“Can you get pregnant from dry-humping through your Nike shorts?” My face scrunches and I turn to Ian. “I don’t think…actually, they’re sort of porous, aren’t they?”
Ian groans and yanks the slip of paper out of my hand. Then he leans over and speaks into the mic, “No. No, you cannot. Still, wear a condom—problem solved.”
Three-fourths of the way through the questions, I look up and spot a boy in the front row of the bleachers looking shell-shocked. His eyes take up half his face.
“Oh shoot,” I curse under my breath. “Hey, Johnny, can you go sit out in the hall? Your mom didn’t sign your release form for this.”
Principal Pruitt rushes forward to usher him out. “Just forget everything you saw today, buddy.”
There’s no doubt we’ve created lasting scars, for the kids and for ourselves.
After another thirty minutes of prolonged torture in which I do a poor job of answering questions, we’re done, and Ian walks me back to my classroom.
There’s nothing to say, so we stay perfectly silent.
We’re alone in the hall. I’m hugging the shoebox full of leftover questions against my chest.
I have no clue what we used to talk about. Did we ever have things in common or was I delusional? I can’t think of a single thing to say to him that doesn’t include the Gatorade or our phone call from last night. Oh, duh!
“What a nice spring day it is,” I say wistfully.
We pass a window and it’s pouring outside. Tree limbs fly this way and that. A small tornado tosses screaming livestock here and there.
“Yep. Nice,” Ian says with a knowing smile.
“All right, fine, let’s just go back to not talking at all. That’s easier.”
“I’m giving you time to calm down.”
“Calm down!? CALM DOWN?!”
His eyes slice over to mine and he raises a brow. Right. If we passed by a mirror, I’m sure my reflection would horrify me. My hair is probably standing on end, light-socket chic. My eyes are shadowed and wide. I’m minutes away from getting stuffed into a padded room.
“Last night was probably hard for you,” he continues.
Yes, phone sex was such a trying experience. I’m fatigued just thinking about it.
“And I know you want to pretend like it didn’t happen so we can go back to normal…”
Yes, yes. I cross my fingers and toes hoping he’s about to say what I think he is.
“As friends.”
Right.
As Chandler would say, That would be perfection.
“But—”
“Samantha! Hey Sam! Wait up!”
We both turn in sync to find Logan jogging down the hall in our direction.
“Hey,” he says, coming to a stop and propping his hands on his hips when he reaches us. He’s not even breathing hard. If I tried to jog down the hall, I’d have a cramp in my side.
“Oh, hey Logan. What’s up?”
“Not much. Sup Ian.”
Ian’s grunt is aggressive. I frown and try to catch his eye, but Logan speaks up first.
“I was wondering if you’d had the chance to read my little…poem yet?”
My face scrunches in confusion. “Poem?”
He grins, and he’s not the ogre I thought he was. He has nice arms, a kind smile, hair that’s been trimmed recently. “Yeah, I included it with a teddy bear…for the choir fundraiser thing?”
I’ve only received a couple red roses, no bears. Ian has the monopoly on those.
“Sorry Logan, I didn’t get any poem.”
“Sam, we should get going,” Ian interjects. “We’ll be late for next period.”
Logan shrugs good-naturedly. “It probably got lost with all the others. You’ve got quite a few admirers this year from what I hear.”
What in the world is he talking about?
“Oh…um, huh.”
Does he realize I’m spending tomorrow alone? Chaperoning a high school dance? I’d win a Most likely to cry herself to sleep on Valentine’s Day contest handily.
“I won’t let that deter me though.” He grins. “Did you do something different with your hair today? Looks great.”
I reach up and touch the loose, wavy strands, taken aback by the sweet compliment.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be Logan?”
He laughs, clearly mistaking Ian’s question for politeness. “This is my off period. Anyway, Sam, if you’re free—”
His voice trails off as he meets Ian’s eyes. Something there warns him to quit while he’s ahead.
“Free?” I push.
“Tomorrow.”
“She’s not,” Ian says sharply.
I grimace. “I’m supposed to volunteer at the carnival in the morning and then I have to chaperone the school dance.”
He rocks back on his heels. “Oh, gotcha.”
My heart is crumbling for him. He had the courage to ask me out in front of Ian and I don’t want to turn him down outright. “But maybe on Sund—”
Ian wraps his arm around my shoulders and redirects me down the hall. “Say goodbye now, Logan.”
“Oh. Uh…bye. Wait!” Ian doesn’t wait. “Okay! I’ll talk to you later, Sam. Maybe we can try to work something out another time?!”
I’m not given a chance to reply because Ian turns a corner and takes me with him.
When we’re out of earshot from Logan, I wiggle out of Ian’s hold.
“What the hell was that?”
He shakes his head and directs me into my classroom. For the second time today, he closes the door behind him. We’re alone and he’s pacing like a caged lion. I feel the need to flee. I want to crack a window and stick my head out and heave in gulps of air. The rain would pelt my face, but it’d be worth it.
Instead, I walk to my desk, uncap my Gatorade, and take a long swig. When I swallow, I remember something.
“Do you think he really sent a bear and it just got lost in transit?”
Silence.
“Ian?”
“Possibly. You know how those choir kids are.”
No, actually I don’t. Is he suggesting they’re criminals? They spend their time binge-watching Glee and singing acapella versions of Taylor Swift. They’re harmless.
“It seems all of your bears arrived on time,” I point out.
“Huh.”
He hasn’t stopped pacing.
“You’re being weird. What do you know that you’re not telling me?”
He turns in my direction and props his hands on his hips. I wish he wouldn’t do that. It’s his Superman pose, and today, in his pressed white shirt rolled to his elbows and his black slacks, he could easily pass for Mr. Kent.
“It doesn’t matter. You’ll laugh when I tell you.”
That means I definitely won’t.
“Tell me what?”
His eyes narrow, focused out the window behind my head. His features have taken on a stern edge as he replies, “I paid off one of the choir kids to intercept your gifts and deliver them to me instead of you.”
What. The. Hell.
“Why?”
Maybe I didn’t take his supposed bear fetish seriously enough. How certain am I that he donated those bags to the children’s hospital? They could be tucked away in his closet, a tiny plush pleasure shrine.
“Why not?” He shrugs, unbothered by my anger. “Maybe I didn’t think you should be subjected to Logan’s terrible penmanship.”
“Real answer.”
“That is the real answer. His poem was shit and his handwriting was even worse—scribbles, really.”
“Don’t try to be cute now.” I’m angry—pissed. “I can’t believe you did that. I’ve spent the last two weeks feeling like shit because you were getting piles of gifts and I was getting diddly squat. I felt like a lonely loser.”
“Sam—”
He tries to step closer and I hold up my hands to block him. I know it’s a useless endeavor. If he wanted to reach me, my arms would bend like spaghetti noodles.
“Sam…Samwich…Sam and cheese.” Each of my nicknames feels like he’s plucking my heartstrings. He bends so we’re face to face. “I did it because it’s time you and I stop dancing around the obvious, this thing we have between us.”