Page 29 of Make the Play
Maybe this isn’t such a horrible idea after all. Maybe somewhere in Santa Leon there’s a future for Emerson after all. A happy one. The kind his mom would’ve wanted him to have.
Maybe, just maybe, he can be happy here.
* * *
Emerson is not happy.
The bus is late. Again. At this point, it would be more accurate to say the bus being on time is a fluke. He’s not sure why he didn’t take Jason up on his offer. They texted on and off all weekend, mostly about Lord of the Rings, to Emerson’s surprise. Given that Jason hasn’t read the books, he had an awful lot of questions, each of which Emerson answered in explicit detail.
Rather than be put off by the long texts, Jason would reply—sometimes quickly, sometimes not—with a question or a thought that made it clear he not only read the messages but was interested. More than once, Emerson thought about sneaking in a quick text taking Jason up on the offer for a ride. Except they weren’t talking about rides, they were talking about movies and books and at one point, though Emerson isn’t sure why, tacos.
Unsure how to segue the conversation, and worried he might come off as too clingy, he’d let their conversation come to a conclusion Sunday afternoon when Jason was taking his dogs on a walk. That was another thing Emerson learned. Jason has dogs. Two of them. Emerson very much wanted to meet them the second Jason mentioned them, but he didn’t voice the thought, unsure if that was in the realm of their friendship.
More than once growing up, he made those kinds of assumptions, and it usually ended up with him being ridiculed or losing friends who weren’t comfortable with Emerson’s intensity.
Turns out, having a friend is complicated. Or maybe, given how easy things are with Jason, the only one complicating things is Emerson’s brain.
Either way, he did not allow himself to ask Jason for a ride. Which is why instead of being seated in Jason’s comfortable truck with his handsome smile to start Emerson’s day, he is stuck at the bus stop next to a small child with a snotty nose, waiting on a late bus. The bus does in fact show up eventually, six minutes later than it’s supposed to be. Thankfully, that’s not horrible, all things considered, and not late enough to negatively affect his morning. At least that’s what he thinks until he gets to school and sees Jason’s truck already parked. The depth of irritation that Emerson feels about this is enough to have him aggressively spinning his fidget ring as he walks across campus.
Around him, students greet their friends, and various staff slowly stroll through the parking lot making morning small talk with other teachers. Emerson doesn’t linger. Aside from Jason, he’s yet to make any friends, possibly his own fault. He hasn’t even made it to lunch in the staff room or the cafeteria, preferring to hide away in his classroom. Nor has he attempted anything beyond a polite greeting with most of his coworkers. All of his mental energy has been directed towards settling into his new place and new job.
Sometimes he wonders what it’s like to approach new things with anticipation rather than anxiety. It seems impossible that anyone can do that, but Emerson knows some people can. It makes him kind of resent the fact that his own brain is hardwired to dread even the most mundane things, to the point he even avoids things he likes solely because transitions and potential unknowns often require more spoons than he has. Learning about the spoon theory after his autism diagnosis—something most often used by those with chronic illness and disabilities to discuss their limited energy—has greatly helped Emerson come to terms with the fact that many daily tasks take more out of him than his neurotypical peers.
Deep in thought, he makes his way to the front office. When he steps inside, Mabel isn’t at her desk and aside from a teacher whose name he forgets leaving the office after him, it’s otherwise empty. Breathing a sigh of relief that he won’t have to deal with any unwanted small talk this morning, he pulls his favorite pen from his pocket, the tip barely touching the sign in sheet when he hears a familiar voice filtering out from the small room just off Mabel’s desk. He knows it houses the office printers and fax machines along with a wall of cupboards filled with extra supplies. Mabel explained all this when she caught Emerson peeking in there last week.
“I’m not joking, Mabel, I wish I was.”
The sound of Jason’s deep voice has Emerson breathing deeper. He really does have a nice voice, the pitch of it unfairly soothing as is the cadence of his speech. He’s exaggerated and excited, which makes it easy to judge his moods and track the flow of conversation.
“You get yourself into so much trouble, Mr. King.”
“You say the sweetest things,” Jason laughs.
“Only you think trouble is sweet,” Mabel chastises. “Now get me that box there from the top, and tell me what happened next.”
“Are you sure you want to know? It’s pretty scandalous, Mabel. I don’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities.”
“Delicate sensibilities, my ass,” Mabel snorts. “You tell me the rest of the story before the bell rings, or I’ll add your name to the top of the volunteer yard duty rotation list.”
“Mabel Farwell, I am shocked.”
The sound of Mabel’s laughter fills the otherwise empty office. He shouldn’t be standing here listening to their conversation. He has no excuse aside from enjoying the sound of Jason’s voice, which is possiblynota thing most friends do, but then it’s not like Emerson has a lot of experience to compare it to. Jason says something too quiet for Emerson to make out, but it makes Mabel cackle and reminds Emerson that he is not special. While Jason’s friendship might mean more to Emerson than he wants to admit, even to himself, he knows it is probably just one in a million to someone like Jason, who is friends with everyone.
Wanting to get away before he’s caught, he hurries to scribble his name across the sign in sheet, adding the time when Jason steps out of the side office and Emerson forgets to disappear in favor of staring. Jason’s got on a short sleeve Santa Leon High t-shirt today, the dark hair on his forearms and muscles in his biceps on full display as he grips the large box Mabel must’ve wanted him to get. He’s freshly shaved, making the dimple in his chin more prominent when he smiles.
No matter how much Emerson might want to pretend he doesn’t have a tiny crush on his new—and only—straight friend, he most definitely does.
“After that debacle I ended up on the front porch locked out and Stella, the absolute menace that she is, yanked my towel off and ran,” Jason says with a shake of his head, stopping dead in his tracks when he catches sight of Emerson. “Hi Emerson.”
Jason says“Hi Emerson”with that relaxed grin of his, so clearly unbothered about being caught talking about his sexual escapades. Not that he should be ashamed. He’s an adult and can do whatever he wants. Emerson certainly has no room to judge. If he didn’t want to hear about something like this, he shouldn’t have eavesdropped. It’s none of Emerson’s business who Jason is involved with. Yet he can’t help but wonder who Stella is. Did Jason go on a date this weekend in between texting with Emerson?
Something uncomfortable churns in Emerson’s gut, and he doesn’t like it, not one bit.
“Good morning, Mr. Miller.” Mabel straightens the bright pink scarf tied around her neck, her smile firmly in place. “Can I help you with anything this morning?”
Emerson shakes his head, tapping his pen against the edge of the desk. He stops when he catches himself, clicking the pen shut before pocketing it. “I was just signing in.”
“You let me know if you need anything,” Mabel says, more of a statement than a question as she settles herself at her desk.
