or sparring. We were just talking. Like people do. Not cast in roles as uppity librarian and hard-ass administrator—just two people catching up on old times.
But I’d been so afraid of saying something foolish, that I’d done something foolish instead. I’d tried to argue him into staying like that.
Surprise! It didn’t work.
He took another step back in the sand, composing himself. Then, he turned back toward the group—all of whom were staring at us, by the way. And, as he made his way back toward them, I had no choice but to follow.
The teachers’ eyes shifted between the two of us as they watched for a verdict.
When he arrived at the group, he let out a long sigh.
Then, in a tone of voice like he was the one who’d been defeated, he finally said, “Everybody back to school. Right now. Or the kids all have D-halls and the teachers all have to proctor them.”
The teachers hesitated for a second.
But then, when Duncan added, “Don’t make me take the Keurig out of the faculty lounge”—they jumped into action.
eleven
That moment on the beach left me on an emotional seesaw about Duncan.
He was still acting like a warden, and systematically dismantling everything I loved about my school, and by extension my job, and by extension my life.
But that little human moment we’d shared together on the beach wouldn’t let me give up on him entirely. Worse: it had cracked open a little leak of longing in the dam of my heart. And I could feel the crack growing a little bit every day.
In response, mostly, I avoided him. Things had been easier when I could see him as nothing but a jerk. It wasn’t fun to see him that way, but it was easier.
That taste of honey wound up being worse than none at all.
Just like the song says.
Now, I was having to master the art of looking at him but not looking. Because now, I wanted to look as much as I didn’t want to look, and that state of tension was infused with agony. So I’d look at things near him. I’d find a reason to glance in his direction without actually focusing on him. I’d try to give in just enough to satisfy the urge without actually doing it. Like biting the corner of a chocolate bar.
It only made things worse. You could’ve told me that.
This was the crux of it: Yes, he was the enemy, and yes, he was ruining my life, and yes, I was in the process of trying to get him fired … but he was also really fun to talk to.
Irresistibly fun to talk to.
You know those people? Those very rare, very special people who just play a kind of counterbeat to yours? It was like the way we talked had a rhythm, like he was the bass drum and I was the snare. He was doing his thing and I was doing mine, but the two of us together were just super danceable.
And the more we talked to each other, the faster we fell into that rhythm, and the more I just wanted to stay there.
But of course, it was all forbidden. I shouldn’t joke with him, or banter with him, or even talk to him unless I had a good reason. I sure as hell shouldn’t walk through the hallways with him.
The other teachers wouldn’t approve. Heck, I didn’t even approve.
So, for a couple of weeks there, I found myself looking for “legitimate” reasons to pop by his office, or ask for his help, or stay late after school in case he might be walking out around the same time that I was walking out and we could walk together and crack each other up without, you know, getting in trouble with myself.
Chuck Norris turned out to be a great resource for this because he kept coming to the library and gnawing on the books when he should have been on patrol. He really loved to eat books. So I’d walk him down, hand the book to Duncan to add to the growing pile, and then, as I turned to leave, Duncan would say, “Great outfit today, by the way.”
I’d look down at my kelly-green circle skirt and my striped, multicolored knee socks below. “Thanks,” I’d say. “These are clown socks, actually. Got ’em at the party store in the bargain bin for a dollar.”
“Wow. Clown socks.”
“Yeah. But … cool ones.”
“They’re less cool now that I know they’re clown socks. Remaindered clown socks.”
“False.