Page 9 of Make the Play
Matty’s chatter fills the silence, and Jason can only hope the stranger finds what he was looking for before he affords Matty his full attention.
3EMERSON
Emerson quickens his steps,desperate to get far enough away to avoid further conversation. He passes a few other teachers, plastering on a mask of indifference and offering them a curt nod and what he can only hope passes for a polite smile. At the earliest opportunity, he slips into the shadows behind the tall building he now knows is the library, trying to hide from any potential social interactions.
It takes a solid minute for his heart rate to slow enough that he can catch his breath, but even then his heart continues to thrum erratically in his chest. With a heavy sigh, he closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the brick wall to try to calm his breathing. It doesn’t work well, though considering the interaction he just had it’s possible nothing could calm him down right now.
It’s just Emerson’s luck that when he finally gets himself to California and on campus to start his new job, the second person he meets and insults is the football coach. This is exactly why Emerson avoids small talk. He’s terrible at it. So terrible, in fact, that he tried to avoid the guy to begin with, possessing just enough self-awareness to know his growing anxiety about everything being new and different was going to make him rude.
All Emerson wanted was to find his classroom and get things set up so he might feel a modicum of control, which might in turn help regulate his nervous system. It’s currently screaming at him about all the changes he’s endured in the last twenty-four hours. Emerson hates change.
Fate is not on Emerson’s side today, or ever, judging by the unfortunate circumstances of most of his life. The damn man—Jason, he’d said his name was—had not been put off by Emerson’s attitude or tone, and instead of leaving him alone like most people did when he made a bad first impression, he followed him. In response to this unexpected turn of events, Emerson snapped at him and offered an unsolicited statistic about donuts before insulting organized sports. All in all, things couldn’t have been worse. Or so he thought. Then a student in a football jersey called Jason “Coach”, giving enough contextual information for even Emerson to conclude who Jason must be. It was at that point he chose Jason’s distraction to make his escape, leaving him where he is now, hiding behind a building, still unsure where his classroom is and afraid he’s ruined his chances of fitting in here before the school year even starts.
There’s an uncomfortable warmth in his cheeks, but whether from running or anxiety, he has no idea. His brain can’t tell the difference between being overheated and his life being in danger. Either way, it’s an unwanted sensation that leaves Emerson unsure if he wants to cry or lay face down on the ground. Probably the first since Emerson doesn’t like the way grass feels on his bare skin, and the cement is too hot to touch.
If things had gone according to plan, Emerson would have been in Santa Leon well over a week ago. He had a solid plan for this move. If he’d been here when he wanted to be, then he would’ve had enough time to settle into his new studio apartment. He would have had time to walk around and get to know the lay of the campus without the pressure of also getting his classroom ready. He would’ve been able to act normal when he met one of his fellow staff instead of running away from them and potentially ostracizing himself before the school year even begins.
Unfortunately, things had not gone according to Emerson’s plans. Instead of being here when he wanted to a week ago, there’d been an issue with the moving company that required him to stay an extra day and make sure his belongings actually made it across the country. This small delay meant he missed his flight, leaving him unable to get another one that he could afford for almost another week. That second delay was the worst because it meant Emerson missed the new staff orientation meeting the principal set up for him, and as a result his chance to get to know anyone on campus before the school year started, leaving him lost and confused.
Unease mounts while Emerson taps his fingers against his palm, willing himself to relax. He can do this. He wants to do this. If only his brain would get the memo and stop jumping into fight or flight mode every time his routine gets messed up.
“Are you sure this won’t be too much for you, Emerson? You know how bad you are with change. Maybe you should stay home and work here so you don’t, well, you know. Your uncle can always get you a part-time job someplace where you won’t have to be around too many people.”
The words ring in his head, a harsh reminder of exactly why he needed to get away. His aunt wasn’t trying to be cruel, but then again, she never was on purpose. Most people weren’t. Only…Emerson didn’t need to constantly be reminded he wasn’t like other people, or that he wasn’t good at the things most people were good at, like being a person. His aunt always seemed determined to remind him he’d fail before he even tried.
As far as Emerson is concerned, the only thing that matters is that he wants this, that he’s wanted this for years. Even if it doesn’t always make sense. High school had been a hellscape for Emerson, and he’d wanted to disappear nearly every day. It doesn’t matter if no one else understands how Emerson can want to be a high school teacher when some of his worst memories were born during that time. It had also been where he’d finally gotten the words to understand himself. He’d been so tired of feeling like an alien, unsure why he couldn’t just be like everyone else no matter how hard he tried. Then Mrs. Monroe, his sophomore English teacher, had come along, saw through all his masking and got him the resources he needed to get diagnosed. It had given him the foundation to accept the other things about himself, like being gay. Even if he hadn’t bothered coming out to anyone until after high school, having that label for himself had made all the difference.
Now he’s here, twenty-six-hundred miles away from everything and everyone he knows, with the chance to start over. He’s not here to be someone new, or different, just to be the version of himself no one else ever seemed to want him to be.
“Are you alright, dear?”
Emerson blinks, opening his eyes and coming face to face with the older woman from the front office who gave him the map this morning. She’d been on the phone when he arrived at the office, and Emerson had been anxious to find his classroom and unsure exactly how long it was socially appropriate to hang around. So, he’d departed as quickly as possible, which had turned out to not be the wisest choice.
“I’m fine,” Emerson tries, so used to lying about his own mental state he’s not sure he would know how to be honest with anyone if he tried. He twists the fidget ring on his finger, spinning it as fast as he can while trying to keep the rest of his body still. “I didn't catch your name back at the office, my apologies.”
“I’m Ms. Farwell, but you can just call me Mabel.” She smiles, the wrinkles on her face exaggerated with the action. She reminds Emerson of someone’s grandma, not that he’d known his own.
“Alright, Mabel.”
“Come on then, Mr. Miller,” Mabel says. “Let’s get you settled. I think you’re going to love Santa Leon High.”
The tightness in Emerson’s chest loosens when she reaches for his arm. Sure, he probably won’t make a lot—or any—friends, but after years of dreaming of making it to California, here he is, finally in his mom’s hometown. Not just here, but with an apartment of his own and an actual teaching job. All the things his family was certain he’d never manage. He can do this. He has to do this.
Emerson has waited too long and worked too hard to let his own brain fuck things up for him now.
* * *
With Mabel’s help,Emerson finally finds his classroom. While Mabel talks, he mentally rehearses what he might say if she asks why he couldn’t find it, unsure how much he wants to reveal. During his zoom interviews the principal had seemed impressed by Emerson’s attention to detail and passion for English. The truth was, his attention to detail was born out of a compulsive need to plan and be in control. Whereas his passion for English and desire to teach was influenced by reading, his lifelong hyperfocus. Being autistic offered him a specific skill set he knew could be an asset, but he’d still shied away from offering up his diagnosis, unsure how neuro-affirming Santa Leon High is.
The voice of his family, always reminding him how difficult and particular he is, seems to haunt him every time he thinks about getting to know new people. Would they see his quirks and personality as a positive, or view everything about him in a deficit model like his aunt and uncle do?
“Just this way, dear,” Mabel says, her voice dragging Emerson back to the present.
“I’m going to get lost on Monday,” Emerson sighs, hating himself for voicing that fear out loud. He twists his ring, rubbing his thumb over the engraving to try and ground himself.
“You’ll get the hang of it in no time. Give it one day and you’ll know this entire place like the back of your hand,” Mabel assures him. Before Emerson can get a chance to point out how unlikely that is given his propensity to get lost anywhere and everywhere she laughs. “You know what? I have a wonderful idea! It’ll be perfect. Just perfect.”
Emerson remains silent, unsure if he’s supposed to ask her what she’s talking about or wait. Thankfully he’s spared having to play the ‘what is the socially acceptable response right now’guessing game by Mabel speaking.
