I’d Have To Think About It – Leith Ross
been waiting in Rob’s office for a full five minutes before he had even arrived at the school. We heard him come in, saying a cheery hello to the receptionist, before he stopped dead in the doorway. With one glance between us he easily determined that the two of us sitting in his office together, completely unannounced, couldn’t equal anything good for his day.
With a grumble about needing a coffee for this, followed by a quick retreat to the teacher’s lounge, he finally returned, full mug in hand.
“What is so urgent you need a meeting first thing in the morning?” Rob asked.
“$10,000–how much do you want it?” Ben asked, his eyes sparkling with the large offer of money.
He reminded me of a salesman, trying to lure Rob in with the big sparkly headline–but I knew that wouldn’t faze Rob. He was a realist. I had been planning on opening with a softer approach, think of the children and all of that, and it only now dawned on me that maybe we should have taken some time to discuss exactly how we were going to approach Rob about the idea. Rob looked between us, confused by the question.
“Is this where you tell me you’ve found a map to buried treasure somewhere on campus?” he jokes, and while I cracked a small smile, Ben remained serious.
“There’s a competition, it’s all about incorporating the arts with the STEM subjects, to even out the field for funding. And the prize is $10,000 for the winning school,” I explained, trying to steer the ship in a slightly gentler direction.
“We want to enter,” Ben said, again cutting right to the chase.
“Who is we?” Rob asked uneasily, lifting the mug to his mouth to take a sip before jolting back like he’d been scolded by his coffee.
“The Mathletes,” Ben said, catching my attention before adding with a joking smile, “and Olive’s art geeks.”
“We aren’t art geeks,” I argued back, my brows furrowing at him.
“How would you describe your group then?” He caught me off guard, and I mumbled slightly, trying to pull together a suitable response.
“We just… do art.” I could’ve kicked myself. Why did I sound so stupid around him? I made it sound like we scribbled about with crayons for all he knew.
“In your spare time?” His eyebrow flicked upwards with the question, his eyes bright, obviously ready to go in for the kill. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.
“Obviously.”
“Sounds pretty geeky to me,” Ben shrugged, and I rolled my eyes at him.
“At least I’m not the one doing math puzzles all the time.”
“Oh, because drawing doodles in my spare time is worth more than solving complex math problems,” he retorted, a smirk crawling onto his lips.
He was loving this, absolutely delighting in how much of an idiot I sounded like. And to be honest, apart from my absolutely terrible responses, I hadn’t hated it either. It reminded me of our conversations before we decided to be friends, but somehow, this felt different. Somehow, fairer.
“It’s certainly more fun,” I mumbled, unable to control the smile breaking out on my lips.
“Okay, just wait a moment. I thought I cut those groups,” Rob interrupted, reminding me of his very presence in the room.
“You did,” Ben confirmed, recovering with more ease than I did after Rob’s comment.
“So how can they compete?”
“We have enough funding for this semester, then it’s finished.”
“I’ve already told the board the clubs are gone, that will take some explaining,” he said, mostly to himself.
“But imagine also being able to tell them how much the group brought in because it was allowed to continue,” I added, trying to show the brighter side of that awkward conversation.
“Yes; but only if you win,” Rob spoke solemnly, his mouth twisted into a frown.
He was right, there was every chance we would fail, especially with such little time to prepare. The other schools must be miles ahead of us by now, and we still had to decide on an entry project. We were so late in the game, odds stacked so high against us, it would be impossible to win. My hands grew clammy as I pressed my fingernails into my palms, each nail leaving a little half moon indent into the skin under the pressure. I focused on the discomfort of the action, using that to keep me grounded, keep me in the room and to save me from the squeezing band around my chest that pulled and pulled and pulled, the air evaporating from the room, the temperature increasing.
“Such little faith in your students, Rob,” Ben replied nonchalantly, shaking his head at the principal. He continued, sounding almost irritated at Rob as he spoke, “Do you know they brought this to us? This is their idea to save the groups because it’s important to them. I have no doubt they are going to put in the work to prepare for this competition, they are going to give it their all. The least we could do is believe in them.”
He looked over at me then, his eyebrows pressing together for a moment as he took me in, took in my obvious worry, the paleness of my skin–like he could see the doubt written all over my face and couldn’t understand it.
Rob coughed awkwardly, ending the silence that had fallen over the office before speaking again. “Tell me the details.”
I silently passed him the flier we had found online, as Ben launched into a further explanation, going over the sponsors and the event that would be held throughout the day.
Rob looked stressed just taking in the printout “I’ll need to talk to the board. There’s absolutely no budget for any of this.”
“The competition offers separate funding for transport and resources. It’s not much, but it should cover everything we would need. We just need to apply. I’ve spoken to a friend who’s on the committee for the judging board and they said the funding comes through quickly,” Ben rattled off quickly.
That caught my attention, knowing he’d enquired already. Our discussion had only been yesterday which meant he had immediately reached out to his contact. My heart eased at his commitment to this; his belief that this was doable, achievable.
“And the first round is…?” Rob asked
“We have to come up with a project, show art and science working together and send it in as an entry. From there, we’re invited along to compete at the conference,” I answered, trying to make it seem as easy as possible, but Rob saw right through me.
“That part will require volunteers,” Rob stated, his tone dipping further. “And a bus.”
“I know, but the funding will cover the travel. As for volunteers, we’ll try to drum up support with the parents who I’m sure would be happy to support this as it will look good on any college application.” I tried desperately to show this was covered, that this was as cheap as possible for the school, but I knew it wasn’t enough to convince him. I was failing, and I could feel it slipping through my fingers.
My gut wrenched as Rob spoke.
“I’m not so sure,” he sighed, looking at the mountains of paperwork stacked up on his desk. “The budget is so tight this year, if this takes a single cent, we won’t manage to do it.”
I felt like I was going to throw up. I knew this year was going to be hard, every year of teaching had gotten increasingly difficult. But this felt impossible, like we were being dragged through rapids, and fighting it felt useless and impossible. Even though we had the solution, something that could really change things around here for the better, it all felt like it could be for nothing.
“But…” I tried to interject, but he continued.
“I know you’re both passionate–I hear it a lot from student feedback and even the parents like you both. Things right now… they’re just so tight.”
I knew he was trying to be nice, and at his core, he knew what an opportunity this was for everyone, not just the group. But it was his job to be the realist out of all of us, the unpassionate keeper of the budget and crusher of hopeful teacher dreams. I could feel my last shred of hope fading away when Ben piped up, seeming as desperate as I was for this idea to work out.
“Let us apply for funding. It won’t cost anything to try, and then when the funding comes through, we can revisit the entire thing.”
If I didn’t know him better, I would have thought he was begging, grasping at straws trying to keep the hope going, despite how impossible it was all feeling. Rob was silent for a moment, mulling over his thoughts. I looked between them both, impatiently waiting for a response.
“When is the deadline again?” Rob asked, and my heart began to race again, eyes wide with hope. Was this it? Had Ben convinced him?
“We have two weeks to submit the project, then we find out a week later if we’re in. The competition is a few weeks after that,” Ben answered, looking to me for confirmation; I nodded in response.
“That’s not much time,” Rob remarked, and this time it was my turn to pounce.
“But that works in your favor. Less time will mean less opportunity for any costs,” I argued, trying to appeal to his frugal side. “And just imagine how much more you could do if we did win, how much less stressful this year would be.”
He took a moment to think about it, and I looked over at Ben whose eyes were glued to Rob. The expression on his face… it made me know for certain he wanted this as much as I did, maybe even more. I’d never seen anyone look more determined to make something happen.
“Okay. Apply for the funding, come see me as soon as you get confirmation. Not a single cent can be spent before then.” My heart exploded in my chest, relief washing over me but it did very little to release that pressure around my chest. “But no promises, okay?”
“Thank you so much,” I said, looking over at Ben. His eyes were bright and practically sparkling, but it was his smile that caught me in mid breath. Did he always have to look this good when he was happy? I couldn’t find the words to describe how much joy changed him. So bright and happy, and it caused my insides to twist in a way that wasn’t completely unwelcome. He looked back at me, mouthing a small yay at me, before turning back to Rob.
“I must admit, I’m surprised you’re managing to work together on this. Hanna mentioned you’d been getting along and it has been a while since either of you have submitted a complaint about each other.”
“You complained about me?” I asked, my mouth falling open.
“You were too damn joyful, it was very irritating,” Ben shrugged.
I found it impossible to do anything but smile. I had to regain some control over my reactions to him. This was getting out of hand.
“I said you were too moody,” I admitted.
“Among other words that weren’t so clean,” Rob added, and Ben’s smile only grew.
Rob’s desk phone began to ring and he excused himself so he could answer the call.
I leaned down to grab my bag, but found I was blocked by Ben, his body barely inches away from mine. He lowered his head, hanging it near mine. My heart beat furiously at the closeness. His words were soft and quiet enough so only I could hear.
“Talking dirty about your co-worker? I never knew you felt that way about me, Olive.”
His words sparked all kinds of heat around my body, and I barely had time to recover before I spoke, somehow managing to pull together a sensible string of words.
“In your dreams.” God, that really sounded dirty, and I fought the redness that must be flush on my cheeks. I’d said this to him before, weeks ago when I caught him staring at my ass. It felt a million years ago now. We locked eyes and it felt like I was being dragged under by a strong current, completely and utterly absorbed by him.
“How’d you know about my dreams?” His voice was low, almost rough and I might have died inside. He held still for a moment, and I could feel the heat coming off his body. I fought every urge in my body to move closer, to lessen the distance between us. It was like he was the North Pole, and I was a helpless little compass point caught up in his attraction.
Thankfully, my feet remained rooted where I stood, leaving all the moving to him. He turned his head, and it was inches from mine. For a moment, my gaze stuck on his lips before I watched them curl into a knowing smirk. I blinked twice, realizing he had noticed, and I looked straight into his golden eyes, finding them to be a beautiful mix of light hues and flakes of darker brown.
“Ms. Davis, have I caught you staring?” he added, but I couldn’t say anything. My brain might as well have packed up and gone on vacation at the sound of his smooth voice.
“I’m not sure, Mr. Bennett, have I caught you flirting?”
If the words had any effect, he didn’t let me know. The smirk remained, the sparkle in his eyes growing brighter if anything. He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly jumped back, catching me off guard. Rob put the phone down in the receiver, and I was finally torn away from Ben, and over to my boss. My boss, who had been standing literally meters away, while Ben had… had done what? Whispered into me? Flirted while I apparently melted into a puddle?
What on earth was happening?
“Sorry guys, I’ve got a meeting in fifteen. Olive, is now a good time to talk about the other thing?” Rob looked at me trying to be as vague as possible, but it was no use. I could feel Ben’s eyes narrowing at me in question, and I knew I’d never hear the end of it now. I tried desperately to ignore him, knowing if I looked at him again, I would get caught up in his current once more. I needed a straight head, not to be obsessing over Ben Bennett.
“Yeah, please, if you’ve got time,” I said, knowing it was better to get this conversation done and out of the way. Talking about it now gave me less opportunity to chicken out and change my mind.
Ben shifted uncomfortably on his feet next to me, clearly not sure what to do now. I turned to him, burying everything I felt, and this time it was my turn to smirk. “Don’t worry, I’m not complaining about you.”
Relief washed over my words but they didn’t fully erase the curiosity from his features.
“Like I give you anything to complain about,” he joked, sending, my mind into overdrive with the innuendo. “Thanks for your time, Rob. I’ll catch up with you later.” He looked over at me, but I looked away, trying to ignore the racing of my heart. Slowly, he shuffled out of the room, the door softly clicking shut as he left.
“So, should I get the complaint register out again?” Rob asked, his lips pressing into a firm line.
I shook my head, the lump in my throat immovable as I tried to swallow it away. I almost wanted to tell him it was nothing, pretend like it was an issue that had resolved itself and leave as quickly as I could. But I’d made a promise to Dad to talk about it. I owed him that, and that fact alone was the sole thing keeping me in the room.
“My dad and I have talked about it, and we’d like to donate my mom’s piano to the school’s music department.” Rob sat up in his chair, clearly not expecting this. “The department does already have a piano, but this is a vast improvement. And Dad’s willing to pay for the movers, so again, it won’t cost the school anything.”
The piano.
Her piano. It had been her prized possession, bought for her as a wedding gift from her parents, who were now long passed. She had taught countless students with it, taught me with it. How many Sundays had I sat there, next to her, listening to her play? Now the house was quiet, quieter than it had ever been.
I had never thought this was a conversation I’d ever be having, but Dad had asked so gently, his eyes sparkling slightly as he had explained how he wanted to turn her old study into a room for himself, a space that was just his. The house held so many memories, her mark in every patterned wallpaper, every placement of an ornament–everything in the house reminded us of her and he said he didn’t want to erase her. But he needed a room where only he existed, and the study was perfect… apart from the baby grand that stood proudly in the middle.
“Are you sure you want to do this? I didn’t know your mom, but from what you’ve told me I know music was a big part of her life,” Rob said, leaning forward on his chair.
“We’re both sure,” I said quietly. It wasn’t a lie: when Dad had suggested this be the place it went, it felt right, far better than my initial fears of seeing him sell the instrument. “She taught music, and I think she would want the piano to be used to teach. I do have one condition though.”
“Of course.”
“Obviously, the school has budget issues… I want to make sure the school won’t sell the piano without running it past Dad or myself first. I know that might be a lot to ask, but the piano can do a lot of good here. And I know we always need to keep the lights on, but this is important also,” I continued, growing in confidence at my single request. I knew it was a risk the school could still do it, but the reassurance would go a long way.
“That’s all completely fair, Olive. But… I can only make that promise while I work here.”
“I understand,” I nodded. “And I wouldn’t expect the school to hold onto it forever but knowing it will have a home here helps a lot.”
“Well, as long as that’s all fine and the music teachers in the department don’t have any issues with it,” Rob said.
“They don’t, I already ran it past Sarah.”
He nodded his head, then paused. “And you and your dad are completely sure?”
“Yes.” The word was closer to a croak than a confirmation, but he accepted it anyway.
“Then I’d be happy to accept your donation on behalf of the school.”
I let out a sigh of relief, happy the plan was coming together. But at the same time, my heart dipped. I forced a smile to my lips before thanking Rob for his help. I knew this was for the best, best for Dad, best for what Mom would’ve wanted. But was it the best for me?
I pushed the thoughts down, knowing it was too late at this stage for rethinking this. This was a good solution, even if it hurt. The piano wouldn’t be lost to us, in fact it would be sitting under my control. I had to remember that.
I forced a smile and said, “Thank you, Rob. I’ll arrange the movers. I’m sure you don’t have a problem if I organize it all.”
“Of course not.”
“Great,” I replied. “Well then, I best let you get on with your day.” I rose from my chair, collecting my bag from where it sat on the ground and left the office.
“What was that all about?” someone asked, and I turned to the waiting area where Ben was sitting, looking rather comfortable as he leaned back in the chair.
“Jesus, you scared me!” I cried, placing a hand over my suddenly racing heart. “Have you been out here the entire time?” I asked, already knowing the answer. What else would I expect from Ben Bennett.
“I thought I’d wait for you.”
I tried to ignore how that made me feel, my insides turning all fuzzy. I reminded myself I knew exactly why he had waited–and it wasn’t friendship.
“You mean you’d wait for me to try and see what Rob and I had to talk about,” I said, a little snippy but softening the tone with a playful smile. I walked out of the waiting area and down the hall, and he followed me, hot on my heels.
“Something like that,” he smirked. “So, what was it?”
I contemplated ignoring his question completely, finding another topic to push to instead. But I knew better than to try and wiggle out of answering his questions.
“Oh, just details about the dance,” I lied, purposely not looking at him and looking dead ahead instead. I could feel his eyes narrowing at me.
“Really?”
“Oh yeah, we’re all going in for a limo rental if you want to join,” I added, finally looking over at him. His face was difficult to read, his eyes looking ahead. Momentarily, my insides twisted at the lying. I didn’t exactly have a reason to lie, he’d probably hear about the piano at some point… but I’d barely held myself together in front of Rob, and I didn’t feel like I had any more strength for the topic. Not right now, at least.
“Of course! Does that mean I need to buy you a corsage?”
“Do people still do those?” I questioned, unsure if I’d even received one for my own Homecoming.
“Chivalry is not completely dead, Olive.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I said, with a sly smile as I looked up at him. His eyes connected with mine, the playful glint in them not surprising me in the slightest.
“So, are you going to tell me what you had to discuss?” he pressed again. I let out an exasperated sigh. Why did he have to be this way: unable to drop a subject till he’d dragged the truth out of me, till he knew every detail of my life and tortured me with the information.
“Do you understand the concept of a private conversation?”
“I understand it; it doesn’t make me any less nosy.”
“I can see that,” I said under my breath with mild irritation.
I contemplated for a moment telling him, spilling my guts and giving him all the gory details of the meeting, but then a storm of determination rose up, clouding my mind, and keeping me rooted in my choice. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. Not with him, not with anyone. I’d heard the same questions over and over again, and I… I felt so tired. It was hard enough making the decision, defending it felt impossible.
“Honestly Ben, I don’t want to talk about it.” My tone was firm, but even I could hear how drained I sounded, the smiles and laughter from earlier long faded.
I didn’t know what else to say to him as he looked at me. I had to keep reminding myself I owed him nothing. I didn’t have to share every detail of my life, especially if it was already hard enough to talk about. But, his expression made me sad, like he thought I wasn’t sharing because we weren’t friends, or close enough for the talk, when in reality, I couldn’t do it all over again.
“Okay, I’m sorry for pushing.”
My gaze snapped up to him in surprise, his response cooling my guilt, replacing the pit in my stomach with relief. I smiled up at him, it was weak but genuine.
“But I hope you’re doing okay,” he added.
Warmth flooded me, looking up at his perfectly angular face, a reassuring soft smile returning mine.
A strange thought floated around my brain, and I fought an urge to wrap my arms around him, like a string pulling me to him, and hold him in a soft hug.
“I’m fine–mostly. I just don’t want to talk about it.”
“Understood,” he said with a firm nod. And like that, it was dropped. I paused for a moment, struggling to put into words how thankful I was to him for his sudden acceptance of boundaries, before finally changing the subject.
“I need to run, I’ve got a class to prepare for. But next Friday, before Homecoming, are you able to help out beforehand with the setting up?”
He thought for a moment, changing mental gears. “I’ll be busy before, but I’ll be around for the dance.”
“Good, because the seniors last year were successful with spiking the punch and we all had to finish that ourselves and it was dangerous how wrecked we got after,” I grinned, remembering the raucous faculty afterparty.
“I’m surprised that’s allowed.”
“It’s probably not, but try telling Hanna.”
He smiled. “I’ll see you there then.”
I returned the goodbye, before turning and disappearing down the hall, feeling lighter than I had in a while.
