Page 17 of Make the Play
“You won’t die,” Theo assures him.
“We don’t know that yet, the semester only started this week. Speaking of the new semester,” Alec sighs, lowering Rio to the ground before standing up. “I’m going to get started on some reading. I’ll leave you two boys alone, don’t get into too much trouble without me.”
Theo’s grin is wide when he seeks out Alec’s face, that smile widening further when Alec gives him a quick kiss on the cheek before meandering into the kitchen. Jason feels a renewed appreciation for his brother. He loved him before, but seeing the way Alec treats Theo—how deeply happy he makes him—well it’s impossible not to love him even more.
There’s nothing in the world that makes Jason happier than when the people he loves are happy.
“So,” Theo says, grabbing a paper plate off the top of the pizza box. “I was a little worried you might not make pizza night this week. I know once the semester starts it’s harder.”
“Don’t remind me. Between classes and practice, this week has been grueling, but the first game isn’t until next week, and I was feeling—” Jason pauses, trying to articulate it. He’s never been great at parsing his own emotions. He can tell when his friends and family need something but when it comes to himself, it’s more of a vague blob inside his chest most of the time. If he’s not happy, which he usually is, it’s kind of hard to make sense of it all. “I dunno.”
“You know nothing will change now that me and Alec are getting married, right? If that’s been on your mind.” Theo piles a plate with several slices of pizza before passing it to Jason. “You’re always going to be my best friend, and this is always going to be your second home.”
Jason takes too big a bite of pizza, nodding with his mouth full. He does know that, so he’s not sure what the unsettled feeling in his chest is, the one demanding he come visit Theo despite being exhausted after a full week of teaching and coaching. He’d stopped at his place to feed his dogs and take them for a walk but then came here immediately after.
“So,” Theo continues, clearly picking up on Jason’s disinterest in talking about himself. “How was the first week of classes?”
“Good,” Jason answers, popping open the can of his beer and gulping down enough to parch his thirst. “I’ve got a mix of grades this year, so it’ll be good to get a feel for all of them. A lot of the kids I’ve taught before, which is nice because then I know what they need, you know?”
“And the teachers? Caldwell still have a stick up his ass?”
“Fucking Caldwell,” Jason grumbles, frowning at the name alone. He’d been Theo and Jason’s senior English teacher and had made no secret of how much he disliked the football team when they were in school, a feeling which he apparently extends to football coaches. “He was a dick when we went there, and he’s still a dick now. Sometimes I wonder why he still has a job. Part of me thought he’d be nicer once I started teaching, but I swear every year that passes gets worse. He hates me. No one hates me, Theo.”
“To be fair, I think Caldwell hates everyone.”
Jason hums, knowing Theo is right but disliking it all the same. Rather than linger on Caldwell, his mind supplies him thoughts of someone else entirely. “There is one new teacher though.”
“He a dick too?” Theo asks.
“Nah,” Jason shakes his head. “He’s—interesting. Name’s Mr. Miller.”
Theo sits up straighter. “Interesting how?”
“I don’t know. He’s pretty for a guy.” Jason shrugs, thinking about Emerson’s distinctive hair and delicate features. He’s the kind of guy Jason might have pointed out to Theo in a club if he were still single. He glances over his shoulder to see Alec leaning over the kitchen island with his head buried in a text book, his headphones on and his pencil tapping a mile a minute. He’s pretty sure Alec can’t hear him, but he’s not willing to risk being murdered for voicing that thought out loud. “He was kind of a mess in an endearing way.”
“Damn, first day and you’ve already found a stray.”
“Emerson isn’t a stray,” Jason protests.
“Oh it’s Emerson and not Mr. Miller?” Theo arches an eyebrow and Jason curses. This is the downside to having the same best friend for over two decades. They notice everything. Even when there’s nothing to notice.
“Look, he was having a rough time, and I helped him out, and that’s that. I think he’s gonna be a good fit at the school,” he says, thinking of the little bit he overheard from Emerson’s first class. “We need more teachers like him. That’s all. I just wanna make sure he finds his place here. For the school.”
“For the school,” Theo echoes, something unreadable in expression.
“Exactly,” Jason grins, something in him settling. This was a good idea. Pizza, beer, and bestie time definitely cure all. His year is going to be great, and maybe he can make sure Emerson’s will be too. For the students, and the school of course. Not for any other reason at all.
5EMERSON
Emerson’s dayis not off to a good start.
For the sixth time in the last two weeks his bus is late. It wouldn’t be such a big deal if Emerson were capable of handling being late to things but he’s not, especially when he has no idea if the bus is going to be two minutes late or ten. Last Friday he tried taking the earlier bus to the school to avoid this happening, but it turned out that losing almost an hour of his morning to catch a different bus threw his entire routine off so badly that Emerson had wanted to cry. He hadn’t because he doesn’t cry every time he’s out of sorts anymore like he did as a kid. Instead, he had gone through half a bag of Warheads to try and combat the rising deregulation, because he read a tip online once that sour candy helped with anxiety. Unfortunately all the Warheads did were make him mildly nauseous, which only increased his anxiety.
After that day, he realized he shouldn’t take the earlier bus to campus since he can’t handle a full day of teaching without having a little quiet time in the morning to wake up slowly. He likes to roll over and read his kindle in bed for twenty minutes before puttering to his kitchen and putting on the kettle. While he waits for the water to boil, he takes a very quick shower and by the time he’s out the water is ready. While his tea brews, he makes two Eggo waffles, eating them one-handed while he packs his lunch. Always the same—a plain peanut butter sandwich on white bread, a container of Ranch Doritos—never a baggie because who wants broken chips—and a banana. This has been Emerson’s morning since he started student teaching and deviating from it, while not impossible, is not preferred. It took him a long time to find a routine that helps him start his day regulated and calm.
Unfortunately, this morning he is not feeling remotely calm. He got to the bus stop at the time he was supposed to, yet ten minutes later the damn bus still isn’t here. Emerson was raised in a big city, and while he much prefers the picturesque landscape of Santa Leon to his hometown, the one thing he sorely misses is more reliable public transport.
With a heavy sigh, Emerson looks at his watch. He set a stopwatch when it hit 7:15am, and it’s been six minutes. So far there has been no rhyme or reason or discernable pattern to the days the bus is late or amount of time it deviates. Once it was one minute, another time was fourteen minutes. It makes Emerson’s insides churn uncomfortably. He dislikes unpredictability.
