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It felt good to be that person for Milo—the one in his corner. He was a gifted individual. He just had to find his way back home.
What I didn’t expect was how protective I’d become of him. One afternoon when Mr. Slade handed out graded assignments, he set Milo’s in front of him and said, “One day, I’m going to find out whose homework you’re copying, Mr. Corti. Mark my words.”
“He did it himself and earned that grade,” I blurted out without thought.
Mr. Slade turned and looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Excuse me, Ms. Evans?”
I swallowed hard, feeling all eyes falling on me. “I just think that’s an inappropriate comment to make toward a student.”
Mr. Slade’s brows knitted, and he let out a short breath. He looked around at the students. “Everyone, open your books to chapter twenty-two and start reading for the remainder of the class.” He then turned back to me. “Ms. Evans, let’s speak in the hallway quickly.”
He pulled me out of the classroom, shutting the door behind him. He then crossed his arms and gave me a stern stare as if I were the student he could discipline.
“Ms. Evans, I would prefer if you did not question my teaching in front of the class. It shows a lack of leadership and is completely unacceptable. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, of course. Sorry.”
His bushy brows lowered, and he went to head back inside.
“It’s just—” I started.
“It’s just what?”
“I’m Milo’s tutor, and I have helped him with his homework and watched him put in the time and effort. So to have his teacher belittling him when he does well can be harmful to his self-confidence. You’re supposed to help them be confident. Not berate them when they’re struggling.”
He grumbled under his breath. “So young, so naive. Please speak to me on the matter after you’ve been doing this for over thirty years. Until then, Ms. Evans, know your role and do not step out of it. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said, but I truly meant no. The rage building up inside me from his belittling dismissal of my feedback was enough to make me go to war. That was exactly why I wanted to become a teacher. To help the students who might’ve run into the Mr. Slades of the world and lost belief in themselves.
We walked back into the classroom right as the bell rang for the session to be over. I stood at the front door, smiling at the students as they exited. As Milo walked past me, his eyes locked with mine. His arm brushed against my shoulder, and he whispered, “Thanks, Teach.”
I wanted to say always, but instead, I stayed quiet.
I showed up at the library before Milo that afternoon. Sometimes I worried he might be a no-show. When fifteen minutes passed, a knot formed in my stomach. Thankfully, at the twenty-minute mark, Milo texted me that he was on his way.
When he came walking in, a sigh of relief found me.
“Sorry I’m late,” he mentioned, placing his backpack on the table. He took a seat. “Had to stop at the gas station.”
“No worries. You weren’t that late.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Lie to keep from hurting my feelings.”
I parted my mouth to speak, but before I could, he pulled out a few items from his backpack—a pack of red licorice and a Diet Dr Pepper.
I arched my eyebrow.
He shrugged. “I noticed you snacking on them the past few days in class.”
My heart skipped a few beats, which it shouldn’t have been doing when it came to Milo Corti. Then again, hearts didn’t really care when the mind told them to behave.
“Why did you get those for me?” I asked.
“Because you stood up for me, and I appreciated that. I was going to get you flowers but didn’t know if you liked flowers or what your favorite kind was.”
“That’s sweet. This is perfect, though unnecessary.”
“My mom would’ve wanted me to do it.”
“Your mom always sounds like a wonderful woman.”
“Why do you do that?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Speak about the dead in the present tense as if they’re still here.”
My lips pursed. “Oh. Yeah, that is strange. It’s just that when my mom passed away, I’d talk about her as if she were still here, using the present tense, and it stuck with me. I didn’t even realize that I do it with others who’ve passed away.”
“I like it.”
I arched my eyebrow, surprised. “What? Milo Corti likes something?”
“A glitch in the Matrix.”
“I love a good Milo glitch. They entertain me.”
“Don’t get used to it. I’ll be sarcastic and rude again in no time.”
“Don’t rush it,” I said. “I kind of like this version of you.”
His eyes met mine, and I swore I almost saw a curve to his mouth. Did he almost smile at me? And it wasn’t one of his sass-packed grins I’d receive when he realized he was getting underneath my skin. No, it was a genuine one. Milo’s genuine smiles were few and far between, so whenever one slipped out, I felt as if I were being spoiled. His almost smile was enough to make my own lips turn up.
