Chapter 35

[vibe track: ghouls tha new team remix - we are scientists]

The classroom looked pretty much like any other Cameron might’ve been in — or not been in — when she was in high school. Encouraging posters about writing, about books. Little inside jokes written on the corner of the whiteboard — a cartoon crocodile standing on two legs with a monocle and boxing gloves stood out from the rest.

Must be that one kid.

Henry had gone off to unlock something or other with a smart-looking brunette teacher who’d eyed Cameron like she was a bug floating in her $50 water bottle. That made Cameron smirk a little at least.

She was kind of excited to see this other side of Henry, to meet some of the people he worked with and watch him interact at the staff social. He was quiet with her, but from the little she’d seen of him in front of the buses, he really came alive here. She wanted to wonder to herself which one was the real him...

... but I can’t very well do that, can I? He’d gimme that little smile and throw my own words back at me: “They’re all the real me.”

She smirked at that, too.

A colorful “What We’re Reading” display caught her eye against the far wall. Students’ names were listed next to, presumably, whatever book they were in the process of reading. Henry’s was, too — “Mr. M.” Of Mice and Men.

That rang a vague bell with Cameron. She probably was supposed to have read it for her own English class at some point, but she was certain she hadn’t. Really, it was more the poster itself she was fascinated with.

Did he make this himself? Cut out the letters in different colored paper and glue them on there?

She tried to imagine him doing that, hunched over his coffee table or something with some Elmer’s glue and construction paper. She supposed she could, although she kind of wanted to see it anyway. Her smirk shifted into a warmer, faint smile.

Every corner of the room was bursting with that kind of personality — cluttered, but ... passionate.

Is this what it’s like to be inside his head? Cluttered and passionate?

That sounded about right to her.

Cameron drifted to Henry’s desk, which was similarly cluttered. She’d never sat behind a teacher’s desk before, so she dropped into the creaky wooden rolling chair with a mischievous grin.

“Today class, please pull out your Chromebooks and go to pornhub.com.” Boom. See Henry? Not so hard.

She snorted to herself as she looked over the rest of the desk — her gaze settling on the Oh Yes Wyoming! mug. Now she smiled wider, picking it up and inspecting the faded coffee stain ringing the inside.

He took it to school. And he actually uses it. I wonder how long?

The grin lingered on her face as she replaced the mug next to the only photo on the desk. She recognized his sister, the lawyer. The rest must’ve been his family, too. The other two around his age most likely the remaining sisters, some kids that probably belonged to them. An older woman that must’ve been Henry’s mom.

The eyes. They’ve all got those brown eyes.

Must’ve been a relatively recent photo, because there was no Mal.

Come on, don’t start with that now.

But it was too late. Mal always had a way of intruding on these kinds of moments. Cameron eyed the one, long drawer that ran the width of the desk.

Is there a Mal photo hiding in there?

In her mind, there now definitely was. So she figured she might as well open it. She did it carefully, as if Mal herself might be stuffed in there, ready to jump out.

It was supplies, mostly. Post-It notes. Pens. Pencils. And ... in the corner, the back of an overturned photo frame.

Cameron’s heart sank. Slowly, she took it out and turned it over.

It wasn’t Mal, though. It was Henry. Younger, probably around Cameron’s age. He was holding one of those cheesy “First Day of School” frames around his head and was making a goofy face.

His first day of teaching maybe?

In the photo, he was standing on a neatly manicured front lawn. She couldn’t tell much about the house behind him, but it was definitely not the one he lived in now.

Mal must’ve taken the photo. That’s enough to make you want to turn it over? Mal even haunts the memories she’s not fucking in.

Cameron knew the feeling well, although she couldn’t understand why he kept them around. She put the photo back and shut the drawer with a little more force than was necessary.

Cut out and mixed in along the side of the desk, little notes — some handwritten, some printed —attracted her attention next. They appeared to all be from former students.

Mr. M,

I just wanted to let you know that I started my first year teaching high school English in August. Every day, I think to myself, “What would Mr. M do?” ... and then I do the opposite!

Lol, jk jk. Seriously, I’m sorry for everything I did as a student. I totally get it now!

More seriously, thank you for always setting an example I try to live up to every day. You’re the reason I’m a teacher. So ... if I suck at it, I’m forwarding the complaints to you.

Mr. M,

You probably don’t remember me. I was in your lit class as a sophomore. So like 2015. I don’t know if I said a word all year. I didn’t really like your class honestly. But I still re-read some of your comments on my essays on rainy days. You were the first person who made me feel like I could write. And then, that I could write better. I don’t really know if it’s your thing, but I’ve enclosed a copy of my first book of poetry.

Thank you for believing in me.

Cameron ran her finger over the notes — they were all like that. A dozen or so, maybe. Again, she had a hard time squaring in her head that this was the same guy who’d passed out on her mattress wrapped up in his own self-loathing, who’d wanted her to hold him just so he could remember who he really was.

It’s not. This is “Mr. M.”

She smiled. There was no difficulty in imagining the Henry who’d held her — a stranger — when she told him her mother had died. They were all in there — all the Henrys. And she felt privileged to get to see all of them.

A pang of inadequacy reverberated through her, but she did her best to shake it off.

I just don’t know why he’d want me to see them.

Footsteps in the hallway announced his return, and he popped into the dark classroom, grinning immediately when he saw Cameron in his chair.

“Checkin’ out life in the big chair, huh. Give anybody detention?”

Cameron smirked at him and got up. She didn’t really feel like she fit in here. She was even dressed differently with a T-shirt under her nicest tanktop to cover up most of the tattoo on her chest, and the nicest jeans she had — all freshly washed. She’d left her hair down and her bracelets at the apartment, too.

All in all, she felt like she was...

... well, sorta like that dream where I’m in school naked.

He hadn’t asked her to do any of that. But she wanted to try and fit in as much as she could, to find a place in this part of his life. And she wanted to make that as easy as possible.

As she kissed him softly, those kinds of anxieties didn’t dissipate all the way — but they were muted, at least. She searched his eyes — bright, alight. That only confirmed to her that however uncomfortable she felt, this was worth it.

“Why’d you wanna become a teacher?” she asked as they separated.

Henry scrunched up his brow and pursed his lips, giving it some thought. “You know, I don’t really remember anymore, honestly.”

She scoffed. “Come on, you’re not really that old — Mr. M.” She nudged him playfully and he snorted, then sighed, looking up at the ceiling for inspiration on how to answer.

“I guess I haven’t stopped being a teacher because ... I guess I feel like if I were something else — like an accountant or something — would I be a better accountant than the next guy?” He looked back to her now, more confident that he’d found what he wanted to say. “Would whoever I’m, like, accounting for or whatever, would they be like, ‘damn, Jenkins, we sure are lucky Henry’s our accountant!’”

That got a laugh from Cameron.

He shrugged. “I don’t think they would. But ... I definitely know there are kids — well, they’re not really kids anymore — but they’re different today, hopefully better today, because they were in my class and not somebody else’s. So ... how could I possibly go do anything else?”

Henry’s little half-smile tugged at his lips, and Cameron felt herself grin broadly back at her boyfriend. There was so much to admire in his smile — in everything about him.

What the fuck could he possibly admire in me?

Cameron kissed him again, shoving the unwelcome thoughts from her mind, and held his hand as they made their way to the cafeteria.

Teachers and their spouses were milling around in the cafeteria — and Cameron was swaying from foot to foot next to Henry, nervously shooting him glances while a few people took turns coming up to talk with him. Almost all of them were, naturally, female teachers without wedding rings.

Do they exclusively hire single women to fucking teach at this school, Jesus Christ.

However Cameron had wanted this evening to go ... it had not gone that way. Dinner had been ... awkward.

Cameron had done her best. She really had. But it’d started out on the wrong foot when the superintendent greeting everyone at the door consulted whatever cheat sheet he was using and called her “Mallory.”

That kind of set the tone, and things only got worse from there. Everybody in the room seemed to know all this shit she had no idea about. They were all natives to this world, and fluent in its own goddamn language. If she heard one more fucking CBEDS, IEP, or GATE, she was G-FLI — gonna fucking lose it.

They’d sat with Henry’s friends — Heather, Paul, and his wife, LeAnn. Cameron got the impression Heather liked her about as much as every other thirsty bitch in this goddamn place. They all seemed to be staring daggers at her constantly.

As if I need to guess the reason. There’s like four dudes who teach at this school apparently, and all the rest are married. Well, Henry is too, but...

It hadn’t helped that she’d had to be careful not to call him “Henry.” Again, not because he’d asked her to, but just because she wanted to avoid the awkwardness. That would’ve invited focus on the two of them even more, would’ve made everyone look at her under an even more powerful microscope — searching for some explanation about why he was with... her.

She sighed and floated a little closer to Henry while he talked to yet another in the endless procession of smart, effervescent women who shared his interests, values, and profession.

For what felt like the thousandth time tonight, Cameron tried not to look down at what she was wearing.

Everyone had started out by trying to include her in the conversation. But she hadn’t had much to say. She couldn’t even pretend to focus on her food.

She’d grabbed a plain roll and some kind of weird chicken from the buffet that she didn’t finish. And even then, she’d only picked up that much because she didn’t want the attention that came with “oH Is tHaT aLL yOu’RE hAvINg??” or more well-meaning fussing over her — like some kid who was a picky eater. Which ... well, she pretty much was. That only made it worse.

They’d tried to sound interested in her... career at the call center, and then tried to sound even more interested when Henry mentioned she was a nightclub DJ. But eventually they gave up and moved on. Frankly, Cameron was relieved they had. She just wanted to disappear around these people.

She’d been happy to do this — eager, even. She’d volunteered to come because she wanted to be more a part of Henry’s life, but—

Someone put a hand on her shoulder, and she did her best to be polite as she reflexively jerked it away.

All these fucking teachers just love to fucking touch. To try and make a connection or whatever. Probably all think I just need to find a good book that “speaks to me” or discover my latent love for algebra or some shit.

This time the offender was Heather, who motioned to step away from Henry with her. That was about the last thing Cameron wanted to do, but she forced her feet to move and for her face to avoid a deeper scowl — which took all her concentration to do at the same time.

Heather pointed surreptitiously at some of the women who seemed to alternate between not noticing Cameron existed and being resentful that she actually did.

“Don’t worry,” Heather said. “It’s not you. They all just thought they’d be first in line.” She winked and nudged Cameron lightly.

“Huh?”

Heather was patient. “All the teachers who’ve been looking at you like you told them Chris Hemsworth wouldn’t give a shit how their day was? They thought, you know, they’d be first in line when Andrew was single again...”

Cameron stared at her, confused, but not by what she was saying. Although Cameron wasn’t totally certain she could’ve picked Chris Hemsworth out of a lineup.

Why the fuck is she saying this to me? Even if it wasn’t fucking obvious that’s what was going on, why would she tell me?

“Oh,” was all Cameron could manage out loud. Mostly because there was also that other thing: when he was single again.

Fucking Mal.

How many times tonight had someone stopped themselves before referencing his wife? Cameron wasn’t actually sure. Maybe it was just once. Maybe it was 20 times. She didn’t know enough about their shared history to really know. She didn’t know enough about anything here.

Unconsciously, Cameron crossed her arms and shrank a little bit, hunching into herself.

“Hey, Cameron,” Heather said with a smile like the elementary teacher she was, “I know this was kinda intimidating, really. You kinda just got thrown in the deep end here. But seriously, who gives a shit what they think, right?”