Invisible String: Chapter 19

“Is this more what you had in mind?”

I looked across the hall, and the students gathered around where we’d set up a rudimental green screen. Sophia was sitting in the middle, dressed up in a golden blanket, a blue and white head wrap keeping her hair out of her face, and a small but noticeable pearl earring in her lobe.

“Yes, that costume is great! We’ll need to alter the lighting slightly to be darker but you’ve really captured how it’s supposed to look.” I smiled, really seeing the vision come to life. “What’s the STEM element of this one supposed to be again?” I asked, turning to Thomas, He checked his clipboard before answering.

Ever since the students had pitched Ben the idea that following Monday, we’d been working nearly non-stop. Me of course giving feedback on the art side of things, while Ben managed the STEM elements. It was, in a word, exhausting. Between this and my regular teaching schedule and the increased medication, I was barely functional at the end of the day. I’d resorted to mainlining a can of Red Bull in my car on the way home so I had enough energy to cook with Dad, something that had become part of our routine of living together. He wouldn’t question why I was so chatty or jittery, instead enjoying the hyperactive version of his daughter that had been lost since Mom.

But then I’d crawl into bed, pulling the covers over my head and waiting, waiting, waiting for sleep that wouldn’t come until the small hours of the morning, and I would be so restless I might as well have not gone to bed at all.

“The background’s going to be a chalkboard with an equation, and she’s writing the answer,” Thomas recounted, looking around as the familiar squeaky wheeling of a blackboard sounded from the hall..

“Sounds great, I’ll let you guys set it all up.” I smiled, pride welling ever so slightly.

I had never imagined the groups could ever merge this well, and the last few weeks had really blown my expectations out of the water. Today was the first day we were shooting, with more photos being taken tomorrow. We would be submitting the project on Friday, with the competition next week. It was nothing short of tight, but the students were really motivated.

The door to the hall swung open, and I saw him come in, my heart skipping a beat as I took him in. I tried desperately to keep my gaze glued to the group of students, who were now trying to draw the equation on the blackboard.

I hadn’t been avoiding him as such, life had done that for me. We worked together extensively during the day– he’d pop across the hall in between classes to pitch ideas for the group project, to discuss revision details, or to even just complain a little about his last class. And I liked it, it was nice to have another friend and have somebody to share the load of this project with. Sometimes it felt like he took on more than his fair share of the work, which made me feel terrible sometimes but mostly grateful.

But after school, we were both feeling the pressure, and apart from texting, I hadn’t seen him to properly talk outside of school since that morning in the coffee shop. It didn’t mean the heat between us had dissipated whatsoever. The connection was still so clear whenever he walked in the damn room and I had to use every ounce of my control not to look his way and allow myself to tumble down that usual daydream that started with his lips on mine.

“Sorry I’m late.” Ben walked over to me, but kept his sights set on the students. I tried my best not to look at him, tried my best not to think about how good he had looked earlier when I’d caught a glimpse of him between classes. Even after an entire day of teaching, he barely looked undone, even though he had loosened his tie, undone the top button, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. “I had to keep some students back. Is it just me or was today the worst?”

I chuckled at him. “I think they gave them ice cream at lunch.”

“That explains it.” His smile landed on me, and I was weak and caved, basking in the sunshine he sent my way. “How have they been getting on?”

“Fine, I’ve been trying to let them get on with it themselves. We managed to get the Mona Lisa one wrapped up pretty fast, and this one shouldn’t take long– although they might need your help with the equation in the background.”

He nodded, his gaze returning to the group trying to tackle the equation.

My traitorous eyes flickered down, landing on his lips. The memory of the night of Homecoming had firmly burned itself into my hippocampus. How it had felt when our lips met, when he pulled me on top of him and my body had wrapped itself around his. How it felt to give in to him. Or when he gave in to me. I shifted uncomfortably on my feet, trying to distract myself from the memories for not the first time today.

Ah, the curse of great sex.

“Mr. Bennett, can you help them with the equation? Connor and Adam are arguing about the rounding on the answer,” Thomas asked, calling over from the group. Immediately Ben nodded, his teacher’s tone turning on as he asked them what the problem was.

He so easily slid into friendly conversation with them all, his shoulders slack and relaxed as if this was the most natural thing in the world, like today hadn’t already been completely draining. They crowded around the blackboard, Ben finding the teaching moment in this rather than just writing out answers to the equation.

“Ms. Davis, can we get a few photocopies of this please? It would be great to hand these out.” Thomas handed me the check sheet plan of each photo we had planned, pulling me out of my reverie.

I smiled at him, nodding happily. “How many do you need?”

“Ten, if that’s okay?”

“Sure,” I replied, sparing a final glance over at the group.

All eyes were still on Ben as he toyed around with them, making jokes with some of the students, and not just the Mathletes I was becoming more familiar with, but with some of the students from my art group too. He always included everyone, never being dismissive if they didn’t know the answer or didn’t have the courage to try. Instead he tried to find a way to explain the problem, speak their language. It was still math of course, but he had a way of breaking it down that was so easy I was sure that if I let him, he could get me to understand algebra and differentials in a way my own high school teachers had failed. And math wasn’t even his subject.

I finally tore myself away, heading out of the large room and towards the copier.

Switching on the light to illuminate the tiny room I could’ve sworn used to be a supply closet, I groaned internally at the sight of the aging monster of a machine. I wasn’t good with technology at the best of times, let alone when they were close to a decade old and generally known by others to be uncooperative. And this machine was no different.

“Are you going to work for me today… or are you going to eat this piece of paper and make me want to murder you with a hammer?” I muttered as I stepped closer to the machine, saying a silent prayer it would work, just this once, for me. I loaded the paper in, selected the correct options, and held my breath as I waited for the controls to catch up. I knew the machine needed time to process, knew I needed to count to five to give the computer time to process the oh so simple command I had requested

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

1000 copies the display read, and I huffed frustratedly as I stamped on the back button, the number obviously wrong. When the display didn’t change, I pressed the button again, and gave it a second to catch up. I counted in my head, knowing myself well enough to expect impatience, before debating whether I should press the button again. What if the button was broken and therefore the command hadn’t been registered? I decided to push very firmly onto the backwards button, and the display went blank. I let go, cursing under my breath as I peered at the blank screen.

What was it doing now? Why wouldn’t the piece of junk work? I kicked the machine in frustration, my foot connecting with the indented plastic from multiple kicks before. No wonder this machine barely worked anymore.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, pulling my attention from the bastard copier. I pulled it out, checking to make sure there were no students hanging around. They always annoyingly made a big deal of it when they caught us on our phones, so it was easier to do it when they weren’t there.

It was Rosa, and my brows furrowed in wonder. I had been texting with her a little since Hanna brought her up, but we hadn’t been able to arrange anything to properly catch up. Unsure if it could be some sort of emergency, I pressed the green button without another thought.

“Hey! How are you? How’s Laura?” I asked, placing the phone in the crook of my neck so I could return my attention to the evil copier.

“Hi, we’re both good thanks! It’s been a bit crazy since the engagement, but she’s been wonderful. It’s been a while since we’ve spoken,” she said, her friendly tone lessening the guilt slightly.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’ve been… busy,” I apologized, but I knew I’d been a terrible friend. She had been sending updates to when she could talk, but my schedule between Ben and this project and life had been nothing short of chaotic. But still I should have been better. I should have been there.

“Don’t worry, Hanna filled me in.”

“What exactly did she tell you?” Her words filled me with a slight dread. I’d of course spoken to Hanna, and she knew not to blabber mouth about me and Ben. But she still could have slipped up.

“Just that you’re doing this STEAM event too. Why? Is there something else she should be updating me on?” I could practically hear her wiggling her eyebrows at me down the line. I grinned at the image, missing my friend.

“Nope, just that,” I said quickly. “Are you in the competition too?”

“Yeah, I guess we’ll be competing against each other. But surprisingly, I didn’t call to ask about the competition or to hound you about your lack of texting.” I looked up from the copier, giving her my undivided attention. “How are things? At work, I mean.”

I sighed. Rosa had been the person I complained to about work things, especially budget cuts. I’d felt a bit awkward going to Hanna about those things, considering her husband was the one making the decisions, and I didn’t want to put her in a weird space between the two of us. So instead, I’d vented to Rosa when she worked there, and best of all, with her being a department head, she had understood exactly what I was talking about. “Same old really. If you didn’t think things could get any worse than while you were here, then you’d be wrong.”

“I heard they were cutting your group. I remember how much you loved it,” she said sadly, causing my own heart to sink a little bit more.

Hanna must have filled her in on that too. It was hard to fight the reminder that this could all be over, that all this effort and time could be for nothing if we didn’t win. I hadn’t thought about that possibility in a while, being distracted by Ben’s ability to stay laser focused on the end goal.

I’d asked him one night if he really thought we had a chance. It was after a particularly long day, and we didn’t leave the school until it was dusk, the streetlights all starting to flicker on. He pondered on it for a moment, pressing his lips together as he took his time to evaluate everything, how it was all coming together and how his students were performing.

I’d started to get impatient, rolling my eyes at him and pressing him for an answer. His words still played on my mind. I still held them close when it was four in the morning, and I’d been overthinking every single aspect of the project.

“I trust our kids, Olive,” he’d said eventually. “They’re smart and dependable, and they care about this way more than we see, maybe even more than we do. I think we win either way because we’ve given them the best chance we could, and because the greatest reward could be having students that care back.”

I’d stood frozen, not sure how to respond, not sure how I could keep looking at him when this seemed to be so easy for him, so effortless. Sure he was tired from a heavy day, but he wasn’t exhausted. He didn’t feel like this place, this job, this environment was scooping him out piece by piece until he was hollow, and nothing but an empty vessel of what he used to be.

He never did ask me if I was confident, and I was grateful for that. It wasn’t that I had no confident or optimism about our chances. I was just afraid to be.

“Trying to, but we’re looking for funding. That’s why we’re doing the competition,” I explained, trying to move on from the memory.

“Well… there’s an opening here for an Art department head,” Rosa said, catching me completely off guard.

And I don’t know why, couldn’t begin to explain, but my first thought was Ben. His face instantly formed in my head, his slight smile that was so familiar to me now, his golden hazel eyes all lit up. My heart squeezed at the thought, before fear washed it away.

“And of course,” Rosa went on. “I told them I knew the most perfect Art teacher who would make a fabulous addition to our staff, and basically ranted about your amazingness to the principal. Right up to the point where I was asked to reach out and see if you wanted to interview.”

I didn’t answer immediately, just tried to process it. A new school, was that the solution? My stomach tightened at the thought. I knew I’d been struggling here, even before the summer, before Mom and the final cuts to the budget. Things had been closing in on me for a while. But I’d always found a way to keep my head above the water, keep my legs kicking. This year, I felt like I’d been drowning with tiny gasps of air.

And the vice principal job… I wasn’t sure how likely that was. There were no reassurances there, and worse yet, what if I got it and it was the same shit, the same problems but bigger. More pressure and no relief valve and no way out.

Being with Ben, being around his optimism for the project, not to mention the distraction of him too, had me feeling like I’d finally come up for some air. But could I rely on that? Could I rely on him to keep me floating when nothing was set?

And then there was the reminder this shouldn’t be this hard. That right at the start, it had felt fun and good. But year after year it got worse and worse, and I knew without this competition, there would be no light at the end of the tunnel.

“When would the interview be?” I finally asked. “And would it be in person?” The questions were automatic. Information first, freak out later.

“Next week if possible? And over Zoom would be fine, with the distance.”

The distance. I forgot about that. This job would mean a move, the commute far too long. Dad… would be fine. I’d worry endlessly but I knew he’d be okay. I could visit at the weekends and call all the time, but ultimately the plan to stay with him was never supposed to be long term. Staying at your parent’s house in your late twenties wasn’t cute. The real question would be if I was okay? Okay with leaving him and the protective cocoon I had found myself in.

“Okay,” I said, really trying to summon a sliver of courage. “Sign me up. I’ll do it.”

“Yes! I knew you’d be interested!” Rosa exclaimed down the line. “And just think about it, we could be working together again!”

I knew she was grinning, and I could hear the joy in her voice. And I wanted to feel the same way, wanted to agree and feel excited at the possibility of something new.

“I’ll email you over some details, and I’ll arrange the time,” she pressed on. “Can we catch up in a few days and run a mock interview?”

“Sounds good! I’ll call this time, I promise.”

“You better! I’ll let you go now, but this is a great opportunity, Olive. I know you’ll smash this.”

“Thanks, Rosa,” I said, really meaning it. It felt good she’d thought of me and had reached out despite my general terribleness. “I promise I won’t let you down.”

With a goodbye, she hung up, still squealing as she did.

I stood frozen for a moment, still processing what I had agreed to. This was fine. This was a good idea. It wasn’t running away. It was something new, and deserved, and something that would make this all feel do-able again. I’d get there, get excited. I just needed time.

“Tut tut tut, should you be on your phone, Ms. Davis?” I turned, and found Ben leaning against the doorway, a playful smirk lighting up his face.

“You gave me a heart attack!”

“Who was calling?”

“Oh…” I trailed off, my attention flashing down to the phone in my hand. Panic, pure panic overrode my senses and before I knew it, the lie was slipping out. “Just Dad about dinner.”

I couldn’t tell him about the job. If he knew I was leaving, even considering the idea… would he understand? The chance he wouldn’t was enough to convince me the little white lie was a better plan. I decided then to keep this to myself. I would tell him when there was something to tell. This was nothing, barely even a chance. And even if I got the offer, I wasn’t sure I’d take it.

“Are you done using that?” he said, motioning to the useless piece of junk in front of me, pulling me from my train of thought.

“I think it hates me.”

He chuckled and came into the room, his body filling up the small space, closing me in and bringing him deliciously close to me. “Can I take a look?”

“Be my guest. I can never get this thing to work anyway.” I stepped aside, trying to make room in the cramped space but he was too big, his body pressing to the side of mine.

Dirty, dirty thoughts flew through my mind at the soft touch, erasing all other sentient reasoning.

“Or apparently any technology,” he said, quietly, his voice sending goosebumps down my skin. Sweet merciful Jesus, it should be against the rules for us to be alone anywhere in this building.

“It’s not me, it’s too old.”

“You need to be patient,” he instructed, and God, it was hard to follow that advice. Impossible, in fact. Entirely an unreasonable suggestion on his part. I could feel the heat of his body against mine, could feel his eyes on me–wanted more than just his eyes on me.

“I was!”

He looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “I don’t believe you for a second.”

“Well, I tried to be.”

He chuckled again, the serious air between us dissipating. I leaned on the machine as he pressed the same buttons as I did, watching him to see if there was anything he did differently. For one, he didn’t kick the machine out of annoyance. Maybe it did hate me?

All of a sudden, the machine jumped to life, eating up the piece of paper and spitting it out on the other side before it began to hum even louder and to print the copies I needed.

I looked up at him, and could hardly comprehend the entirely far too smug look on his face. Words failed me, my brain basically goo at the sight of him. So instead, after a quick glance over his shoulder, I reached up, right onto the tips of my toes, and wrapped my hand around his neck, softly pulling him down, closing the gap.

The kiss was soft, intentionally slow, our lips gentle against each other. Just an innocent kiss, bodies pressed close together. It took all my strength to pull away, smiling slyly up at him, my free hand grabbing the copies that had finished printing.

His eyes were wide with surprise as he looked at me, but I slid past him before he had time to react, his body following me.

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Bennett,” I said sweetly, and then I left, disappearing out of the room before he even had a chance to think about following me, knowing his eyes were on me, knowing I’d left him wanting more.

But it wasn’t until I was halfway down the corridor that I realized how much he made me forget about everything. About this place, my anxieties about the future–and Mom. When I was around him, he swept me up, gave me shelter and space to breathe and escape. I missed it, longed for it.

I kept walking, forcing myself to go down the hall and not return to that old copier room and find somewhere else darker and more secluded. I tried to figure out truly how deep I had fallen, and how much it was going to hurt when I finally hit the ground.