Page 27 of Advanced Chemistry

“I heard some rumors,” Amos said.

“What kind of rumors?” I asked for clarification.

“Well…” Amos inhaled a breath. “Alfred Rover is poised to be valedictorian. He’s out ahead by a mile, but apparently you gave him a B-plus in the last marking period.”

“I didn’t give him that grade. He earned it himself with a substandard lab writeup.”

“Anyway, he complained to the rest of the AP crowd about how you ruined his perfect A average, but that it doesn’t matter because he’s still going to Princeton. Well, it’s an open secret that none of the smart kids like him, for obvious reasons. So to piss him off, a few of his classmates came up with the idea to vote for you as Teacher of the Year, so that you two would have to share the stage at graduation. The idea spread through school. Lots of kids don’t like Alfred, and lots of kids thought it’d be a fun lark, I guess. Enough kids voted for you that you are now in the running to be Teacher of the Year,” Amos said, winded from the explanation.

It sounded to me like a bunch of kids had too much time on their hands, and that democratic systems of government were inherently flawed. But still, I couldn’t help feeling a flush of pride as I stared at my name on Amos’s phone.

“I doubt I’ll win. Students love Mr. Simkins and Mrs. Gonzalez. They’ve won before.” They taught music and art, respectively. Kids loved music and art. They didn’t love chemistry.

“You never know.” Julian shrugged. “It’s pretty cool, though.”

“Chase, we’re getting you that award.” Everett barged into the lounge, eyes loaded with determination. “There is a pathway to victory. Students have been buzzing about your out-of-the-box nomination.”

“As a joke,” I said.

“History will reveal that this is no joke. I have two words for you: Marisa Tomei. When she won an Oscar forMy Cousin Vinny, she became a joke. How dare a comedic performance win an award? But over time, we’ve all now realized that she deserved the fuck out of that award. Her performance is legendary. Chase, we’re going to turn you into the ingènue of South Rock and make students remember why they fell in love with you in the first place.”

“I’m not following the metaphor here, Everett,” I said. I made a mental note to addMy Cousin Vinnyto my ever-expanding and sadly neglected watch list.

“Chase, no matter what kids say, they care about the name they write down on that ballot. Voting is important to them. This might’ve started as a revenge scheme, but if these kids really didn’t like you, none of them would’ve written down your name,” Everett said.

Another flush of pride hit me. I wasn’t the fun teacher—I didn’t have that gene—but perhaps I had been doing something right. Maybe Anton and Sebastian weren’t alone in their admiration of my class.

“I’m thinking banners, Q&A sessions with influential students, finding some babies for you to kiss.” Everett sat on the table, his mind falling down one of his typical histrionic rabbit holes.

Amos put his hand on Everett’s shoulder. “Or maybe we let voting take its course.”

“Take it down a notch, Everett,” Julian said.

“Sorry. I’m in the theater. Awards are my oxygen.”

I had too much to think about between school, my personal life, and my cat. I didn’t need to use up precious space wondering about my prospects of winning Teacher of the Year. But the plaquewouldlook very nice on my fireplace mantel.

* * *

I hadstudents tell me they were voting for me, a statement which never got old. Because the awards stuff muddled my focus during my free period, I stayed after school to work on crafting the final exams for my classes. Just because I was in the running for Teacher of the Year didn’t mean I’d design an easier exam to curry favor.

I thoroughly enjoyed putting tests together. It wasn’t about torturing students, though they might have believed that. It was yet another puzzle. How could I take information we learned throughout the year and twist it back to them in a way that required critical thinking?

It was a harder challenge than people realized, and when I looked up from my computer, it was already six. The high sun of the afternoon shifted to the orange hues of evening slatting through the windows.

I strolled through the quiet hallways and stopped at the vending machine outside the cafeteria, where I came upon a familiar, broad back.

“Mr. M.” Anton stood up. The thick glass case of the vending machine was open, and it was like staring into a bank vault with food instead of money. At his side were boxes of candy and chips. He wore a tight polo stretched over his arms and slim pants that showed off his long legs. He was more dressed up than half the teachers at South Rock.

“You can call me Chase.”

“We’re at school, though.” His lips turned into a lazy smile that sent a funny surge of warmth up my spine.

“Yes, but you are not a student. What are you doing here?”

“I heard that the Snickers bar kept getting stuck in the teacher’s lounge machine, so I fixed it and thought I’d do a restock while I was here.” He grabbed a fistful of Twix and stocked them in their rightful place. He took care to make sure none of the wrappers crinkled and that all the candy bars were facing the same direction.

“You don’t have staff that do this for you?”

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