"Just so we're all in the clear," Blake speaks up. "I agree with this, but I'm not gay. There won't be any shit between us men. At least on my end."
A moment of stunned silence follows, then we all burst out laughing.
"Agreed," we all say at the same time.
The levity helps break up the tension and we're able to move forward. Tomorrow night, we decide. Tomorrow we'll ask Mia to choose all of us.
18
MIA
Monday morning arrives like a sentencing. I pull into the Riverside Academy parking lot with my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ache. The confrontation with Jack, Blake, and Noah plays on repeat in my mind. Their faces when I admitted I'd been intimate with all three of them. The shock. The hurt. The anger.
I've been dreading today all weekend. When I’ll have to face them all again. Two days away with just my boys was not enough.
I cut the engine and sit in the silence, watching other teachers file into the building. Jennifer from the math department walks past with her usual judgmental expression. Patricia waves from across the lot, her smile warm and genuine. Blake's truck is already here, parked in his usual spot near the gym. Noah's sedan sits three spaces down. Jack's black sedan occupies the principal's reserved space closest to the entrance.
They're all here. All three of them. And I have to face them.
My reflection in the rearview mirror shows dark circles under my eyes and hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. I look exactly how I feel: exhausted, overwhelmed, and terrified.
"You can do this," I whisper to myself. "Just get through today."
I grab my bag and force myself out of the car. The walk to the building feels like a death march. Every step brings me closer to the inevitable awkwardness, the questions I don't have answers for, the choices I can't make.
The hallways are already filling with students. I keep my head down and move quickly toward my classroom, praying I don't run into any of them before I've had coffee and a moment to compose myself.
"Miss Wilson!"
Kyle Jorgenson stands beside my classroom door, holding a wrapped package. His gray eyes track my movements with unsettling intensity as I approach.
"Kyle." I keep my voice professional and distant. "You're here early."
"I wanted to catch you before class." He extends the package toward me. "I got you something."
Every instinct screams at me to refuse, but we're in a public hallway with students streaming past. I accept the package with reluctant hands.
"That's very thoughtful, but you really shouldn't be giving me gifts."
"Just open it." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I think you'll like it."
I unwrap the package carefully, aware of his gaze boring into me. Inside is a leather-bound journal with my initials embossed on the cover in gold lettering. The leather is soft and expensive, the kind of gift that costs more than a student should be spending on a teacher.
"Kyle, this is too much. I can't accept this."
"I noticed you're always writing notes during class." He steps closer, invading my personal space. "I thought you'd appreciate something special ... a way to keep all your notes organized."
"I appreciate the thought, Kyle, but I really can't accept this. Thank you for the thought though." I pause to offer a kind smile. "The bell is about to ring. You'd better hurry before you're late for class."
I step into my classroom and close the door. Through the small window, I watch Kyle stand there for a long moment, his jaw tight and his hands clenched around the rejected journal. Finally, he turns and walks away.
I sink into my desk chair and press my hands against my face. As if my life wasn't complicated enough, now I have a student developing an inappropriate fixation.
The morning passes in a blur of lessons and forced smiles. I avoid the teachers' lounge during my planning period, eating lunch alone in my classroom while reviewing essays. Every time footsteps pass in the hallway, my body tenses, expecting Jack or Blake or Noah to walk through that door.
During fourth period, I notice Jessica Martinez sitting in the back row wearing an oversized hoodie despite the warm classroom. She's been increasingly withdrawn over the past fewweeks. Dark circles shadow her eyes, and she rushes out of class the moment the bell rings, her hand pressed against her mouth.
I've seen those signs before. I lived those signs ten years ago.