Page 27 of Ancient History

SoccerStar: It means I’m smiling.

And I was, too, the kind of smile that sent tingles down my spine. Hutch was dangerously easy to talk to, and I let myself get pulled in. Giving him the silent treatment at school was excruciating.

SoccerStar:What about you? How’d you wind up back at South Rock?

Mr. Brightside: It wasn’t planned. At my old school, there was a teacher who got handsy at the Christmas party. He was beloved and won awards. Oh and married to a woman and father to two kids. When I’d told the principal what happened, she didn’t believe me, said I must’ve drank too much and hit on him. I’d never felt so small in my whole life. I tried to forget about it, but every time I saw him in the hall or getting a hearty applause at an assembly, I felt sick.

Mr. Brightside: When I got the job offer at South Rock, I could breathe again. I felt saved.

SoccerStar: Who is this guy? Where does he live?

Mr. Brightside: Why do you want to know where he lives?

SoccerStar: I may have a bum knee, but my fists work just fine. [angry face emoji.]

Mr. Brightside: It’s not worth it. It all worked out. I love teaching at South Rock. I’ve met some of my closest friends.

SoccerStar: I love being at South Rock, too. I really love coaching. I love it more than playing.

SoccerStar: Things worked out for the best.

Mr. Brightside: They did.

SoccerStar: Sorry for spilling my whole sob story earlier. You’re really easy to talk to.

Mr. Brightside: I spilled mine, so we’re even. And you are, too.

The phone was hot in my hand. My screen wasn’t the only thing glowing. Our conversation came to a pause, and I didn’t want it to end. That was the thing about Hutch. He was like a bag of chips: you promise yourself one chip but blink and wind up eating the whole thing.

It was getting late, and we had to be up bright and early for another day of school.

SoccerStar: I’m hungry.

Mr. Brightside: Me, too.

On the other hand, my stomach rumbled at the mention of hunger. Popcorn and wine were not filling, and all this typing was giving me a workout.

SoccerStar: I think I’m going to order pizza. You in?

Mr. Brightside: Share it?

SoccerStar: Virtually. You get your own. Do you still like mushrooms on your pizza like a madman?

Mr. Brightside: Says the guy who only eats yellow and green Skittles. And I thought we had a deal not to bring up the past.

SoccerStar: Right, right. So, Mr. Brightside, what do you like on your pizza?

Mr. Brightside: Mushrooms.

SoccerStar: Madman!

I burst out laughing, then navigated to a new window and put in an order for pizza. I didn’t feel tired at all.

8

HUTCH

“What are you doing ordering pizza? It’s eleven o’clock at night!”

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