Page 15 of Make the Play
“Um,” Jason hums. Truth be told Emerson kind of has a resting “don’t talk to me” face so he has no idea how to explain why that makes Jason want to do the opposite.
Charlie always tells him he doesn’t know when to quit and maybe he’s right. Something about this reminds him of when Alec called him sobbing to adopt Freddie, and he’d shown up at the shelter to find out he was there to adopt a dog no one else wanted. They told him Freddie was antisocial and aggressive, clearly trying to warn him off, yet it made him want to take him home even more. In the end, Freddie turned out to be the least aggressive dog that Jason’s met, but he sure as hell was terrified, and his bark had been far worse than his bite. All he’d needed was a gentle hand and a lot of love and stability. Not that Jason thinks Emerson is a dog needing adoption, or saving. Though he could use a helping hand today.
“Ugh, forget I said that,” Emerson huffs, rubbing a hand through his hair and sending it into further chaos, the thick red strands sticking out in almost every direction as if he’s had his hands in it all morning. “Also this hill from the bus stop to campus is really steep, and this box was heavy, and now I’m going to be late. Late. I’m never late. I can’t be late on my first day of teaching. Oh my god, what if I get fired?”
Jason blinks, both surprised and yet not, to see the spiraling. Growing up with Theo as a best friend, he’s well versed in this level of anxiety. Though Theo’s spiraling was usually internalized, not spoken aloud, it’s easy to imagine the root feelings might be the same even if the presentation is different. He suspects Emerson might need a little reassurance and a steady hand which Jason can definitely offer.
“You won’t be late,” Jason promises. “Go to your class. I’ll pack up all your books and bring them to you.”
“I can’t let you do that.” Even as he protests he takes one step, eyes taking in the people around them moving towards the school. It’s obvious some part of him wants to accept. Jason’s eyes roam over the lines on Emerson’s face, tracking the edge of anxiety that colors his features. Jason isn’t sure how old he is, definitely younger than he is; he looks young enough that this might very well be his first teaching job. Jason recalls the nerves from his own first year all too well. They’d been damn near crippling that first week, and Jason isn’t even an anxious person by nature.
“You can,” Jason asserts. “You’re part of the Santa Leon High family now. I’ve got you.”
Emerson opens and closes his mouth several times as if unsure how to respond. Maybe Jason is a little too bossy. His brothers have told him he can come on a little strong but he’s never quite mastered the art of being less.
“Maybe.” Emerson takes a deep breath, his anxiety palpable. The inexplicable urge to fix things hits Jason square in the chest. He knows he can’t just take on everyone else’s problems but he also can’t stand seeing people suffer, especially Emerson. Something about the look in his eyes is deeply affecting.
“Go, Emerson,” Jason urges.
“Then you’ll be late,” Emerson frowns.
“Don’t worry about me,” Jason says, fairly confident that he can get Emerson’s books and supplies across campus without struggle and have plenty of time to spare to get to his first class. If not, then worst case scenario he’s five minutes late, but he’s pretty sure none of his seniors who have P.E. first thing are going to complain about an extra couple of minutes to talk to their friends while Jason sets up. “I’ll leave everything outside your class so it’s there when you’re ready, I promise. You won’t even know I came by.”
“Thank you,” Emerson says.
“No problem, and Emerson? The building next to the library, last door on the right,” Jason reminds him.
With that last prompt, Emerson takes off in a hurry, walking up the sidewalk and towards the front of the school, leaving Jason behind with his forgotten rolling tote, tumbler and a mess of books. It really doesn’t take too long for Jason to gather them all up, sparing only the briefest of glances at the novels in the box. They range from a worn copy ofThe Hobbitto aWrinkle In Timeand a dozen or so other novels that Jason’s never heard of. He stacks them all in the box, careful of the split edge as he balances it under his arm, dragging the tote with him and retrieving his abandoned cooler bag on the way.
Most of the kids are already inside when Jason makes it to the front office just as the first bell rings.
“Not like you to be late, Jason,” Mabel scoffs, sliding the teacher sign-in clipboard to the edge of the desk for him.
“Are you kidding me? I was late almost every day of senior year,” Jason laughs. “Although I have rectified that since I started working here.”
“Don’t remind me,” Mabel says with a shake of her head. “The number of tardy emails you made me write. It’s amazing they hired you.”
“What can I say, my winning personality was irresistible,” Jason smirks, lowering the box of books onto the edge of the desk as he signs in.
Mabel peers inside the box, her keen eyes tracking the wheeled tote behind him. She doesn’t get a chance to ask about it though because a parent comes in, tugging their freshman behind them which Jason takes as his cue to leave. Hurrying through the front door once more he takes a detour down the left path and rounds the corner just in time to see Emerson through the open window. He smiles to himself, glad to see he made it. He wheels the tote beside the door, carefully stacking the ripped box of books on top of it and leaving the tumbler on the ground beside it. He’s only made it two steps before his own curiosity gets the best of him, and he peers inside the window, most of his form hidden behind the hanging vines of a plant.
“Welcome to freshman English 100, my name is Mr. Miller and?—”
“You mean remedial English,” a kid in the back snarks.
Emerson doesn’t balk at the interruption, leaning back against his desk and crossing his arms. “I prefer to look at it as foundational skills. There’s no shame in needing to go over things again to ensure that your understanding is as comprehensive as possible moving forward. The more you learn and understand here in my class the easier the next few years will be for you. We’re going to be working on strengthening your literacy and comprehension skills while having some fun with books along the way.”
Watching him now there’s no signs of the anxiety that plagued him on the sidewalk not fifteen minutes ago. Physically he looks the same—wild red hair and captivating eyes—but there’s something different about him when he’s in front of his students. There’s a confidence in him that wasn’t there before, as if standing in front of a room of nearly thirty teenagers is where he’s meant to be.
“Books aren’t fun,” someone groans.
Rather than look annoyed at the remark, Emerson actually smiles. The sight of it transforms his face, softening the sharp edges of his features into something quite striking.
“On the contrary, books are a lot of fun. Maybe you just haven’t read the right ones. I’m sure you’ve had some teachers before who had some strict rules about what you were going to read, and while there will be assigned books this semester, we’re going to branch out a bit too. I’ll be filling my personal library over there with an array of books from manga and comics to fantasy and everything in between. I’ve also spoken to the librarian about hopefully expanding the audiobook selection for you guys and—” Emerson pauses when a hand goes up at the front of the classroom.
“Yes?”
“My grandma said audiobooks don’t count as reading.”
