Page 26 of Advanced Chemistry

Anton studied my eyes. Damn him for knowing all the telltale signs of my shifting thoughts.

“Seb, how does that sound to you? Be honest with me, please. If you don’t want to do it again, I totally understand.”

I couldn’t be honest with him after getting his hopes up. I was used to being the rational friend, but I didn’t want to be the killjoy.

“Seriously, Seb. I don’t want to do anything if you’re not feeling it. Our friendship is too important.”

Maybe over the course of another “hang out” (ugh) with Chase, we could get closer. Although it seemed obvious he wasn’t in love with me, so I’d keep my hopes low and enjoy the orgasm.

“Why wouldn’t it be okay? I’m game. We’ll have to see if Chase is, too,” I said.

“You sure?”

“Oh yeah. I can’t wait to manhandle him next time.” And despite my sadness, there was truth in that.

“Sweet.”

“You think he’ll want to, though?”

“You leave that to me,” Anton said with a smile as if looking at another potential sale.

9

CHASE

The routine of school kept my mind clear of thinking about my sexual escapades. One student complained to me that there was no point in studying chemistry since he’d never use it in his adult life. I asked him how the rubber soles on his sneakers were constructed, and that stifled his dissent.Don’t mess with science.

After four straight periods teaching, I left my classroom for lunch. I had a sandwich and Twinkie in the fridge with my name on it. Well, my name was on a tag affixed to my lunch bag, but those who ignored that were just being cruel.

Raleigh stopped me in the hall and clapped me on the shoulder. “Congrats, man. I’m rooting for you.”

“Thanks?” I said, completely confused by his non-sequitur. “Do you mean in a general sense? In that case, I suppose I’m rooting for you, too.”

“You’re funny. No wonder you got nominated.”

“Nominated?”

Raleigh crossed his fingers and held them up. “Good luck!”

He continued on his merry way, leaving me scratching my head.

My confusion didn’t subside as I made my way through the halls. Students gave me thumbs up and approving smiles. I wasn’t used to any of this. I wasn’t the kind of teacher who bonded with his students in the traditional sense. I never sat on my desk and shot the proverbial breeze or pulled out a guitar and sang a lesson to them. Relative to other teachers at South Rock, I received few requests to sign a student’s yearbook.

I stumbled into the teacher’s lounge, where Julian and Amos immediately looked up from their coffees.

“I’m confused,” I stated.

“Congratulations!” Julian said.

“People keep congratulating me, yet I don’t know what I did.”

“I forgot that you don’t check your phone when you’re teaching. Chase, you were nominated for Teacher of the Year.” Amos handed over his phone so I could read the social media post listing the three nominated teachers.

“I was nominated?” Teacher of the Year was a special award voted on by the student body. The winner received a plaque and got to make a speech at graduation. The award usually went to the same handful of fun, cool teachers who shot the proverbial breeze and played guitar.

“Is this a joke?” I asked.

Amos and Julian exchanged a look that told me my rhetorical question was rooted in truth.

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