it.”
“Maybe you should become a librarian. If you’re in the market for a new job.”
“That would require the Adair Library to need more than one and a half people on staff.”
“There’s always Palmetto.”
I shuddered. “I’d rather work on the mainland.”
“Well, wherever you go, they’ll be lucky to have you.”
My breath caught. It was so much more real today, Connor saying that. By tomorrow night, I might not have a job anymore. There was a weird weightlessness to that thought. Like I might blow away with a passing breeze.
I didn’t know how to describe that to Connor, so I just took his hand. He squeezed my hand, and held onto it when I tried to let go.
“No more hiding,” he said.
I reminded myself, firmly, that I did not cry. Especially not in public, and especially especially not over happy things.
We were still three blocks from Adair Elementary when I realized something was wrong.
“There are too many cars,” I said, as soon as I’d pinpointed the problem.
“Hmm?”
“Too many cars.” I scanned the street as we walked. “We’re early for morning drop-off. And even in the height of that, there are never this many cars on the street. Not this far away.”
And they were school cars. I recognized half the license plates. It made the nerves in my stomach even jumpier. Connor squeezed my hand again.
Two blocks away, I realized it wasn’t just the cars. Something was happening at the school, and whatever it was, it was loud enough that I could hear the dull roar from here. Like the sounds of Field Day, or the Halloween Parade, except it wasn’t the right time of year for either of those, and the school day hadn’t even started yet.
My grip on Connor’s hand turned claw-like, and my heartbeat sped up as we reached the block the school was on. There was a crowd of people outside the building, and while I couldn’t hear the words, they were definitely chanting something. And then I saw a sign, a big piece of poster board, with my name on it.
I stopped walking. “Oh, no.”
“What’s wrong?” Connor turned and stroked my arm with his free hand.
“It’s me. It’s about me.” I pointed to the sign I’d seen. “They’re protesting me.”
I could hear the disbelief in my own voice, and felt like a fool. I shouldn’t have been shocked by this. I’d lived in Adair my whole life, I knew what people here could be like. God, Connor must think I was an idiot.
“Julian,” Connor said slowly, but I wasn’t listening, I was too busy trying to stay upright through the sudden blast of vertigo rocking my body.
“I knew some people would be mad. I knew that. But I didn’t think they’d—” my voice broke, and I swallowed around the tears clogging my throat. “Do they have to do this publicly? In front of the kids and everything?”
“Julian, I don’t think—”
“I know Anne hates me, but after all the years I’ve spent here, I thought she’d be a little more decent. How am I supposed to teach today, if all my kids see their parents saying I shouldn’t even be in the classroom?”
“Jules, look.” Connor turned me back towards the schoolyard. “They’re not protesting you. They’re supporting you.”
I looked at the front of the building in incomprehension. I still couldn’t make out the words of the chant, or recognize anything on the signs aside from my name. But as I stared at the crowd a little longer, I realized it didn’t actually look like an angry protest.
There were balloons, for one thing. I was pretty sure there were streamers trailing off some of the signs. And as I listened, I heard an undercurrent of music. I looked back at Connor in confusion. He took my hand and pulled me towards the school.
When the crowd saw us, a cheer went up. An actual cheer. I clung to Connor’s hand, praying not to faint right there.
The chant started again. ‘Let him stay! Let him stay! Let him stay!’ I felt light-headed as we made our way up the steps to the front doors.
“Mr. Jackson! Mr. Jackson! Did you see my sign?” Dustin Leeds called out to me, and I turned to see him perched on top of Joey’s shoulders.
He waved his sign at me. ‘Mr. Jackson = Best Teachr Ever,’ with a little carrot and an additional ‘e’ above ‘Teachr.’ I had to swallow again before speaking. I was not going to lose it in front of all these people.
“Wow, Dustin,”