Substitute Teacher Page 2

  “Probably a good thing.” Opening the door to the storm outside, Stone motioned out into it. “I have a feeling knowing you would have been a huge mood killer. I probably wouldn’t have even been able to get it up.”

  “Go sing ‘Jingle Bells,’ you tool!” The stranger turned his jacket inside out. Apparently, the leather side was for looks only.

  “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way…” Stone sang at the top of his lungs, forcefully enough to drown out the rain coming once again in buckets. “Just because I know it annoys you. Oh, what fun it is to ride…” When the guy flipped the bird, Stone slammed the door on him. “Good riddance!”

  Chapter 2

  Back from Christmas Break

  Watching the clock as intently as the twenty-three sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen-year-olds on benches flanking four long wooden tables, Stone spoke up.

  “If you’re behind on your final project, feel free to take your canvas home for the weekend.”

  He glanced toward Addison Riser, wanting to single her out, while not making it obvious he was. Addison hadn’t put any effort into her work since they’d returned from Christmas break five days earlier. Stone, who usually taught middle schoolers, was taking over for high school Art teacher, Miss Lieu, who had suffered an accident while skiing New Year’s Eve. The one semester course was for juniors and seniors only. This project was their final exam. Stone never wanted to fail any student, especially now, as “just the substitute.” If Addison didn’t paint, draw, or decoupage something, he wouldn’t have a choice.

  “Three, two, see you tomorrow, one. Riiiiing.” Stone had ended class like that every day so far. By the third, several students had started saying it with him. Now, they all did.

  Classrooms emptied quickly last period. Stone got it. He wished he could leave, too, but now had to face the least enjoyable part of his job—a disciplinary conference.

  The first week back to school after the holidays was sometimes a bit depressing, partially due to the end of the cross-country tour with the Twelve Drummers Drumming that came along with it. Magical was one way to describe the 2018 series. Every guy in the band, maybe Stone, especially, had been left with a sweet, hopeful, romantic feeling because of what had developed between self-described Jim Shore wannabe AC Maughan and one of the drummers. Now, by the end of the first week in January, like the green on many a Douglas fir tossed to the curb, the notion that true love was possible, that or even another night as hot as the one with the jerk in the Prada jacket at Thanksgiving, was starting to fade.

  Fortunately, Stone loved his day job, too. He smiled, looking over his students’ canvases. Miss Lieu ended and started every semester the same way. Her first assignment was to create a rendering that represented how they saw themselves, using only a Post-It note. Gino Castello had finished within two seconds. He’d drawn a dot, nothing but a tiny speck in ink, and not just because he was in a rush to get back to his phone, like some of the kids, Miss Lieu had relayed by phone. Stone got that. Their final exam was a larger self-portrait, to see if their idea of how the world saw them had changed in four months. Any effort at all would certainly earn a passing grade, even if not the highest. Gino’s was already quite elaborate. He no longer saw himself as a speck. Stone liked that.

  Addison Riser, on the other hand, refused to create anything. For five days straight, she mostly sat and stared at her blank canvas, at the wall, at other students, at the ceiling, or the floor.

  “Is this how you see yourself?” Stone had asked her on Thursday.

  “No,” she’d responded. “I’m not a nothing.”

  “You certainly aren’t.”

  “I just don’t wanna do it. It’s stupid, okay?”

  “Your earlier work, your mini-portrait is—”

  “It sucks.” Addison had then fled for the bathroom. Stone was half surprised she’d shown up the next day.

  There was a medical issue, that much Stone knew. Addison had started off the semester quite well, though, earning an A the first quarter. Miss Lieu suggested reaching out to Addison’s parents, so, the day before, Stone had phoned the number in her student file.

  They were meeting at two-thirty and could hopefully figure something out. There were several types of parents, he knew. Type one, thankfully the majority, accepted constructive criticism and cooperated. There were also the Type twos, those, “No way. My Johnny would never throw paint at Sally,” parents, who’d blame the other student, the teacher, or the entire educational system as a whole. Lastly, there were Type threes, the ones who simply wouldn’t show.

  Passing time until Lee Riser, Addison’s mother or father, Stone presumed, was scheduled to arrive, Stone took another look at the Post-Its around the door frame. One was missing. “Damn it.”

  “What’s that?” a voice asked.

  “Nothing. Sorry.”

  “I’m Addison Riser’s father.”

  “Stone Larrabee.” His jaw nearly hit the classroom’s black and red checkerboard tile at the sight when he turned.

  “Lee Riser.” The guy was covered in pine needles, hair to pant cuffs, like an ice cream cone with green sprinkles. “I came straight from work. I didn’t want to be late.” He even had some on the lenses of his glasses.

  “No worries.”

  “We were up in the conifers today,” Lee explained, “getting limbs away from power lines.”

  ‘Wow. Way up?”

  “Way up. You get used to it, and I like being outdoors all day.”

  “Nice.” Stone motioned for Lee to sit. “I wish I could teach outdoors more often.” He took the big chair behind the desk. “So, about Addison…”

  “Yes. I’m sorry she’s not doing her assignment. We’ll speak to her, for sure. Thank you for calling us in to let us know.”

  “Thank you for coming. I understand the difficulties of her type one diabetes.”

  “There might be bad moments, scary ones, none that should interfere with her schoolwork, not on a regular basis. Don’t let her use that as an excuse.”

  “She hasn’t,” Stone said quickly. “She says she just doesn’t want to do the assignment, that she’s not good at art. That wasn’t the case before. Miss Lieu, who I’m subbing for, said she was quite good. I can’t even get her to try.”

  “Dang.”

  “I’ve spoken with her other teachers as well. I’m told she’s an excellent student, a pleasure.”

  “She is for us.”

  “And I wouldn’t disagree,” Stone said. “The only difference is, she hasn’t slacked off in their classes.”

  “She draws at home all the time and sings and dances.”

  “She showed us that yesterday.”

  “Oh, geeze.”

  “I tried to explain how those same feelings, that same emotion can be expressed with a paintbrush or a pencil,” Stone said. “She did fine with the Post-Its earlier in the year.”

  “I was looking at those.” Lee nodded in their direction.

  “Me, too,” came a second voice from up front. “Where’s Addison’s?”

  “My husband,” Lee said turning toward the door. “He’s never on time.”

  Stone stood, but just for a second. “Husband?”

  “Yes,” Lee told him. “Addison’s namesake…sort of.”

  Stone was back up in time to take the man’s hand. Their skin to skin contact sent a familiar pulse through his body.

  “Edison Watts.” There was definitely a hint of recognition in his beautiful blue eyes, as he seemed to search Stone’s for more information. “If Sonny had been a boy, there’d be two of us. Do I know you?”

  Stone knew Edison. He knew where he’d been Thanksgiving weekend, at least, and what he looked like naked. His name was new. “I’m, uh, Stone Larrabee.”

  “I got that from the nameplate on the door. I swear I remember your face from somewhere.”

  If not my face, maybe my ass. Your dick was up it for an hour in a sleazy motel room out west around six weeks ago. br />
  Stone didn’t say that. Looking back and forth between Edison and his husband—his husband—no words would come at all.

  “Ohhh.” Edison nodded, his eyes closing to tiny, annoyed little slits. “California. Now, it all makes sense.”

  “California?” Lee looked confused.

  “What makes sense?” Stone asked.

  Edison ignored both questions, going on an unrelated tirade. “You and your ego, your condescending judgements. Addison’s work wasn’t good enough, right? I saw a bird. The banner says, ‘Self Portraits.’ Some kid draws a flamingo and gets up on the wall? Another made a dot. What the hell is that all about?”

  Stone closed the door and pulled over a second chair, placing it right beside Edison’s husband. His husband! “Sit, Mr. Watts, please.”

  “This is why I had no use for school, because of teachers like you.”

  “Teachers like me?”

  “The kind where nothing is good enough. Some teachers are great, but there’s always one that gets off making a kid’s life miserable, who’s got it in for one of his students for no good reason or one stupid reason.”

  “Ed…” Lee came to Stone’s defense, sort of.

  “I’m sorry your school experience wasn’t pleasant, Mr. Watts, but I assure you,” Stone said, “I don’t have it in for Addison or anyone else.”

  “‘Your wish is my command,’ you said. ‘It’s I, not me,’ you said. ‘You’re stupid and you smell bad,’ you said.”

  “I never said those last two things. I said you smelled strong.”

  “Ha!” Lee chuckled. “He’s got ya there, Ed. I keep telling him, when it comes to that pricy Christian Dior stuff, less is more.”

  Stone opened the window behind his desk a crack. It was definitely bad timing.

  “Oh,” Edison said. “See. Is that a shot? This whole room smells like a five-hundred-gallon barrel of Axe body spray. I walk in, and you have to open a window?”

  “No. It’s…Teenage boys…I thought…It felt a little warm in here all of a sudden.” The threat of exposing an adulterous Black Friday tryst could definitely raise one’s temperature. “I don’t buy cologne in the grocery store anymore,” Stone blurted out.

  “Ed, sit down.” Lee looked to Stone. “Tell me how you know my hothead husband.”

  “Sonoma.” Edison answered, instead. “Well, outside Sonoma. He’s the guy from Thanksgiving.”

  “No way.” Lee looked shocked, possibly angry, but definitely shocked.

  “Yes way. The jerk who picked me up and pissed me off.”

  “The pickup was mutual.” Stone used his inside voice, hoping Edison might catch on to do the same.

  “A one-night stand I thought I’d never lay eyes on again.” Those blue eyes were boring holes through Stone now. “No such luck.”

  “What’s the likelihood of that, I wonder?” Lee stopped to add a snort of laughter. Amusement or distain, it could have gone either way. “What are the odds that our daughter’s Art teacher would turn out to be the best sex you’ve ever had?”

  So, the husband knew. Stone didn’t take time to bask in the compliment, but did prepare himself for a verbal beatdown, possibly a physical one. Lee looked like he could fight.

  “Yup. Now it makes sense.” First, it made sense to Edison. Now, it made sense to his husband. The one person none of it made sense to was Stone. “I definitely get the instant attraction.” Lee was all smiles. “If this was Grease, we’d be celebrating your reunion by singing ‘Summer Lovin’ outside on the football field with half the student body. If it’s like Mamma Mia, twenty years from now, Mr. Larrabee and the two other guys you hooked up with that weekend might show up for a paternity test.”

  “I didn’t hook up with anyone else that weekend, no one at all.” For some reason, Edison said that to Stone. If the husband didn’t care, why should he?

  “So he says.” Lee raised both brows above the rim of his wire-framed glasses.

  “One guy,” Edison insisted.

  Were they swingers? That was hot. Was the possibility of a threesome on the table? Despite the fact he traveled across the continental US several winters in a row with eleven other men, Stone had never been part of one of those.

  “You sure do have a type, Ed.”

  “A type? What’s that mean?” Had Edison not asked, Stone might have.

  “Well, come on.” Lee was downright giddy. “We kind of look alike.”

  “You do not.”

  As Edison glanced back and forth between the other two, Stone just stared at Lee. Did they resemble one another? Un-styled brown hair, green eyes, glasses, slightly disheveled attire, love handles, befuddled around Edison Whats-his-name…Yeah, they sure did.

  “Spare me your Psych evaluation, Leeland.”

  Stone shifted in his seat. “Maybe we should get back to Addison.”

  Edison leaned in, coming quite close. He smelled good, not overpowering, but good. “Sonny is a great kid.”

  Stone didn’t know where to look. “I agree.”

  “Then why are you flunking her?”

  “I’m not.”

  “He’s not,” Lee said. “She’s refusing to do her final assignment.”

  Edison shrugged. “Art’s not that important in the grand scheme of life, right?”

  “It certainly is in mine,” Stone said.

  “I thought you were a drummer.”

  “That’s important, too, but this is what I do. I’m a teacher. I believe art matters.”

  “You can’t turn a kid into something they’re not. You definitely shouldn’t try to change who they are, Mr. Larrabee. I never agreed with basing a kid’s gym grade on athletic ability, and you shouldn’t grade my daughter based on how her artwork stacks up to yours.”

  “That’s not how I grade at all. Addison is talented, but trying is nine tenths of it. Now, she won’t. This is new. And there have been other behavioral problems.”

  “Not Addison. Never.” There it was, from Edison.

  “Her self-portrait…the Post-It one…”

  “Where is it?” he asked.

  “I think she took it down this afternoon on her way into or out of class. It was there before last period. She told me a couple days ago, and I quote, ‘It sucks.’”

  “It’s possible Addison has inherited Ed’s flair for the dramatic.”

  Stone felt relieved when Edison aimed his sneer elsewhere for a moment.

  “What was it?”

  “A butterfly,” Stone told Lee. “With two palms holding it.”

  “Aww. Us, maybe.” Edison showed his soft side again, like when he was talking to his cat on the phone.

  “The perspective was perfect.”

  “What’s perspective?” Surly Edison made a comeback.

  Stone explained how things at the forefront had to look larger, and those farther away became small, all adding to the reality of the image. It was something new artists struggled with most, he knew, and was difficult to get just right. “She did it, though. It was also colorful, quite beautiful. She took the whole class to do it. I wish whatever she felt that day would come back.”

  “Or whatever happened since would go away.” Lee looked out the window, as if the answer was there.

  “You mentioned she sings and dances,” Stone said, speaking to him.

  “She’s great at that.” Edison responded anyway.

  “Okay. I have an idea.” Stone cleared his throat, then stuttered a bit. “How about you…you take the canvas home, and tell her to paint while dancing? Would you go for something like that?”

  “Would you?” Lee asked.

  “Truthfully, I would rather she come up with the concept herself, but if you hint broadly, maybe we can get her there.”

  “I like that idea,” Lee said.

  “I couldn’t draw or paint me.”

  “You have other skills.” Lee touched Edison’s arm.

  Though Edison made a sound not nearly as sexy or pleasant as the ones he’d ma
de back in November, Stone still imagined painting him, or painting on him, both of them totally nude.

  “It’s possible we might be dealing with a slightly deeper issue,” Lee revealed.

  “Oh?”

  “Addison’s mother, Kate…”

  “She died.” Edison finished the thought, then allowed Lee to continue.

  “Addison visited with her maternal grandparents over Christmas. Kate loved art. Her parents showed off some of her work.” It was apparent by the softness of Lee’s voice the topic was difficult. “It’s also possible Addison doesn’t want to be like Kate at all.”

  Stone wanted to ask why. He didn’t, but Lee explained further, anyway.

  “Addison’s mother died of a drug overdose…opioids. Kate didn’t even make twenty-one. Addison was barely three.”

  “I’m sorry.” There was little more Stone could say. “Our school psychologist—”

  “Fuck that.”

  “Language. We’re at school.” Lee brushed Edison’s cheek. “We can’t judge every situation by the past. I’m sure things have evolved since our high school days.”

  Stone knew they had since his. He was thankful for that. Each generation, he hoped, was doing better and better for LGBTQI and nonbinary kids.

  “This one here has helped me raise Addison from day one.” Lee’s hand had moved only as far as the nape of Edison’s neck. “We’re going to have to be on the same page, Ed. We’re going to have to back up Mr. Larrabee. Can we do that?”

  Edison scowled. “We can do that.”

  “Thank you.” Stone rose, ready to end the whole thing.

  “Thank you,” Lee said, also on his feet. “I have to get back to work.” He kissed Edison’s forehead. “See you at home. We’ll all cook dinner and talk to Sonny then, okay?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Edison stayed seated.

  “Let’s hope it works.”

  “Yes.” Stone shook Lee’s hand when offered, then watched as he left, wondering why Edison was staying.

  “So, the kid with the dot,” Edison began, as Stone turned back from the door. “He, uh, feels insignificant, maybe, like a speck, in a vast, cruel word.”

  “Maybe, or did at the time.”