Page 39 of The Lineman

“The real monster is Victor Frankenstein!” she declared.

I grinned. “Yes, Jessica. Thank you for doing the reading.”

She flipped her hair dramatically. “Anything for you, Mr. A.”

Ignoring her flirtation, I turned back to the class. “So? What do we think? Is the monster really a villain, or is Frankenstein the true monster?”

And just like that, the discussion actually started.

Baby steps.

I’d take it.

By the time the bell rang, I was only mildly exhausted. The students filed out, a few actually discussing the book as they left, and Jessica, of course, flashed me her usual smug grin.

“Let me know if you need help next period, Mr. A,” she said.

I sighed. “Jessica, please stop trying to take my job.”

She winked, flicked her hair, and strolled out.

I shook my head, turning to erase the board, when I noticed someone lingering near my desk.

Jamie.

Jamie was one of my quiet ones. The kind of kid who kept his head down, never really spoke unless directly asked. He was small, the kind of small that made you wonder if he ever ate a full meal. Scrawny, almost delicate, with narrow shoulders and limbs that looked like they’d snap in a strong wind. He wore oversized hoodies year-round, the kind that swallowed his frame and made him look even smaller, like he was trying to disappear into the fabric.

He had big, anxious brown eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, and he rarely held eye contact for more than a few seconds. His movements were small, hesitant, like he was always bracing for something, always prepared to shrink away if needed. His hands, when they weren’t shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie, were thin and bony, and when he fidgeted—which he did constantly—it was always with the frayed edges of his sleeves.

Everything about Jamie screamed uncertainty.

Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to take up space.

Like he was used to being ignored or overlooked.

And that?

That was what made me pay attention.

Now, standing before my desk, he was fidgeting with his sleeves, glancing toward the door like he wanted to bolt.

I softened my voice. “Hey, Jamie. What’s up?”

He hesitated.

Then, quietly, “Can I—can I talk to you? Privately?”

I nodded immediately. “Of course. Take a seat.”

He perched on the edge of a desk, looking like he wanted to be anywhere in the world but in my classroom.

I waited.

Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “My, um—my mom thinks you’re cool.”

I blinked. “Oh. Well. That’s a first.”

Jamie huffed a small, nervous laugh but wouldn’t meet my eyes.

---