by Dan Wingreen
“School.”
Spencer laughed. “What kind of school did you go to?”
“New York public schools,” Tim answered, only partially focusing on the conversation, such as it was.
Spencer let out a long breath. “Yeah. Me too.”
Tim wondered at the small thread of sadness he could hear in his voice before remembering everything Spencer had told him about his time in school.
They all hated him because they thought he was gay. He probably would have killed to go to a school where he could find guys who would talk to him, let alone kiss him.
Tim pulled Spencer closer. It was definitely time to move onto a different topic.
“So…you mentioned dating?”
“Timothy Ellis,” Spencer said playfully, leaning back to meet Tim’s gaze, “are you asking me on a date?”
Tim took a deep mental breath and forced himself not to think about all the ways this could go horribly wrong. “Yes, Spencer Kent, I believe I am.”
Spencer glanced down, which gave Tim a great view of the bridge of his nose as it turned bright red.
“Awesome,” he said, sending a shy little grin toward the couch.
And just like that, Tim had a date with Spencer.
Chapter Eleven
Spencer Kent spent the day after Halloween in a state of mild panic.
Of course, the term mild was kind of relative, he thought as he stared at himself in the mirror that morning, wondering where in the fucking hell the almost smooth dude who’d been wearing his face the night before had run off to. Mild sauce, for example. Some people find it pretty bland. However, to someone who hasn’t eaten anything spicy in almost a decade, mild could end up burning the shit out of their mouth like Vesuvius burned Herculaneum, sending them running for the nearest carton of milk in a desperate attempt to save their tongue while it could still relay the sensation of taste.
Sadly, Spencer didn’t drink milk. So, all he could do was panic.
Mildly.
He finished brushing his teeth and getting dressed—utterly ignoring his hair because he’d learned long ago to pick his battles—without giving in to his panic, but the moment he’d done up the last button on his cardigan and his hands no longer had anything occupying their attention, his phone appeared in them like magic, and he began frantically checking through his texts.
Okay. Nothing from Tim. That’s…good?
No texts meant no cancellation, which Spencer would have totally understood considering what he’d done last night after Tim had asked him out; and it didn’t matter if Tim really needed that list of foods Spencer didn’t eat and activities that would make him throw up to stave off potential date disaster. He’d still felt simultaneously like a parent leaving his kid with a babysitter for the first time and the kid who was entrusting his very survival to someone he’d never been in this situation with before. Except, usually, the parent and the kid didn’t both want to make out with the babysitter…
I wouldn’t blame them for wanting to though. Tim is soooo good at kissing.
Spencer let himself daydream about Tim’s lips for around a minute before he grabbed his phone and keys and made his way into the kitchen. Connor was already there, eating a bowl of cereal and following Spencer with his eyes like piercing bullets of judgment and suspicion.
“What?” Spencer snapped as he spun around and crossed his arms.
“Why are you acting so weird?” Connor asked around a half-chewed mouthful.
“I don’t know. I’m not. Eat your corn flakes and shut up.”
“These are Fruit Loops.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Spencer screamed, his voice echoing around the tiny kitchen.
“Okay…” Connor gently swallowed his food. “I’m gonna go to school now,” he said slowly, standing up and watching Spencer warily as he backed out of the room. A moment later, Spencer heard the front door close.
Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose.
Stop. Being. Crazy. Having a date with Tim is a good thing. I’ve been lowkey crushing on him for days, which makes this the fastest crush-to-getting-a-date turnaround I’ve ever had. I should be happy, not freaking out.
Which was true. Hell, Tim hadn’t even seemed bothered by the list, which he probably should have been since it was a pretty big hint about how high-maintenance Spencer could be. All he’d done was smile fondly, give Spencer another one of those slow kisses, and promise to do his best. Well, Spencer was 90 percent sure that’s what he said; his brain was kinda muddled for a few minutes after the kissing.
He sighed and then shook himself out of his thoughts. Biting his lip, he unlocked his phone again and checked his last texts to Tim.
SPENCER: Sorry Im so weird. If you wanna pull out ill totally understand
SPENCER: *BACK OUT I meant back out
SPENCER: because pull out can be sexual and I swear to god im not coming onto you
SPENCER: oh god
SPENCER: brb drowning myself
SPENCER: didn’t really
SPENCER: its too cold to get wet
SPENCER: just realized its three in the morning and you’re probably sleeping lol
SPENCER: but really if you changed your mind about dating me ill understand
And that was it. Spencer cringed as he read that over. Fuck, he was such a nuisance, sending a text barrage in the middle of the night. But Tim did say he usually got up around four to open the bakery…
And today is his day off, isn’t it? Which means he’ll be sleeping in and he probably hasn’t even gotten the texts yet.
Spencer groaned out loud, wishing he could unsend unread texts like he could with emails back in the AOL days. Jesus, he was so embarrassing. He thunked his head on the kitchen table.
“I am such an idiot…”
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Whether it was the self-punishment, which Spencer always found strangely cathartic, or the realization that a sleeping Tim probably wasn’t ignoring him or second-guessing their tentatively scheduled date, he found himself finally calming down. Or at least enough to start thinking about other things.
Like why the hell had Connor gone to school so early? A quick check of the kitchen clock gave him his answer.
He didn’t. I’m just super fucking late.
And now he had something non-Tim related to panic about.
All was well.
*
Nobody noticed he’d been late.
Not the principal, not any of the other teachers, and not even the kids in his first period class when he walked in fifteen minutes after the bell. Spencer had no idea how to feel about that. He considered giving them another surprise quiz to salve his ego a bit and give him more time to check his phone, but honestly, he was getting as tired of grading them as the kids were of taking them. Reading through a chapter in class gave him just as much free time to be an obsessive mess, so he scrapped his lesson plan for the day and told the kids to get their books out.
By the time his second period ended, he’d fallen completely back into the rhythms of teaching. It was surprisingly comforting.
Fifteen minutes into Spencer’s third period class there came a brief knock, followed by the door opening, and Cass poking her head in the room.
“Got some hot gossip,” she said in her usual laconic drawl.
The entire class turned, as one singular amorphous mass that couldn’t care less about learning, to stare at her.
“If it’s about Shakespeare being gay, I’m not allowed to teach that.”
That got a few chuckles from some of the kids and a dry smirk from Cass.
“Hallway. Five minutes. You’re gonna wanna hear this,” she finished in a singsong tone before slipping back out and closing the door behind her.
The amorphous mass turned its attention back to him.
“You’re not gonna leave us to gossip with Mrs. Baker, are you?” asked Kelly Slater, who, sadly, was not the famous pro surfer/Baywatch star and
instead one of the bigger—well, if they were in Britain she’d probably be called a “swot,” but here in America Spencer stuck with the term “insufferable know-it-all.” (It was the paradox of Spencer’s life that he constantly complained about how little his students cared about learning while also being unable to stand most of the ones who did.)
“Of course not,” he answered, getting more than a few disappointed looks. “That would be incredibly unprofessional.”
Kelly gave him a sharp nod.
“But what I am going to do,” he continued, “is take a short bathroom break for the next—” He thought for a moment. “—five to eight minutes. While I’m gone, I’m going to need someone to look after the class. Any volunteers?”
Seven hands shot up, including Kelly’s even though she seemed like she wanted to demand he stay behind, and Spencer nodded to himself.
Okay, that’s seven out of the running. Who’s left?
He took a quick glance around, trying to find a student who was at least semi-responsible. Eventually he decided on Derry Smith mostly because as a popular jock, who was nice to pretty much everyone and took his studies somewhat seriously, he shattered a lot of Spencer’s preconceived notions, and he always thought the world could do with more of that.
“Derry,” he said, ignoring the disgruntled looks the hand-raisers were giving him. “Come on up. Keep everyone reading out loud from the chapter we’re on, and call on someone new every two paragraphs or so. Can you handle that?”
Derry stood slowly, seeming unsure for a split second before nodding. “Sure, Mr. Kent.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Spencer made his way toward the door, stopping just before he was within reaching distance of the doorknob and turning back to the class. He glanced around, making sure to meet the eyes of every single person in the room before speaking. “While I’m gone, I expect you to act as if I’ve never left. You will sit and you will work, and you will treat Derry with the same respect I expect you to give to all of your teachers. And if I come back and you guys are doing anything but sitting quietly or reading out loud, you’ll all be doing long-form essays for the rest of your natural lives.”
It was times like this Spencer really liked his reputation as an unfair bastard because it was more than a little satisfying to see how quickly everyone’s heads snapped back to their books. One or two even shuddered. He allowed himself a small smirk and then spared a moment to lock eyes with Derry, silently promising him a fate much worse than endless essay writing if he should lose control of Spencer’s classroom. Derry nervously licked his lips and then called on the first student with a mostly steady voice. Spencer waited a moment until the reading started and then left the room.
He saw Cass waiting fifteen feet down the hall.
“Okay, I ditched my responsibilities. What’s up?”
She wasted little time getting straight to the point. “Benjamin Rasputin quit this morning.”
Spencer’s jaw dropped. “Benji quit?”
Cass nodded.
“No way. That’s…” Spencer struggled to find the words. Shit, no wonder nobody noticed he’d been late. “Are you sure it was Benji? The same guy who chained himself to the front doors the last time Principal Corbin brought up retirement? The guy who showed me The Spot in his classroom he picked out to drop dead on? That Benji Rasputin?”
“The one and only. Burst into the office during the morning announcements, threw his shoe through the window on Corbin’s door, and quit.”
“What the fuck…” Spencer shook his head. “Come in late one time and you miss shit like this. Did he say why?”
“No,” she said, pursing her lips in displeasure. “But the rumor is his son won the Powerball and he’s moving the whole family to Bermuda.”
“Why Bermuda?”
“Because it’s hot,” she deadpanned. “I don’t know. It’s just a rumor. The other one going around is that old Rasputin found out about a terrorist plot to blow up the school, and he’s leaving before it can happen. But no one really believes that one. If anything, he’d stand in his Spot and count down the seconds.”
“Out loud probably, just to see the reaction.”
“Yep. But none of that’s why I pulled you out of class.”
“Then why did you?”
Cass rolled her eyes. “Benjamin Rasputin isn’t teaching here anymore. You know what that means.”
It took Spencer a moment, but once the shock over hearing about Benji started to fade a bit, he realized he did know exactly what she was talking about.
“The room…”
Cass smirked. “Exactly.”
Spencer’s heart skipped a beat because Mr. Rasputin, aside from being batshit insane and having the most badass teacher name ever, was the man who, up until this morning apparently, had a stranglehold on Room 210.
210 was a cosmic anomaly, a place in the universe where the very forces of creation itself weaved together to give life to an array of miracles only witnessed once or twice in a geologic age. In the winter, it was just warm enough to be comfortable without being so stiflingly hot it lulled students and teachers alike to sleep. In the summer it received exactly 16.4 percent more chilled air from the school’s ancient AC system (in the early eighties 210 held a science class that did the calculations), making it the only place besides the basement locker room that was actually tolerable during the sweltering months of May and June. It was also one of the few rooms on the eastern side of the somewhat narrow school, which meant it was one of the only rooms whose every window faced the boring brick wall of the neighboring building, making it nearly impossible for kids to be distracted by staring outside. The room was spacious, comfortable year-round, and just being there brought a teacher’s student average up at least five percentage points. In short, 210 was the Holy Grail of LT High. A room every teacher desperately wanted, whose owner was the most hated and envied person in the entire school. It was also right in the middle of the part of the building reserved solely for ninth-grade teachers and their classes.
And now it was up for grabs.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “It’s gonna be a bloodbath.”
“Mmhmm.”
Spencer narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re enjoying this.”
“A little,” she admitted, smirking. Of course she is. Her class is always in the cooking lab. She gets to sit back and watch the rest of us tear each other apart. “But I haven’t even gotten to the best part.”
“Oh, God,” groaned Spencer. “You’re being cryptic. Why are you being cryptic?”
“Because.”
“I hate you.”
“You’ll be loving me in a second.”
“I really don’t think I will,” Spencer said and then, without a trace of shame, asked, “Why?”
“Because,” she said, drawing the word out for several syllables. God, Spencer needed new friends. “I know who the frontrunners are.”
Spencer blinked. “There are already frontrunners?” He shook his head. “Of course there are. Corbin’s been trying to get rid of Benji for years; why wouldn’t he have his replacement all picked out? Who are they?”
To his surprise, Cass answered plainly. “Steph McConnell—”
Spencer grimaced. Dear Lord, how many poor freshman boys is she gonna go through if she’s in a room that gets cold enough to make her nipples hard?
“—and you.”
“What?” Spencer gaped, then shook his head. “No, that can’t be right. I’m the newest teacher here. I still get stuck with detention duty for fuck’s sake. Why the hell would I be even close to the front of the line?”
“You’ve got the highest test scores out of all the ninth-grade teachers and the lowest cut rate in the whole school,” she said. “Plus, ninth-grade detentions are the lowest in the school since you took over. Principals eat that stuff up.”
“So, I’m being rewarded because I make my kids terrified of me?”
“Pretty much.”
> “Huh.” Being a hard-ass actually works. Who knew? Aside from dads in the fifties, I guess. Spencer shook his head again. “How do you know all this anyway?”
“Corbin.”
“He told you?”
“Of course, not,” Cass said. “But he did get a shoe thrown through his door. Hard to have private phone conversations when half your door is a giant hole covered with construction paper.”
Spencer had to laugh. “You were eavesdropping?”
“I was using the photocopier,” she said with a shrug. “If he didn’t want me to tell everyone what I heard, he should have waited until I left.”
Ah.
Cass had a long and storied feud with the main office photocopier. She’d never told him why she hated the thing so much—it always worked fine for him—but she usually ended up in a pissy mood when she was forced to deal with it. Eavesdropping on Corbin would have been a welcome distraction.
“Well—” He froze as he realized exactly what she’d said. “Wait…you told everyone?”
She smirked again.
“You evil bitch,” Spencer said, half pissed beyond belief and half in awe.
“Gotta have my fun somehow,” she said. “And if I have to suffer, so does everyone else.”
“Christ, out of all the bad habits you could pick up from me… You do realize Steph might try to kill me if 210’s on the line, right?” She nodded. He huffed. “I hate you. And how the hell are you suffering, anyway?”
“You ever been in a room with thirteen ovens on all day?”
“No.”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “There’s a reason I haven’t worn anything but extra-strength men’s deodorant for the last twenty years. And I’m still swimming in sweat by the end of the day.”
Spencer scrunched up his face. “That’s so gross.”
“Try living it.”
“I’d rather not.”
The conversation lulled then, which gave Spencer a whole lot of free time to think up all the ways the various personality disorders that masqueraded as teachers in this school could tear him apart.
“Are you sure you heard right?” he asked. “Corbin really said me and Steph were at the top of the list?”
