To casual observers of my classroom, it may appear as if I choose students at random to answer questions. A completely random system might actually be preferable for keeping the kids engaged, but I’ve never been one for drawing sticks from a cup like some elementary school teacher. Instead, I rely on more rational and fun methods. At least, fun for me. Today, I am working through all the prime numbered desks.

After 7 comes 11. I cast my eyes over the room, smiling when I see Lucy Roads in the desk I numbered eleven years ago. “Miss Roads, please come plot this complex number,” I say, holding out the oversized electronic pen for her to take.  

Her head snaps up from her phone hidden under her desk. “Sorry, could you repeat the question?”

“This complex number,” I point at the equation displayed on the smartboard. “Please come plot it.”

“Uh, sure.” She stuffs her phone in her back pocket in what I assume is an attempt to be subtle, then stands and takes the pen from me. 

I am pleased when she is able to quickly and accurately solve the problem, so I choose to overlook the fact that she is basically ignoring the lesson. All the students should have learned the basics of complex numbers in Algebra II last year, so this is really just a review. As long as they perform well, I don’t really care. 

“Good job. Ok, now we are going to break into small groups with your deskmates to work on your homework problems for the last fifteen minutes of class. I’ll be walking around to answer any questions you may have.”

Almost immediately, a calming hum of hushed conversation takes over as the teens pull out their workbooks and start dividing the work between their partners. I let myself admire their quiet diligence for only a moment, before I return to my desk to take a swig of water before getting back out there. My throat is always dry the first few days of a new school year. All that talking after two months off really does a number on me. 

I pace the aisles, catching bits of conversation here and there. Predictably much of the chatter is not about mathematics, but I enjoy listening to their small talk. Which classes they think will be easy. Summer vacations they went on. Clubs they are thinking of joining. Teachers they think are cool. 

I hear Dr. Schneider, the AP chemistry teacher, referenced often. An old friend and another conquest of mine. I introduced him to his husband my first year at Grandville. I’m glad he hasn’t lost his touch with the kids, as they all talk excitedly about his unique personality and teaching methods. 

Predictably, no one asks for my help at first in solving their homework problems. It’s still the first week of class and they are shy. I pause, noticing an incorrectly answered question on one of my student’s page. 

“That’s a tricky one,” I point at the mistake. “Is the imaginary part of the number negative or positive?”

“Um… negative?” the boy, Tigan Powls, answers. 

“Exactly. So, which quadrant should it be in?”

“Here?” he redraws the point in the correct place.

“Perfect,” I smile at him and warmth surges through me as he smiles back. It’s so good to be back, teaching again. I move on, correcting more students’ work as I notice mistakes. I encourage deskmates to explain their partners’ mistakes, trying to remind them to help each other. As I assist the students, their side conversations slow down, replaced with actual collaboration. 

Just before the bell, I notice Lucy Roads and her boyfriend, Jason Mayer, idling on their phones. The longer I watch the pair interacting, the more sure I am they are not actually dating. And not just because my gaydar is usually on point. I shake off those thoughts to address the problem at hand: their inattention. However, as I approach their desks, I notice their worksheets completely filled. 

“Done already?” I say in what I hope is a disarming way.

“Yeah, it was really easy,” Miss Roads answers. 

“Well, I’ll try to make the lessons more challenging in the future,” I chuckle earning a quick grimace from the boy beside her. “What about you, Mr. Mayer? Do you feel like you understand everything? Any questions for me?”

He scowls. “No, I’ve got it.” A lie. 

I suck in my cheeks, trying to think what to say. “You’re on the football team, right?”

“Yeah,” he answers in that monosyllabic way I swear only teens know how to replicate. 

“Well, I’m looking forward to seeing you play.”

He looks up at me, taking interest for the first time. “You like football?”

“Well, I don’t have any talent for sports, but I like going to all my kids’ events. After seven years of going to all the games, I’ve picked up a thing or two.”

“Wow, you must have no social life,” Lucy interjects with wide eyes.

My body shakes with a closed-mouth laugh. “None outside this school. So, Mr. Mayer, do you want to go pro-football?”

He scratches the back of his head, shrugging. “I don’t know. I’m not as good as the guys on the super varsity team.”

I nod sympathetically. “I get it. Any thoughts about what you want to do for work?”

He shrugs again, not answering. 

“Well, that’s ok. You’ve still got time to figure it out. Just remember, people live like birds in the woods. When the time comes, each must take flight alone.”

He furrows his brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I’m saved from answering by the bell ringing, signaling the end of class. “We can talk more about it later,” I wave off as he starts packing up his bag. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Mayer, Miss Roads.”

I sigh as the pair leave my classroom, their heads together in a whispered conversation. He really does need to learn to be independent from her, and not just academically. She knows he is depending on her by copying her math homework. Does she also know he depends on her to cover his sexuality? 

“Have you seen Billy since the year started?” I ask Ms. Perez during our lunch break in the teachers’ lounge. She watches me as I transfer two and a half shrimp cheung fun rolls from my tupperware to a plastic plate for Mr. Wright. He mumbles a quiet thanks to me before she finally answers. 

“Not yet,” she says, biting her lip. 

“¿Por qué no?”

“He’s busy, and we have completely different schedules.”

“So?”

“Well, I just haven’t run into him yet.”

I roll my eyes. “So go down to the basement and run into him. Seriously, you don’t have to make up excuses to say hi.”

“I don’t want to bother him by interrupting his work.”

“Trust me. You wouldn’t be a bother. He wants to see you.”

The Spanish teacher raises a skeptical eyebrow at me, obviously not believing a word. 

“Mr. Wright, back me up here. If the person you liked stopped by your classroom to say hi, would you feel bothered?”

He looks at me with wide eyes and quickly swallows down his puffed out cheeks full of food. “Not at all,” he says quickly, then smirking: “I’d actually really like that.”

“See?” I grin triumphantly. 

“That’s different,” Ms. Perez protests. “You are both young. It’s different for us older folks. Bill is more traditional. If he liked me, he would ask me out.”

“The guy who insists on being called ‘Billy from maintenance’ is traditional?” I scoff. 

“Speaking of which, why do you call him by his first name, but not me?” Mr. Wright complains. 

“Hush you.” I swat him away from dipping in my soy sauce and pour some onto his plate. I ignore his frown, turning back to the Spanish teacher. “He likes you. I can tell. He’s just shy.”

“Billy from maintenance is shy?” Mr. Wright asks around a mouthful of shrimp. 

“About this sort of thing? Absolutely,” I nod firmly. “Sure he’s friendly, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get nervous. You know how some guys can get all self-conscious about the dumbest things. He’s probably thinking something useless like, ‘She’s too good for me. What would a beautiful, smart teacher like Señora Perez want with an electrician like me?’”

“Pretty sure he doesn’t refer to Rosa by her last name in his own head.” he mumbles. 

“You really think he sees me that way?” she blushes, ignoring Mr. Wright’s antics just as much as me. 

“Hundred percent.”

“Ok, I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Just remember, the man who waits for a roast duck to fly into mouth will wait a very long time.”

“You know I don’t understand your English idioms.”

“It’s actually a Chinese—”

“Incoming,” Mr. Wright interrupts. 

I look in the direction of his gaze. Mrs. Neilson, my collaborative teacher, stops right in front of our table, her gaze roaming over my lunch and then over Mr. Wright’s. She sniffs once and then says, “Ms. Huang, I stopped by your classroom this morning during our preparation hour, but you were teaching. What’s the meaning of this?”

I push down my annoyance at her tone, forcing an easy smile. “I asked Principle Peeters to move my preparation hour to fifth period this year.”

Her brow twitches slightly. “How are we supposed to plan lessons if we don’t share a preparation hour?”

She means copy my lessons. Not that I really care. “Well, I already have all my plans for the year, so I’ll just email them to you.”

“All of them? For accelerated and standard paths?” she sputters. 

I breathe out of my nose slowly before answering, preparing for the storm. “I am not teaching any standard paths this year.” Her expression darkens, so I hasten to add. “But, I can send you some of my old materials if you are having trouble planning. They might be a little out of date, but—”

“We are supposed to work together. I can’t believe Peeters agreed to this.”

I sigh, rubbing my forehead. Maybe if I was a better person I would be encouraging Neilson to be more independent, just like I encourage my students. But… I really hate confrontation, so it is easier to just let her be dependent on me. 

“I don’t see why you’re so upset,” Mr. Wright says in a dark tone I’ve never heard before. I whip my head up to look at him with wide eyes. “Now that you don’t have to check in with Ms. Huang during your preparation hour, you have more time to feed that disgusting habit of yours.”

Oh. Snap. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mrs. Neilson defends hotly. 

“What I find difficult to believe is not that Principle Peeters would change a tenured teacher’s schedule to whatever she wanted, but why he overlooks the smell of smoke on a greenie like you.”

Mrs. Neilson’s face turns bright red, but to my surprise, she doesn’t even try to defend herself. Instead she pointedly turns away from Mr. Wright, plasters on a tight smile, and says thinly to me, “If you could just email me the materials you have, that’d be great.”

“Yep, no problem,” I quickly agree before she stalks away. 

“What a bully,” Ms. Perez mumbles. 

“Seriously, why do you let her push you around?” Mr. Wright touches a hand to my shoulder in an oddly comforting gesture. 

I breathe in and out, steading myself. “It’s fine. She is just going through that new teacher adjustment period. It’s a lot of work when you first start out at a new school, so she probably thinks it’s unfair how easy I appear to have things.”

“Being new doesn’t give you the right to be jealous of people more experienced,” he says coldly, shaking his head. “Trust me, I should know.”

“No, but neither does someone being rude give you the right to be rude back.” 

He removes his hand quickly from me, as if burned. 

A touch of guilt flickers across my mind. I shouldn’t have scolded him. “Sorry. I appreciate you defending me.”

A too bright smile returns to Mr. Wright’s face, quickly replacing his gloomy demenior. “You’re welcome.” His eyes glint with a mischievous light. “But now I’m curious. Did you ask for a different preparation hour just to avoid her? Or was it actually because you wanted to spend extra time with me during my preparation hour?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I laugh. “I just prefer having a lighter afternoon with only two classes after lunch. Like… what’s that word, Ms. Perez? Where they take a break in the middle of the day in hispanic countries?”

“Siesta?”

“Yes, I like having a siesta in the middle of the day.”

“A workaholic like you?” Mr. Wright teases. “I can’t imagine you napping ever.”

I wouldn’t call myself a workaholic, but… he’s not wrong about napping. When did I last take a nap? Sometime in the 90s? I wave away the memories of kindergarten nap time, refocusing on my purpose in the teachers’ lounge. 

“Either of you seen any new teachers this year?”

“Not in my department,” Ms. Perez shakes her head. “But I heard the English department got a complete overhaul after the HSAP scores last year.”

“There’s one of them now,” Mr Wright says under his breath nodding towards the most lovely woman I’ve ever seen. Wheat-colored hair, delicate features, pink bow lips. I can see why he noticed her. She’s perfect. Ring check? None.

“Wow. Is it just me or is she really pretty?” I address the question to Mr. Wright, waiting expectantly for him to answer so he knows it isn’t rhetorical. 

He gives me an odd look before turning away, and I swear he might be blushing, “You shouldn’t say stuff like that. People might get the wrong idea.”

“Oh, come on. You know I’m not interested in people like that.”

He puffs out his cheeks, pouting, but doesn’t object. 

“I’m just saying, objectively: do you think she’s pretty?”

“Well, I think you’d have to be blind to not think she’s attractive,” he grumbles. 

Finally. Success! I grin, wildly happy to finally have confirmation that he is attracted to women. With how flirtatious he is, I assumed, but I couldn’t be sure as he usually refuses to rise to my baiting. 

“We should invite her to eat with us,” I say, ready to wave her over, but Mr. Wright grabs my hand. 

“No, I’ve— I’m going to go back to the orchestra room early to… plan.” He grimaces around his lie, and I suppress a smirk at his obvious discomfort. So cute. Acting all shy. 

“Then I’ll head back too,” I say, packing up my empty container. 

“With me?” he asks.

“Sure, if you want. Let’s just stop by my classroom to pick up my laptop.” He nods agreeing, and I smile, happy he isn’t too upset with me for my obvious matchmaking attempt. “Be sure to stop by the workshop to say hi to Billy,” I point a wagging finger at Ms. Perez, reminding her of her commitment. 

“No te puedo decir que no,” she says rolling her eyes. 

“I have no idea what that means, but I’m gonna assume that’s a yes.”

“I’m pretty sure she said no at least twice,” Mr Wright leans over to whisper. 

“Yeah, I heard that too, but in mathematics two negatives make a positive, so I’m pretty sure it’s still a yes. Right, Ms. Perez?”

“Claro.”

I squint my eyes at her. “Ok, you know what, I’m just gonna keep pestering you until you talk to him.”

“Come on, Cupid,” Mr. Wright grabs on my arm, dragging me away from the table. 

“I’m watching you,” I mouth as we walk away, gesturing with my two fingers at my eyes and then at her. 

And honestly, I am. I might not be as upfront with everyone about my intentions as I am with Ms. Perez, but I’m always watching. Waiting for the perfect moment to bring together the perfect match. 

I buzz with excitement just thinking about the way Mr. Wright blushed when I called the new teacher pretty. Could she be the match I’ve been waiting for?