Daylight – Harry Styles
to me as I walked over to where he was standing beside the familiar school bus. It took all my strength to not melt into the ground at the sound of that old taunt that used to have me spiraling in frustration, but now had my heart beating in a delighted frenzy. His eyes had a daring glint as I stopped beside him, keeping some professional space between us despite the fact we’d woken up in the same bed this morning.
“Mr. Bennett, good to see you could make it.” I somehow managed to keep an obvious grin from breaking out on my lips.
I’d planned to leave his apartment extra early without waking him up so I could get a shower and a change of clothes from my own home, but once again he’d been up before me and had a thermos of freshly brewed coffee ready.
“I hope you got a good night’s sleep,” he smirked, a playful glint in his eyes, his hands in the front pockets of his perfect tailored navy slacks. Like me, he was wearing a thick coat and scarf. A dusting of snow had fallen overnight, with more forecast to be coming our way.
“It was the weirdest thing, my mattress was all lumpy and uncomfortable,” I said, feigning disgust.
“Hey, that’s Ikea’s cheapest mattress you’re insulting!” He tried to look annoyed, but that bright smirk persisted.
I continued, ignoring his retort. “And I had the weirdest dream. I think you were there.”
The smile twisted, turning flirty and verging on inappropriate in a work setting. “Do you want to elaborate on these dirty dreams you’ve been having, Ms. Davis? I’m more than happy to listen and take notes.”
He sent my heart into a quick flurry. I wondered if he still tasted like the minty toothpaste I knew he’d used.
“Ms. Davis!” Frank, the bus driver behind me shouted. “We best be making a move, this snow is really going to slow us down.”
I’d been glad this morning when I’d seen the weather forecast that we had Frank as our driver. He was one of the more experienced bus drivers the school employed and had battled more than a few storms in his lifetime. However, I still itched to keep obsessively checking the weather every few minutes in case the storm changed direction. So far, there was no luck.
I nodded at Frank and took in the school parking lot that was full of parents huddled around their children, making sure they were all ready to go.
“Alright, if you could make your way onto the buses, we can get out of here,” I shouted to the group, who looked half frozen to death standing in the icy wind.
A few students hugged their parents goodbye and headed over. Ben and I marked them off as they filed inside the buses.
Almost all the students in our groups would be coming along, with everyone wanting to help out to keep the club going–or maybe they just wanted a trip away from the school. Their reason hadn’t mattered so much to me, it was heartwarming to have so many willing to take part. We’d been kept pretty busy by them but I’d never get over how easily Ben interacted with the students. He got them, joked with them, and made his boring ass subject interesting to them.
“Good morning, Mr. Bennett.” Jenna appeared in front of us, her finger turning her blonde hair as she stared hungrily at Ben. For seven in the morning, she looked amazing, her hair in perfect undone curls, a perfect amount of blush and highlighter on her cheeks. I, in comparison, had grabbed the first clean school appropriate sweater I could find and had barely had time to dry my hair let alone style it. “Hopefully that snow holds off till we get to the conference,” she added, smiling brightly at Ben.
I knew that smile, flirty and alluring. Just yesterday, it had caused me to spiral into a well of jealousy, a wild and frenzied anger following up the emotion. And today, side-eying her as I tried desperately to keep my concentration on the kids piling inside the bus, that hurt and rage threatened to spill over again.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I heard Ben reply, dry and unentertained. He turned away from her, sending a little nudge to me instead. Instantly, I cooled, the rage turning to a simmer at the contact.
I watched as her shoulders stiffened, visibly taken back at his lack of flirting. She shook it off and joined the crowd to get on the bus.
“Good to see you, thanks for volunteering,” I said, moving the conversation along as she passed me. I fought to keep the smile on my lips pleasant. The smile she returned was not so kind.
“Glad to be here,” she answered, an edge of snarkiness lining her words before she turned and made her way onto her bus.
“Does this happen a lot?” I asked, looking over at Ben as the last of the kids got on the bus. He raised an eyebrow in question. “Parents making a move on you?”
“A little,” he said, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. My stomach sank further for him, seeing clearly he was underselling how often it happened. “I always shut it down, but it’s hard when I’m trying to have a conversation about their kid’s performance.”
“Have you ever reported anyone?”
“No,” he replied quickly. “Nobody’s ever pushed it, and I wouldn’t want to embarrass the kids like that. Usually it’s just a few flirty comments, and I end it with that signature scowl you used to love so much.” Snowflakes began to fall around us, but somehow I wasn’t feeling the chill anymore. Not when his hand rose to my face, his back turned to face the bus, covering us from any prying eyes as those calloused hands wiped half melted snowflakes from my rosy skin.
“You have nothing to worry about,” he said gently, his expression caught between loving and serious. And I knew what he meant, but that wasn’t what I thought of.
“I want you to be mine, Olive… I want to be the only one who gets to hold you, gets to keep you.”
His words from last night had been ringing around my brain all morning. It was easy to relax around him, to return his smiles and little flirtations.
But it was just as dangerous to let it continue. He knew how I was doing, he’d let me know as much last night, and must’ve known there was no way I wanted a relationship, that I couldn’t offer him half of what he deserved. But I’d muddied the water by kissing him, by begging for his touch. He was only supposed to be a distraction, but this was quickly turning into something more.
As I looked up at him, I made the decision to talk to him after. I’d get the competition out of the way, and try to make this clearer. I didn’t want to lose him, not when being with him was the only time I felt like I could breathe, but I also didn’t want that one space to become suffocating too.
“Come on, we better get going,” I said, nodding to the bus. He agreed, making his way to the stairs.
“Stay positive, Olive. We can do this,” he added, looking at me for a moment before disappearing onto the bus.
His words lingered as I turned and looked at the school, the morning still too early for any other students. I needed him to be right, needed to have his confidence in us, in our group.
Because if we didn’t win… then it was all over.
What would I have then?
“Left! Go left!” One of the parent volunteers shouted from behind us, directing us as we raced through the hotel attached to the conference center, trying desperately to make it in time for the first competition.
About an hour into the journey, we’d been forced to take a detour because of a crash, and it had cost us precious time. Between that and the near constant need to stop because of people needing to go to the bathroom, we were running desperately late. I’d thought Ben’s head was about to explode when we were cutting through the traffic trying to get here, taxis cutting us off at every turn. I was just grateful he wasn’t the one driving.
I looked behind me, counting in my head the total in our group to make sure we hadn’t accidentally lost anyone along the way. As soon as the bus pulled up outside the hotel we’d run, quickly shouting instructions to Frank about when it was all supposed to wrap up. The people at reception had looked at us with blank faces before they realized why we were here, and gave us the instructions and a map of how to find the center.
“Third door on the left!” Another instruction delivered just in time from a parent. I paused for a moment outside the double doors, looking back at the parent who nodded in confirmation. One deep breath in, and I pushed the doors open.
Thankfully, nobody had settled just yet. There was a crowd of competitors around the stage but plenty of people were still broken into other groups.
“Ma’am are you here to compete?” an official looking person asked me, the lanyard around their neck confirming my suspicions.
“Yes,” I smiled, and introduced myself with a handshake, telling them which school we were from.
I must have looked like a complete mess from all the running–I was still surprised I could talk. The usher showed us to a desk, where we all quickly checked in and registered the groups.
We had broken everyone up into four teams: one for the art subjects, another for the math, and a third for the science competitions. We had also pulled together a fourth team that would deal with some of the more mixed competitions throughout the day and the final round, hopefully meaning we’d have enough points to swing the competition our way if the day didn’t go to plan.
Everyone was issued a lanyard with a label to identify them as student, volunteer or teacher, as well as an identifier of what team they belonged to. I was with the art group, along with one of the parent volunteers. Meanwhile, we’d entrusted the mixed team to Ben.
We all gathered towards the front of the room as a speaker made their way towards the mic on a small platform. I scanned the group of people standing at the back for any familiar faces, but they were all strangers to me. They all looked like professionals, their clothes high-end designer that were definitely out of reach on a teacher’s salary. Ben, however, perked up at the sight of one of them, and waved when he caught his attention. The older man smiled back at him, friendly and full of recognition. I nudged him when they broke eye contact, bringing his gaze down to me.
“Do you recognize anyone? Maybe get us a bit of an advantage?” I joked innocently, smiling up at him.
He laughed. “There’s no luck in that. See him?” he said, turning back to the stage as he pointed back at the older man, who was now settling into a row of chairs set out on the stage in front of a mic. I nodded “He’s my old professor, from when I tried to do my PhD.”
I paused, my eyebrows furrowing together as I tried to recall if I already knew this nugget of information.
“I didn’t know you tried to do a doctorate?” I looked up at him, his gaze still stuck ahead as he took his seat.
“I didn’t last long, I was a year in when I dropped out,” he said with a relaxed shrug. Ben finally looked at me then, his face giving nothing away.
“How come?”
He pulled back slightly at the question, hesitating before he spoke. I’d never seen him like that before, calculating what he wanted to say before he revealed too much. At his reaction, I regretted asking the question and digging too deep into his past before he was ready to give anything away.
“It’s… it’s complicated. I met my wife while we were both in college. I wanted to carry on, while she left and got a job in research. A year in, she got a promotion and had to move states,” he explained, looking at me, his eyes on mine. He turned his attention back to the stage. “I dropped out and followed her.”
I tried my best to listen to every word he was saying, not sure what I could ask. What could be too far after he’d set that boundary last night? What would have happened if he hadn’t followed her and had completed his PhD? Where would he be if he had completed it? Definitely not teaching science to high schoolers, that’s for sure.
“I always meant to go back, but it was difficult to restart after I left,” he said. “Dr. Carlson–he was my advisor for my first year–tried to tell me I was making a mistake. But marriage is tricky and not exactly conducive with long distances. I followed her, found a job in research I hated, and tried to be happy. When it ended, and after a lengthy conversation where I told him I didn’t want to return to my PhD, he suggested teaching.”
“Why didn’t you want to go back to your PhD?” I asked.
“It’s intense, to say the least,” he explained. “After years out of education, I didn’t think I’d adjust to that level of work again.”
I nodded, still processing everything he had told me. He noticed my quietness and leaned closer to me.
“But it turned out to be a good decision. I enjoy teaching. It has its problems, but I like to think I’m pretty good at it.” He sent me a reassuring smile my way, and I returned it, no matter the misunderstanding it caused.
He had such confidence in his skills as a teacher, and it was deserved. I’d seen it firsthand how he engaged his class and kept them on their toes. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. And once upon a time, I wouldn’t have had any trouble relating to him, would’ve agreed and put myself in the same category.
But now… now doubt crept in at the edges, weariness from years of giving this job every bit of myself and getting less and less in return.
Just then the lights dimmed, and the bustle of conversation hushed as Dr. Carlson took to the stage, officially beginning the day.
“Welcome everyone… to the first annual STEAM event, sponsored, of course, by Hydrocore,” he announced, met by thunderous applause. “We are all so excited to have you here today to compete to find the best school in the state.” The older man launched into a spiel of what to expect for the day, the events, the time for the lunch, some fun activities that were available for when teams had some time, where we could find fire exits.
All I could think about were the calloused fingers that were softly running over my knuckles. Ben interlaced his hand with my own and gave them a brief squeeze.
I looked up at him, finding him already looking at me, hazel eyes so dark in the dimmed light they were almost black. For a moment, the rest of the world faded out and there was only me and him and our hands linking us together. His lips parted, throat bobbing as if he was going to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.
The moment passed as the house lights came on; I pulled my hand back first, my attention drawn back to the front of the room as we were all instructed on which rooms to move to for our first competition.
“Anything motivational you want to say?” Ben nudged, eyes flickering between me and the group of students stood before us, awaiting instructions.
“Maybe you should say something,” I grimaced, nerves getting the better of me.
What if this didn’t work out? What if we failed? The answer was simple: no more after school groups, less budget, maybe even cuts to faculty after the summer. My stomach lurched at the idea. Could I really do it?
He tilted his head towards me. “Olive, you’re the reason we’re here, that we even made it this far.”
“Technically, none of the ideas were mine.”
“Sure, but I know the level of work you’ve put into this, into the project, into making sure this went ahead. It’s because of you.”
His words had left me speechless, jaw slacked and wide eyed. But I did my best to pull myself together, knowing the kids deserved to hear something from us.
“Hi, can I get everyone’s attention?” I began, voice shaking. Everyone turned their attention to me. “I just want to say thank you to you all. We all know why we’re here, and I… I can’t begin to tell you how much it means to me to see you putting this work into saving these clubs. And I know today won’t be easy, but let’s go, let’s have some fun, and let’s kick some ass!”
With a cheer from our little crowd, we all broke into our four groups, heading out of the conference room and into our designated areas.
Now wasn’t the time for nerves or second thoughts. We were here, and we had every chance of winning this.
Now it was time to fight.
