Teacher of the Year (Teachers in Love, #1)

by M.A. Wardell

And anyway, bisexual people exist. Don’t be biphobic.

But I wouldn’t kick Nick out of my bed for eating crackers.” “No, you’d ask him to share the crackers.” “With a lovely soft cheese.”

Who’s on the fifty-dollar bill, anyway? Elton John?

“Marvin, I’m not leaving your apartment until you kiss me.”

I finally open my eyes and Gonzo, perched on the counter, stares at me with a judging glare only he can get away with. “Listen, buddy, maybe if you weren’t neutered, you’d understand.” He stretches, yawns, and heads toward his food bowl.

🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛

I would have wrested it out of her strong arms if necessary. She’s German, and I needed it for a nice Jewish boy. The universe will call it even.”

I hit send and regret the message immediately. Why can’t I ever play it cool? Because I’m decidedly uncool. It’s my lot in life.

“And look, you drew me holding your hand, and who is this?” I point to a drawing I’m unable to identify. “Gonzo!” “Of course it’s Gonzo. Look at him, it looks just like him.” It looks nothing like him. “I’m going to take this home and show Gonzo and tell him, ‘Ricky drew this lovely picture of you.’”

We take walks, have another picnic, and introduce Illona to The Muppet Movie. Her face and reactions when Kermit rides his bicycle are priceless.

Marvin has a cat named Gonzo and it took 188 pages for me to see the word Muppet.

“Do I love him?” “Listen, I’m lying in a hospital bed. Don’t do Fiddler with me.”

Why did I come here? Not for this. Or did I? Am I willing to put aside my concerns for a momentary physical connection? I do care for Olan. Deeply. But am I only delaying the reality of the situation? Deep down, I worry about being abandoned. About nobody being there for me. But my body brought me here because Olan shelters me. Clustered in his arms, I feel protected. Whatever risk being with Olan brings, I’m ready to take it.

This afternoon unfolded in a way I would have never predicted. Leaving school early, covered in blood, being comforted by Olan, bathing with him – the ransacking of my routine would typically rattle me, but with him next to me, close, kind, and supportive, I’m leaning into the reshuffling.

So, whatever your adorable little brain is worrying and spiraling about, please stop it right now.” “You don’t know me.” But he does. And he’s right.

Because you are an idiot, Marvin.

“Olan is not perfect. He has a past, but everything you’ve told me says he’s doing the work to be better. He is better. Clearly. You talk about ‘the drinking’ but Marvin, is he drinking? Now? No. Your mother isn’t perfect. But Marvin, she was a single parent. And not of her own choosing. I’m not making excuses but try putting yourself in her shoes. She hasn’t had a drink in twelve years. I know she hurt you, but can you maybe entertain she’s trying to make amends? Your childhood wasn’t perfect, but buddy, show me someone’s whose was. Now get ready for the big one. Newsflash: You are not perfect. Olan’s right. You put way too much into work. Your anxiety can be crippling. You avoid life because you’re petrified. And you, too, have a past, and right now, it’s preventing you from your present. Nobody is perfect. But when you find someone whose imperfections complement yours and help you both be better versions of yourselves, you choose to make it work.” As Jill lectures me, my hand travels up to my earlobe, my fingers rubbing it slowly. She doesn’t often raise her voice with me, but I don’t often go off the rails with a man like Olan. “But, how am I supposed to…” “Stop it. Stop making excuses. Meditate. Medicate. Go to therapy. Figure it out. Because if you blow it with a guy like Olan, you’ll have to live with that regret for the rest of your life.”

Jill is the best kind of friend.

“Why am I so afraid of…” I’m unsure how to finish because I’m not sure I can name it. “Of being happy? Of letting someone love you?”