“Who is going to the homecoming game on Friday?”

My sixth period class hoots and hollers in excitement. Even the ones less enthusiastic about football no doubt are looking forward to the dance the next night nearly as much as I am. Homecoming is a matchmaker heaven, the exponential growth zone. Catching glimpses of my favorite couples in the hallways between periods is thrilling, but during homecoming all of my students intersect in one place. The unbearably loud music, the hoping-the-teachers-can’t-see-us-groping lighting, the spiked punch we all choose to ignore, the disco ball from the eighties the principle thinks is still hip, the thousand dollar dresses, the pulled-from-the-depths-of-my-father’s-closet tuxes, the makeup that makes every fourteen-year-old look thirty-five—I love it all. Relationships are born, flourish, and die all in one night. If I’m lucky, my eyes may be blessed with a kiss or two.

Sure, Mr. Mayer and Miss Roads may still be fake dating, but I doubt my star football player turned math nerd will completely ignore his faithful tutor, Mr. Rivera, all glammed up. Also, I’m sure to finally catch a glimpse of Miss Lynx’s girlfriend, Isabella Morelli. Billy from Maintenance and Rosa Perez, of course, will be chaperoning with me and even promised to show me the steps they learned in their salsa club. They may claim they are not dating, but then why would they agree to show off their dancing to me, a known shipper? Plus, ever since Principle Peeter’s housewarming party, they’ve been spending more time together outside school than inside. I’m practically giddy with excitement, living my best, most romantic vicarious life.

“Are you coming to watch us play?” one of Mr. Mayer’s teammates asks.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, so don’t disappoint me.”

“Yes, ma’am! We’ll crush them!” There are more shouts of excitement as the class encourages the football player with pats and shoves.

“Don’t forget ladies that Gwen’s Glam homecoming dress sale ends today and it’s important to book hair and makeup appointments early, because spots fill up quickly at the Grandville Mall.”

“Got any advice for us guys, Ms. H?” one of my students laughs.

“As a matter of fact, yes, don’t expect your date to bring the condoms.”

“Ews” and “grosses” fill the classroom, making me snicker at their faux innocence. They’ll appreciate the reminder though when they score lucky.

“Also, if you finish your assignment before the bell rings in ten minutes, you won’t have to work on it tonight.”

Another round of groans and protests are intermixed with, “Can’t you give us one night off?” But I’m not that generous, particularly as ‘Error Analysis’ is already one of the shorter units of the semester. As the teens slowly calm down and busy themselves with work again, I pace between the desks, answering questions as they come up. I stop by Miss Lynx’s chair, noticing her tapping softly on a sheet of music rather than finishing her homework assignment. I crouch next to her as she quickly covers the music with a guilty expression. “Sorry,” she apologizes before I can say anything.

“That’s alright,” I smile to show I’m not angry. “What are you working on?”

With gentle prodding, she moves her arms to uncover the music and show me: Variations on a Theme of Rossini by Chopin. “My performance exam for next period.” 

“I love Chopin. Will you be playing this for a recital?”

“Would you come?” she asks, eyebrows raised.

“I’d certainly like to if you’d invite me.” I wonder if Mr. Wright would go with me. Perhaps he’ll finally open up about his date with Ms. Hart after rudely giving me zero details on the car ride home. All I could get out of the ungrateful cretin was that he “had a good time” and “talked about you”, which is just his way of telling me to mind my own business.

“Well, it’s not guaranteed,” Miss Lynx says slowly. “There’s a competition that if I place I’ll play for the winners’ recital.”

“Then you’ll have to let me know if you win.” 

She nods, smiling shyly.

I could let her get back to practicing, but I’m pretty sure she’s more than prepared for her exam and just in need of a distraction from her nerves. “Are you going to the game this weekend?” I whisper. To my satisfaction, Mr. Rivera, in the seat next to her, slows down to listen to her answer.

“I’m not a huge football fan,” she grimaces.

“That’s too bad,” I don’t hide my disappointment, although perhaps I should have guessed. I’m fairly sure the boy who was harassing her the first time we met is on the team. “What about you, Mr. Rivera?” I smirk as he flinches a little, surprised at being caught listening.

“I– I don’t really have anyone to go with.”

“Well, I’m sure someone will be disappointed if you don’t go.” The resultant blush from my shameless teasing is totally worth it. I could just pinch those cute little cheeks. I restrain myself by heading back to my desk and sitting on my hands for the rest of the class period. Homecoming week always brings out the little girl in me. When the bell rings, I’m only a tad surprised that Miss Lynx loiters as she normally does, waiting to chat with her cousin. I figured she would go straight to her band class, given how nervous she appears about her exam. She mumbles under her breath even now, perhaps reciting notes in her head. “I hope you change your mind about the game,” I say loud enough for her to hear. “I think Mr. Rivera really wants to go with someone.”

“You really aren’t very subtle,” Miss Lynx accuses lightly, rounding the desks to reach mine.

“Subtilty is for hens, not roosters.”

“That can’t be a real Chinese proverb,” she laughs.

“You’re right, I just made it up,” I admit. “But I’m glad I got another chance to talk to you. I met your sister last week.”

“Jemma? I think she mentioned something about my mom’s work party.”

“Yes, to be honest, she told me something that’s been worrying me a bit.”

“Join the club,” she rolls her eyes. “She’s a bit of a menace.”

“Well, this doesn’t really have anything to do with her behavior, per se. I think she saw a wolf near your home.”

Miss Lynx frowns, her head cocking to the side. “Did she say that?”

“Not in so many words, but I know you live out of town and hoped you were all staying safe if there were any sightings in the area.”

“Thanks for the warning,” she says as she notices her cousin entering the classroom, a goth cutie who looks nothing like her. She glances at him and then at me. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll mention it to my aunt.” She rushes up to her cousin, giving him a hug quickly and exchanging a few words before hurrying out of the room. He scrutinizes me with his odd purple-contact eyes, so perhaps they were talking about what I just said. Well, at least, his quick nod seems to say, “
“I’ll take care of it.” I’m glad Miss Lynx has such a good family to depend on.

“I’m going to ask him out,” Ms. Perez tells me and Mr. Wright as we settle into the bleachers. Even thirty minutes before the big game, the homecoming stadium is already filling up with spectators. The chatter all around us will soon make it impossible to hear each other without leaning in very close. 

“Really?” I plop down with a clap, while Mr. Wright mumbles, “Hallelujah,” and takes a bite of his cheesy fries.

“Yes, you’re right. Why should I have to wait on him to take the initiative? I’m a 21st century woman. Plus…” She trails off, picking at her bell bottom jeans. “He told me that some other chick is leaving him treats every week.”

I pause my extraction of blue and gold face paint from my purse. “What?” I lean in, the story just getting way more juicy.

“Yeah, apparently some puta bakes these ‘amazing’ butterscotch cookies and leaves them in the supply room,” Ms. Perez says as I unwind the cap and smear a layer of royal blue on a clean sponge. “He thought it was me.”

Mr. Wright bursts out laughing, slapping his knee. “Looks like you have some competition Rosa.”

“Are you telling me Billy has a secret admirer?” I smile, despite feeling terribly sorry for Rosa. There’s no way whoever it is has a chance with him, but it is sort of funny to think about Billy happily eating cookies he assumed were from his longtime crush, only to find out they were from a complete stranger.

“That’s what it seems like,” Ms. Perez says miserably.

“Don’t worry.” I lift her head with my knuckle to face me and begin applying her war strip. “Billy is totally head over heels for you.”

“¿Yo se, verdad?” she groans. I smirk, quite proud of my friend’s growing confidence. “Which is why I’m not waiting any longer for some other perra to snatch him away.”

“Wow, are you sure you didn’t bake those cookies just to get under her skin,” Mr. Wright whispers to me none too quietly. He ever dares offer me a fry as he makes such accusations, holding it in front of my mouth as if being considerate of my occupied hands. Well, I won’t reject a cheesy fry, even if it’s from a frustratingly evasive traitor.

“As if I would ever stoop to just primitive methods.”

“You would and you know it,” he teases.

I turn towards him, having finished part one of Ms. Perez’s face paint, and grab his chin, jerking his face towards me to give him the same treatment. “Well, I didn’t.”

He looks over my shoulder, telling Ms. Perez as if I’m not there, “Maybe it’s Mei who has new competition, as the resident matchmaker.”

“Ms. Huang,” I correct for the umpteenth time this week alone, smearing thick stripes under his eyes. Behind him, I spot an interesting sight just over the banister. “Oh look,” I discreetly point down below us towards the mouth of the players’ gate. In the shadows, just barely visible from this angle, Mr. Rivera stands close to Mr. Mayer, looking up at him shyly through his thick square glasses. The football player says something that makes him blush. Mr. Rivera lightly touches the tips of his fingers, and Mr. Mayer quickly looks behind himself to see if anyone is watching. He doesn’t look up though before pecking the other boy’s lips. I almost squeal, just barely containing myself as he jogs off towards his teammates in center field.

“Eyes of a hawk,” Mr. Wright shakes his head.

“I knew he liked him back,” I say triumphantly, pulling out my gold face paint. “I just knew it.”

“Of course you did.”

“Who likes who?” Ms. Perez asks, having missed the whole exchange like, hopefully, everyone else.

“Just two budding homosexuals Mei is funü-ing.”

“I’m surprised you even know what that means. Did you look that up just to tease me?” I turn the makeup sponge around to pick up the new color.

“Ah, you caught me,” he grins shamelessly, plopping another cheesy fry in his mouth just as I’m about to apply the glittery paint to his rounded cheeks. I push him away with my free hand, but he catches my hand and licks my palm. “You had some sauce on you,” he says when I quickly retract in horror. What has gotten into him today?

“What if Ms. Hart had seen you do that?” I scold him.

“Then maybe she’d get jealous,” he rolls his eyes. “Hey isn’t that the girl you guilt tripped into coming?” He nods at a turf of auburn hair a few rows down before I can tell him that jealousy is really not a mature way to get a girl’s attention.

Sure enough, Mr. Rivera is squeezing through the aisle to sit next to his friend. Even better, to the right of Miss Lynx, with her arm draped around her shoulder, sits a pretty girl with black braids woven with the school colors. So she finally introduced him to Isabella. It seems like all my couples are going through an exponential growth period, and it’s only October! While I can’t take all or even most of the credit, I sure do enjoy watching them flourish. Their cheers and giggles, whispers and shared snacks, is a much better show than the concurrent football game, and I’ve got the best seats in the house.