Page 33 of Wish For Me

“It’s a helluva drug,” Noelle says.

I guess she’d know all about ovations.

But the moment the cheering dies down, a little girl with surprisingly loud vocal range says, “Are you guys boyfriend and girlfriend?”

My stomach plunges.

“No!” Noelle says. There’s a definitiveness to her answer that bruises just a little, even though I would have said the same thing.

“Mr. Kelly and I are just friends.”

“Then why are you holding hands?” the girl asks.

I look down. Holy shit. My nerves being the way they were, I must have grabbed Noelle’s hand when I came in here. Maybe that’s why I calmed down so quickly.

I abruptly release Noelle’s hand. “No we’re not.”

The girl plants her hands on her hips.

But several more of them giggle.

I grin. Maybe I can do this.

“Okay, kids,” Mrs. Galloway says, “Let’s try to leave our helpers’ personal lives out of today’s fun.” The teacher gives us a look that tells me this request may not be heeded, but we smile gratefully anyway. “Now, I need everyone to form a line-up to head to the sink to wash hands.” She gives us a teacherly look over her glasses, along with a wink. “You too, big kids.”

As soon as we’re in line, I look to Noelle, wanting to apologize for the awkwardness I created by holding her hand. But she’s laughing at the kids hamming it up down at the sink. She’s already forgotten about it. Or maybe it wasn’t awkward for her, since we’re only friends. Do friends hold hands when they’re nervous? I suddenly have an image of what would have happened if I’d held my advisor’s hand while defending my thesis.

“What’s so funny?” Noelle asks, getting in line with me.

“I forgot kids are funny. I think maybe I built them up to be scarier than they are.”

“Still can’t believe you’re scared of them.”

I frown. “Notscared.Just…I don’t really have any kids in my life. I don’t know how to talk to them. What if something I say changes the course of their lives forever?”

I’m not just saying this arbitrarily. Last week, my boss talked to our team about doing school visits. “It’s fun,” Larry said. “You’ll love their wide-eyed wonder.” But that sent me into a tailspin.

“Isn’t inspiring them a good thing?” Noelle asks.

“But that’s just it. I just know how impressionable kids are. What if you don’t inspire them but say or do something that makes them doubt themselves?”

She looks at me like I need to explain more.

“I just know they look up to the adults around them.” I hesitate. “Sometimes adults say one thing,”—likeyou’re the most important person in the world to me, Leif—“but demonstrate something else.”

Noelle’s looking at me with empathy I can feel in my chest. “Your parents encouraged you, didn’t they?”

I’m embarrassed this has turned into the Leif therapy hour. “Of course. I wouldn’t be where I am today if they hadn’t.” I scratch the back of my neck as we move ahead in our queue. I want to talk about Noelle and her life. Not mine. “Anyway. It doesn’t matter. It’s just my old stuff.”

“Have you talked to your dad recently?” Noelle asks softly.

I scowl. Last year was no different than the year before. “There’s nothing to talk about.” There isn’t, really. Anytime I consider talking about it I feel like I’m being petty.

“I imagine you looked up to him as a kindergartner.”

“What am I going to say? Thanks for being such a good person who cared about changing peoples’ lives? I feel petulant that I have feelings about this.” I sigh. I’m fine. This is all fine. I look at the kids around us. They’re not scary. And they probably hear things all day long they don’t even pay attention to, anyway.

Except that one, a few kids ahead, who keeps looking over his shoulder at me.

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