”
A pluck of apprehension nudges at me. I wonder how much of my conversation with Jeremy she heard. “I probably shouldn’t have done that, huh?”
She peers up at me, her bright blonde hair pulled back in a neat bun. “Thrown this little cutie?” She picks up my turtle and taps at the hat on his head. “Probably not.”
I huff a laugh and collect the knick knack, placing him back on his rightful throne at the corner of my desk. Joke or not, I’ve become attached to Fernando. “Real teachers probably don’t encourage their students to write love letters as an assignment.”
Emma stands and hands me the rest of my pens, a fistful of red and blue. This is the fourth time this month she’s stopped by my classroom. She tells me it’s because she wants to make sure I’m settling in, that the kids are behaving, but it feels like something else. Her check-ins are a little too consistent. Maybe Principal Waller is having her drop in as some sort of evaluation.
“Real teachers help their students learn, however they can.” She gives me a gentle smile. “You’re doing great, Caleb. Really. If Jeremy of all people is showing interest, then you’re doing a fine job.”
“Okay, good.” If I could get that same sort of endorsement on how I’m handling the rest of my life, that would be great. I shove all of the pens into an empty desk drawer and glance at the clock. “Ah, shit.”
Emma follows my eyes and frowns. “Somewhere you need to be?”
By the time I make it to Lovelight, Layla will be gone for the day, the bakery in the hands of her support staff for the rest of the evening. I could visit her at her house, but I don’t know. It feels like too much.
I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.
I think I might be too much. For some people.
“I was going to try—” I swallow back the words. I was going to trywhat?Try to convince Layla to take me up on my ridiculous idea? Beg her to forget about it? I don’t even know.
“I’m sorry, yeah. I do have somewhere to be.” I give Emma a tight smile and sling my bag over my shoulder. “I’ll see you later this week?”
She smoothes her palms over her skirt. “Sure, yeah. Of course. Same school and all.”
I hesitate at her tone. “Was there something else you needed?”
“No, no.” She waves me off. “Just saying hello.”
I give her another forced smile on my way out. I barely manage three steps down the hallway before a body slams into mine, a shower of manila folders and looseleaf paper raining down on me.
“Ah, my bad, Caleb.” Gabe, the biology teacher, adjusts his glasses and snatches a piece of paper slowly floating its way to the ground. Too bad the rest of his files are strewn across the hallway. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Neither was I,” I sigh. I collect a couple of loose sheets by my feet, a frankly terrifying drawing of a frog dissection staring back at me. I am very glad a language position became available, and not something in the practical sciences.
“You know, I’m actually glad I ran into you. I was in the teacher’s lounge the other day and—”
I stack the papers in a haphazard collection and shove them in Gabe’s general direction, ignoring whatever it is he’s talking about as I head past him to the exit. I’ll find him tomorrow and apologize. All I want to do is get in my car, drive to the farm, and talk to Layla. Even if it’s just for five minutes. I need her to know I didn’t forget about her.
