AllFreeNovel
Share Us
None of the kids says anything. I wonder what it means that these kids will talk in front of me in a way they won’t talk in front of Dexter. I’m pretty sure that means something. They like me, I guess, which is good, because I like them. Maybe because this part of the committee is made up of students from my classes, they don’t know Dexter. Maybe these photography and 3D students aren’t also theater kids. They are mine, I realize. And I am theirs.
I did not expect that realization to choke me up. I feel proud. And a little weepy.
“Hello, up there, Miss Harker,” Dexter says from the base of the ladder. “I brought you two cookies, but one fell into my mouth, and I ate it. You’d better hurry down here before the same fate befalls the second one.”
Should I go down? Should I run at his beckoning? Normally, no way. But cookies. Plus, he’s being really charming. And these kids who don’t know Dexter should get the chance to see him in action, working the room and stuff. Waiting for the kids to notice Dexter was delightful might take too long and my cookie will disappear. He holds on to the ladder’s legs while I step down. I feel uncomfortably aware of my own legs. I climb down one slow step at a time, reminding myself to breath normally.
It's been a few days since we were last this close together. In fact, I was starting to believe he was avoiding me.
I’m glad he’s not.
But I am starting to hate rules.
I brush my hands across my jeans in a vain attempt to make them clean enough to eat with. Peeking inside the bag, I ask, “Any chance it’s big enough to share?”
“Only if you want to torture all these kids who don’t get a bite.” He smiles, and my midsection turns to goo. I’m drooling. Probably about the cookies.
Somehow, I manage to speak without panting. “I am in favor of this particular brand of torture.”
When he reaches in to pull out the cookie in its little paper sleeve, I take it and inhale deeply before I start breaking it into bites. “Come and get it. Mr. Kaplan has brought you all a taste of heaven.”
Nobody comes forward. The kids have not said a word since Dexter opened the door. Surely some of these kids have been his students at least once in their Chamberlain tenure, but none of them seems like they’re going to say anything to him.
Do they know he didn’t come to the Harvest Ball? Did the kids on the committee notice? Did they talk about it?
That’s over now. Whatever happened, it’s done.
I want to take the edge off this suddenly uncomfortable moment.
Still holding the cookie pieces, I look at Dexter. “We weren’t going to tell you about the Kaplan wing. We wanted it to be a surprise, but since you’re here, I’m going to have Reuben take you on a tour.”
“The what?” Dexter says.
At the same moment, Reuben also says, “The what?”
I nod. “You know,” I say to Reuben with a nod toward the back of the room. “The Kaplan wing. Where all the artwork honors Mr. Kaplan and his contributions to Chamberlain Culture. You know, because you were last year’s Teacher of the Year.”
I’m still met with blank stares all around.
“Dierdre has created a sculpture of the back of your head, because we all agreed that it was your best side, so.” I shrug. “Chad put your yearbook photo into a computer program that he created that does a karaoke song-and-dance animation. You’re now performing a version of “Joyride” by the popular band Roxette, circa 1991. It plays on a continuous loop. We have not yet grown tired of it.” A couple of kids gather closer and begin to nod.
I’m not done. “Annabeth photographed you through the window in your classroom door once an hour for all the school hours of a week, and the prints are hanging by magnets so patrons of our show can rearrange them at will. An interactive photo display of you.”
Dexter goes from looking amused to looking confused to looking utterly horrified in the space of about a minute. The rest of the kids have gathered, and they’re all nodding in thoughtful agreement.
“You’re kidding, right?” He doesn’t sound sure that he’s got it right.
I raise my eyebrows toward him in a questioning glance as I hand a piece of cookie to each kid. “About which part?”
“About all the parts, I hope.”
I make a dismissive gesture. “Sure.”
He doesn’t look comforted. “Sure? Sure what?”
I put the remaining bite of cookie in my mouth. “Mmm. That’s good,” I say through the mouthful.
Dexter looks like he’s starting to feel sick.
