Bully to Boyfriend Read online

  His chuckling echoed out into the hallway before disappearing. I could feel Augustus’s eyes on me as I sat my coffee down and busied myself with papers. “Literature Brawl?” he muttered to himself, sounding distant. “Oh, that quiz bowl thing we did back in the day? They still do that?”

  “It’s a tradition,” I sighed. “You know, to encourage kids to read more. It’s more important today than we were here, I can’t tell you how tablets and cellphones have rotted these kids brains.”

  “That’s true,” he said, his smile showing in his voice; I hadn’t yet raised my head to face him. I didn’t want to. “What kid wants to read Moby Dick when they can play Candy Crush on their phone?”

  “It’s the great dilemma of the English teacher.”

  Silence fell between us as I sorted papers that were never out of order. Normally, the peace before the students’ arrival went quickly, but every passing second felt like an hour in his presence. When I heard the buses approaching the front of the school, I gathered the daily “bell-ringer” handouts and moved toward the door. My journey was cut brief as I was faced with a broad chest. Warm, gentle hands touched my arms. “Listen, I know we didn’t leave off on a good note as kids… We were both immature and passionate, you know? Let’s let bygones be bygones and start fresh,” he urged with a sickly sweet and condescending tone, as if he were speaking to the thirteen-year-old me and not the twenty-five-year-old who stood before him. To me, it felt as though he were poking fun at me, being able to read my age-old angst toward him and found it humorous that I wasn’t glowing upon meeting him again.

  I shrugged his hands off of me. “You’re right, we were kids back then but you can’t just expect me to get over years of bullying and you ruining my personal belongings just because time has passed. Maybe you’ve grown up, sure, but that doesn’t mean I have to like you. I’ll be professional, I’ll help you with your class since your unexpected reappearance takes a weight off my shoulders, but don’t expect me to be your friend. Why would I want to be?” I stared him in his eyes as I spoke that time, wanting him to watch him take in every word I said. “Just because you can pretend like nothing ever happened between us doesn’t mean I can. We never liked each other and that doesn’t have to change.”

  The friendly expression on his face turned into a twisted look of confusion, shame, and disappointment. For a moment, and only a moment, I noticed that he had grown into a handsome man. His chocolate brown eyes were deep and complex, his bone structure prominent and hauntingly beautiful. In that moment of clarity, I felt guilty that I had made a man feel bad for something he had done in childhood, as if his character was defined by those years. It wasn’t, and I knew it wasn’t, but that didn’t mean I had control over the impression he had spent years of our shared childhood crafting. Augustus had been a playful rival turned bully and no amount of fake smiles and pleasantries could restore a book that meant more to me than anything from those years.

  The tension burst when the first wave of students poured into the room. I greeted each of them, putting on my best face, and handed them the worksheets. Many of them asked who “that guy” was, but I told them I would introduce him once everyone was in the room. Soon enough, the classroom was full. “Everyone, this is Mr. Pratt, he’s the new English teacher. He’ll be shadowing me today before taking over the other class. Treat him kindly and with respect, please.”

  There was a roar of reactions amongst the students, most of them being from the girls saying things along the lines of he’s so cute and about time this school had a hot teacher. I didn’t bother raising my voice to settle them, but remained at the center of the front of the room and allowed them to bring themselves to silence before instructing them to proceed with filling out their worksheets.

  Having Augustus in the classroom wasn’t as terrible as I thought it would be; he mostly stayed silent and observed. At times I forgot he was even there, getting carried away with the lessons. The only time he would come back to mind would be when he moved to hand out materials before I had the chance to. Admittedly, with his cocky nature, I had assumed he would spend the better part of my class interrupting me to give his own input on my lesson—but he didn’t.

  The morning drifted by with surprising ease. As the class dismissed for their elective block and teacher’s lunch, I wiped down the whiteboard and was giddy to go join Alora for our usual lunch date. “Would you mind going over your standard lesson plan with me, over lunch?” Augustus asked from behind me. “I have an idea but would like to see some examples so I can get a clear picture.”

  “I usually spend my lunch away from lesson plans, a nice break in the day…” I muttered.

  “I know, and I respect that. I just figured it would keep me from having to come ask for advice so much to have a half an hour to sit down and absorb it.”

  I wanted to fight it, but he made a good point. I mentally apologized to Alora before nodding my head. “All right, that’s fine.”

  I sat down at my desk for the first time that day, and opened my lunch bag, taking out my usual sandwich before preparing a stack of papers to show him; he dragged a chair from a table in the back of the room and sat at the front of the desk. “It’s pretty straightforward. Once you do one, you can do a thousand. Not to mention the state-mandated subjects act as a guide to build your lesson on. You get a little bit of freedom, like which book to choose as long as it is an appropriate grade level, and what exercises and projects you want to do to teach the mandatory subjects. I’ve found that the best way to get them engaged is to sort of hand it over to them, ask them questions and find projects that make them think about their own opinions and experience with whatever you’re reading. Making them memorize facts and scholarly analyses of the work…” I couldn’t ignore his intense gaze anymore. I looked up from the paper to see him staring at me with such a peculiar look on his face that I was unsettled, shuffling in my spot. “What?”

  He seemed to snap out of it a bit, sitting up straighter and clearing his throat. “Nothing, nothing… Just taking in all the information. Sorry.” Something about his expression told me he was lying, but I didn’t care to probe further. I continued with my explanation, running through the basics before I began eating my lunch. As soon as my teeth sank through the multigrain bread, he spoke again, “I’ve never seen someone so passionate about teaching… It’s admirable. You’re just…. aglow when you talk about it.”

  A heat came over my face, but I tried to ignore it. “Well, I’m here to do a job. Even if it’s not glamorous, or what I saw myself doing, I want to do it well. I think you know as well as I do how much the school years form you as a person. I want to do what I can to make it a good experience for each student.”

  There was a twinkle in his eye. “What did you see yourself doing?”

  “That’s irrelevant… Let’s just focus on the plans, okay?”

  I could tell he wanted to press onward, to probe into my personal life, but he nodded in agreement.

  The rest of the day carried on like the first half had, and in fact, had sped along faster than any day I had there in a long time. Once the bell rang, only two students remained who had reserved a half hour of additional tutoring. I sat with them, reviewing the assignments they had failed with them, and had an open conversation about why they got certain answers wrong and clarified the correct answer for them. Sometimes tutoring dragged along, especially when it was the child’s parent which requested it so the kid would fuss and huff the entire time they were with me. These kids were upset by the bad grades, and genuinely wanted to understand why they did poorly. It broke my heart to see that look of defeat in their eyes, I would talk to them about how one bad grade didn’t mean they were stupid or a failure, it just meant they had room to improve as we all did. By the end of the tutoring session, they would leave with some points earned back to their grade and a brighter disposition.

  Grabbing my bag, I headed for my car with nothing on my nightly agenda but grading papers while eating pas
ta and watching true crime documentaries, a typical weeknight routine. When I opened my car door, I heard an all too familiar voice call out, “June!”

  I turned to see Augustus jogging toward me, his navy button-up sleeves pushed to the elbows and his vest unbuttoned and swinging at his sides. “Yes, Augustus?”

  “Gus,” he corrected me. “Augustus makes me feel like an old man.” He gave a half-hearted chuckle.

  With one hand on the top of my door, I turned to face him head on with my other hand on my hip, “What can I help you with, Gus?”

  “Thank you for today. I know that it wasn’t something you wanted to do, but you helped me out more than I can put into words. I feel better going into that classroom tomorrow, don’t feel like I’m going to be eaten alive anymore.” Gus flashed a wiry grin and scratched the back of his neck. “Look, I know you’re sick of me, but I have some ideas for the Literature Brawl. Do you think maybe… we could hang out tonight and plan it?”

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. You have a lot on your plate, being new and all. I have another teacher helping me plan that.”

  “It’s for my class, though. I want to be involved, you know? Please, just for a little while. I promise I won’t crowd you. Like you said, I want my students to experience the best class they can. How can I ensure that unless I’m involved?”

  My fingers drummed against the car door, analyzing him. My inner eighth-grade-self screamed in defiance, but I had to keep the best interests for all the students in mind. “Okay, okay… Fine. Do you remember where Gianni’s is?”

  Chapter Three

  The smell of garlic and freshly baked bread wafted through the only Italian place in town. It was impossible to find a good burger or gourmet sandwich in town, but Gianni’s was remarkable. They sat Augustus and me on the back patio, to take advantage of the unseasonably warm day. Before I could tell the waiter what I wanted to drink, Augustus replied first, “A bottle of the house red for the table, please.”

  I gave him an inscrutable look. “It’s a Wednesday.”

  “Is Wednesday not a good day for wine?” he replied as the waiter walked off to fetch the bottle of wine. “C’mon, June, lighten up, okay? I promise I don’t bite.” The waiter returned and poured us each a glass before leaving us to read the menu. “I know you don’t want to be here with me, so I figured wine might have us both relax a bit.”

  I analyzed his face as he took a swig of the wine before picking up my glass. “I prefer white,” I murmured, unable to resist being defiant.

  Augustus gave one firm nod, “Duly noted, madam.” We sipped the wine and picked at the breadsticks as we talked about the average school day, and I gave him tips on how to navigate the faculty, who to avoid and who to make a good friend. I was doing my best to get over my childish hatred of him enough to treat him like any other coworker, since I would see him every day of the school year and teacher workdays. I didn’t have to like him, but we needed to get along. I began my second glass of wine, knowing my grandmother would have been proud of me for putting kindness first, even when our history told me to Augustus was someone to avoid at all costs.

  “Okay, I have to know. Why come back to town twelve years later? Didn’t you move out of state?” I probed at one point in the evening.

  “I don’t get to know why you became a teacher, but you want to know why I am?” he challenged, narrowing his eyes at me.

  That was a fair point, but I held my ground. “I didn’t ask why you were a teacher, I asked why you were back in a town you haven’t been to in over a decade.”

  “Well, why are you back in town?”

  “I asked first.” I smiled, realizing I was enjoying our banter.

  “Schoolyard rules, huh? Fair enough, if I tell you, you tell me.”

  I didn’t even hesitate, caught up in the playful teasing. “Deal.”

  “And you call me Gus.”

  “You can’t tack on more rules, Gloop.”

  He caught his tongue between his teeth as he tried not to grin. “Fine…” He took a deep drink of his wine and sat back in his chair. Something in the air around us shifted, but I couldn’t identify why. Sucking in a breath, Augustus began, “I moved away because my parents were divorcing. They gave me the choice between staying with my mom or moving with my dad. Having always been closer to my dad than my mom, I chose him. I’m back to take care of her now and make up for some lost time.”

  There was a lump growing in my throat, sober enough to read between the lines. His mother was sick, but I wouldn’t dare ask with what or how severe—I didn’t have to. No one our age “made up for lost time” unless there was an expiration date on the situation. To be young and dumb meant to think there would always be time left to do all the things you wanted to do, and should do. He was thrown into maturity, at least in that regard. My stomach churned, feeling sick over my behavior toward him the day before and that morning. Instinctively, I reached across the table and laid a hand over his because I knew that pain he felt and the condolences and ill-placed apologies didn’t do a lick of good.

  “Teaching was the only job available in town unless I wanted to stock shelves at the grocery store,” Augustus half-heartedly laughed. “They were so desperate that Sanchez called in a couple favors to help me get my teaching certificate in a week. It’s nothing like the job I had before, but it keeps me busy and helps with the bills.”

  “What did you do before?”

  “I own a real estate business in Chicago. It’s successful, but it’s a competitive business so earnings can be hit-and-miss.”

  “Wow, impressive… How did you get into real estate?”

  “Stop deflecting, June Nunley,” Augustus tutted. “You were supposed to tell me how you ended up back in town; and I did tell you why I got into teaching so now it’s your turn.”

  I shot him a look and huffed. “Fine… fine. I didn’t go off anywhere glamorous like Chicago, but I went South Carolina State for English Literature. I wanted to go into publication, but it’s harder to get started in than I thought. Moved back home to save some money and get a new plan. So, I’m just… figuring things out.”

  He arched a brow at me, “Are you living with your family?”

  “I did for a couple months, but I rent a place now. Why? Were you going to judge me if I was?”

  “Not at all,” Gus said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just curious how much we have in common.”

  “I don’t think it’s much, other than getting sucked back into this this dismal little town,” I scoffed, twirling the pasta noodles around my fork.

  There was a warm smile over his face, “How can you say that? You don’t even know me.”

  “We went to school together for seven years, Gus. I know you plenty.”

  “Okay, you know six-year-old me to thirteen-year-old me… You don’t know the twenty-five-year-old me, which I have to say, is the best me.”

  “Is that so?” I questioned, crossing my arms before gesturing for him to continue, “What’s so great about twenty-five-year-old Augustus Pratt?”

  “Well, for starters, I love music—”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  His eyes narrowed again, “Well, I love things like classical, and jazz, and folk. Things with a lot of heart and a story to tell. I own a projector which I use to screen Quentin Tarantino movies—”

  “Be still, my beating heart! A twenty-five-year-old man who just loves Quentin Tarantino. I’m gazing at a true marvel of nature.”

  “And,” he continued, “old black and white films… From Casablanca to Night of the Living Dead. I go hiking, I have a pit bull named Cosmos…” He studied my face, taking in how uninterested I was in these surface level confessions. “Okay, you don’t want the Tinder bio version? Fine.” He wiped his mouth before perching on the edge of his chair and staring me in the eyes.

  “I collect old cassettes and I don’t even have a working tape player. I just like the way they look on my shelf, and I feel like I’m
rescuing them from their landfill fate.

  Even though I have money, I still shop at the discount stores because seeing the toll divorce took on my parents not just emotionally but financially, I’m paranoid about falling into a similar circumstance. That’s despite the fact my longest relationship ever was three months, and I broke up with her because she divulged the information that she believed the Fast and the Furious franchise was underrated. I knew it was a shallow reason to break up with someone, but all I could think about was how our potential children would be forced to follow up my 1954 version of Creature from the Black Lagoon with The Fate of the Furious. Because children take their parents’ opinions as fact, they would go throughout life basing their taste in things off a movie series that’s nonsensical and focuses on how cool cars are.

  I’ve had the same 1980s BMW since I was eighteen and I couldn’t care less about how fast my car can go, as long as it can go the speed limit.

  If I could shoot any historical figure, outside of the obvious dictator choices, it would be Ernest Hemingway because I cannot get through one of his drunken dabbles without being enraged by his homophobic and misogynistic undertones. I don’t know why it irks me so much when there are far bigger fish to fry throughout human history, but damn would my day be better not having to think about his books. I’m a devoted son and a passionate learner to this day, those facts about me have never changed. Neither has my oh-so-charming inability to stop while I’m ahead, so please, for all the stars in the sky, stop me.”

  I broke out in a hearty laugh, one so deep and genuine my stomach hurt. There had been no way to prepare myself for the fluid train of thought that painted such a peculiar picture of him. I had no real opinion of what he shared, other than being completely fascinated—something I didn’t want to admit. He joined in my laughter, his dorky laugh not matching his professional and bachelor appearance. It made me laugh more.