Page 78 of Make the Play
Mabel waves a hand in Jason’s general direction, but her cheeks darken beneath her shock of pink blush which matches her all pink pantsuit. “Don’t think you can flatter me to get what you want, Mr. King.”
“Who says I want something?” Jason gasps, holding his hand to his chest in mock outrage. “Maybe I wanted to just come see my favorite lady.”
“Uh-huh, then why did you prowl around the edge of the gym for the last ten minutes like a lost puppy looking for something?” She directs her gaze at Jason. “Or maybe you were looking for someone. A very handsome someone in a snazzy green suit.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jason mumbles, unsure why the fuck everyone seems to know things he only just realized. Is he that obvious? He didn’t think he was.
Mabel’s smile softens as she lays her wrinkled hand over Jason’s. She leans in close, her voice barely above a whisper and hard to hear over the blaring music. “He looks very fetching.”
“Doesn’t he?” he whispers, unsure how to put into words what a relief it is to say it to someone else. Shit, Mabel really is his favorite person at this school besides Emerson.
Mabel nods, fussing with Jason’s perfectly straight tie. “I remember when you came to these dances as a student. Always surrounded by friends, always laughing. You made sure everyone else had fun all night.”
“That’s the point of a dance,” Jason points out, not entirely sure where she’s going with this. “Besides, you know I love to have a good time.”
“I know you do, but more importantly you like everyone else to have a good time. Always taking care of your players and students, of the other teachers. You’re a good boy, Jason,” Mabel says, the slightest crack in her voice. “A good man. It does an old woman good to see you happy, to know you won’t be lonely when I’m gone”
“Don’t go talking about leaving and make me cry,” Jason warns her. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re going to be here forever.”
“Pretty sure not even your level of stubbornness can make that happen,” Mabel says with a keen eye. “I’m proud of you, kid.”
She squeezes Jason’s hand, her skin so thin and soft; Jason has the most irrational urge to cry. It reminds him of holding hisabuela'shand for the last time, a tangible reminder of just how many years he’s known Mabel and through all those, what a steady presence she’s been, first in his high school life and now his adult one.
“Have you uh, you seen, uh,” but Jason can’t seem to get the words out around the lump in his throat.
“Mr. Miller went to get something from his classroom,” Mabel offers. “Such a polite man. That first day I’d had the great idea to try and get you two to be friends, but it looks like you accomplished that all on your own.”
“He’s pretty great,” Jason agrees, scrubbing a hand over his face. Thinking about Emerson is giving him the kind of feelings that are inconvenient for such a public place.
“There he is now,” Mabel says, lifting her hand and waving him over.
Jason turns in time to see Emerson return the gesture with an endearingly awkward half-wave before hurrying across the gym. It’s filled up enough he has to weave through teenagers, his cheeks flushed pink when he stops beside Jason.
“Did you run?” Jason asks, adjusting Emerson’s slightly crooked boutonniere.
“Uh-huh,” Emerson says, tapping the ear defenders he was definitely not wearing before. “I forgot these.”
Jason frowns. “I should’ve reminded you about how loud it was going to be.”
“It’s alright, I forgot them in my classroom yesterday,” Emerson says, again tapping the side of them. It’s clear he put them on in a hurry because his hair is sticking up in all kinds of wonky directions, somehow charming in the way everything about Emerson is. “I thought it was bad luck when I left them, but maybe it was actually good luck.”
Try as he might, Jason can’t do more than stare at the picture Emerson makes in his stylish suit in sharp juxtaposition to his mussed up hair and his ear defenders with the Lord of the Rings stickers on them. It's so very Emerson in a way that fills him with a sharp burst of affection. Emerson is so without preamble, so matter of factly himself even when Jason knows he worries if that’s the version of him other people want, and Jason likes him all the more for it.
“What?” Emerson asks, patting his head. “Should I take them off? They don’t match, but it was loud and?—”
“Don’t take them off,” Jason tells him, gently pushing his hand away. “You need them, you wear them. You look very handsome, Emmy.”
“You always say that,” Emerson protests, but the pink flush that rises on his cheeks lets Jason know the effect his words have. It’s reassuring to see that perhaps he’s not the only one drowning in feelings he has no idea what to do with.
“If I do, it’s only because it’s always true,” Jason says, all but forgetting they’re not alone until Mabel clears her throat loudly.
“Why don’t you two boys get in the photo booth?”
“I thought it was for students,” Emerson says.
“It is.” Mabel grabs one of the prop crowns and sets it on Jason’s head, passing Emerson a plastic sword. “I have to make sure this old lady brain of mine remembers what to do. You two get inside and help me now.”
“Can’t argue with Mabel,” Jason grins, looping his arm around Emerson’s shoulder and leading him through the doorway of the inflatable photo booth.
