Young people. I smile and nod, not knowing enough to engage more.
Realizing I’m out of my comfort zone, Shreya deftly changes the subject. “Anyway, I’ve read the documentation, and it’s a fairly basic system. It’s a massive, complicated spreadsheet. That’s it. They’ve designed a slick front end allowing teachers to enter data in the simplest way.”
“Wait, all this for a spreadsheet?”
“I mean, technically, yes. But there are formulas, pivot tables, and flashy graphics. It’s not your basic budget.” Shreya shakes her head a little, knowing I’m once again about to be underwater.
“Do you think … ”
“Yeah, it could help,” she says, reading my mind. “It’s going to be way easier for teachers. Hopscotch’s concept appears to hinge on simplicity combined with usability, leading to more data collected. More data usually favors higher averages and overall results.”
Higher averages. Hopscotch might actually help. Shreya knows technology, and I trust her. If she thinks it could boost our scores, the smartest decision is for me to trust the process. Dr. Cutler’s warning last week rings in my head.
“If the trend line doesn’t swing up soon, we’ll have to make some tough decisions.” Florence Cutler’s voice echoes.
Usually, I’d have pushed for clarity. What tough decisions? But in this case, I’m afraid to find out. The thought of leaving the one place that still needs me makes my heart sink.
Florence Cutler, with her short, cropped gray hair, puts a friendly smile forward, and by no means is she unkind, but behind closed doors, her earnestness comes out. Most people don’t understand the superintendent works for the board. If the board is unhappy, it falls on her. And Lear’s diminishing test scores have the bonus of dragging down the district average. The board is not amused.
“Listen, Kent,” Shreya says, “these tech guys can be a little … cocky. If you start to feel overwhelmed, shoot me a look; I’ll be happy to jump in.”
Shreya’s confidence and protectiveness impart a wide smile on my face.
“Thank you,” I say. “I love having young people around.”
Interrupting our pregame chat, Helen pops her head in to announce, “They’re here.”
A tall, slender white man with blond hair clutches a briefcase. He’s wearing a green dress shirt tucked into dark jeans. His face barely moves, and a seriousness permeates from his pores. I extend my hand, and he takes it.
“Geoff Cozen, lead architect,” he says.
“Kent Lester, principal.” We shake and I turn my attention to Shreya. “This is Shreya Shaan, our school’s tech integrator.”
Shreya stands but doesn’t move from her seat.
“Pleasure,” Geoff says.
“Indeed,” she replies, and I’m fairly certain she meant for him.
“My partner needed the bathroom. He’ll be here in a moment,” Geoff says, taking one of the empty seats around the conference table.
Geoff opens his briefcase and takes out a binder and folders, so many folders. When I look at Shreya, she lifts her left eyebrow and smirks. My face warms as my lips turn up, knowing she’s got my back.
“Sorry about that,” a voice calls, entering the conference room. Breaking eye contact with Shreya, I turn my attention to the door.
“Your bathroom sinks weren’t cooperating and … ”
Vincent Manda, squirting his hands with sanitizer from a small personal-sized bottle, marches over to the empty seat next to Geoff. He’s wearing a crisp white button-down shirt and khakis that appear to have had their crease bullied into them. The minute my eyes scan him, my heart trips in my chest. I never thought I’d hear from him again, let alone see him in the conference room at Lear.
Looking up from his hands, Vincent’s gaze meets mine. Oy.
CHAPTER 5
Vincent
“Crashed and burned? What do you mean?”
Marvin, my gay guide through the trials of queer courting, tries, as he has for the past year, to unravel the enigma of my disaster of a date. He’s determined to understand why my first dates never warrant a follow-up.
