Sweet Dandelion

Ansel and I walk arm in arm down the street from the condo, headed to a nearby art store that recently opened. He hinted at wanting to check it out and since it’s so close we opted to walk once he got here, despite my absolute hatred of the cold.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” I shiver from the temperature, tightening my hold on his arm.

He moves closer to me as well. “It’s not that cold, Meadows. Stop being a baby. We’re almost there. We’re barely two blocks from the condo. It would’ve been silly to drive.”

I give him a look that says I whole-heartedly disagree with that statement.

“Whoa, isn’t that Mr. Taylor?”

I look ahead to where he’s

pointing with his free hand. “Who?” I blurt out, feeling blood rush to my face like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t.

“Mr. Taylor—the guidance counselor,” he adds, still pointing.

When I look, I know without a doubt it’s Lachlan walking his pet bear. But I squint anyway. “Oh, yeah, looks like it. He lives in my building,” I drop casually, hoping my voice isn’t quivering like I think it is.

Ansel’s head swings in my direction. “No shit?”

As we get closer to crossing paths, I recognize the three figures walking near him from the photos in his office.

It’s one thing seeing his family in photos, it’s another to see them in person. I feel my saliva get lodged in my throat, all because I’m probably feeling similar to Lachlan the day he ran into me out with Sage. Seeing him with his family is a reminder of how if we’d be found out for what we’ve done, it’s not just our lives that could be affected. Our family would know and it’d hurt them immeasurably.

I know the moment Lachlan spots me, because the casual conversation he was carrying on with his father is abruptly cut off.

It’s really not a surprise, us running into each other.

Ansel and I slow, as does Lachlan, which forces his family to as well.

I still haven’t told my friend that I spend my every day period with Mr. Taylor. I might’ve told him what happened at my old school, but it felt too embarrassing to share this fact with him. Besides, I’m worried if he finds out he might begin to realize that I like the school’s guidance counselor a little too much.

Lachlan clears his throat, and I try not to notice how good he looks in his fitted winter coat and a gray beanie. “Hi Ansel, Dani.”

“Hi, Mr. Taylor,” Ansel is the one to speak back.

I give an awkward wave, hoping none of them notices the familiarity with which Zeppelin rubs against me.

“Mom, Dad, Isla, these are two students at the school I work for.”

“Oh,” his mom brightens, “nice to meet you two.” She holds out a red-gloved hand to each of us. She’s beautiful, her dark hair streaked with silver, and smile lines beside her eyes. His dad is equally as handsome, an older version of Lachlan himself with a charming smile and glasses. Isla is gorgeous, and I have to elbow Ansel for nearly drooling at the sight of her. Her mahogany tresses hang past her breasts and her cheeks are tinted pink from the chill in the air. A light dusting of freckles are sprinkled across the tip of her nose.

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” I finally find the words to speak back.

There’s a moment of hesitation before Lachlan says, “Well, see you guys after break.”

“Mhmm, bye Mr. Taylor,” Ansel replies.

They seem to be oblivious to the way Lachlan and I hold eye contact for a beat too long. We’re tiptoeing a tightrope, waiting for it to snap any second.

I don’t loop my arm through Ansel’s again as we finish our trek to the art shop.

Once inside, Ansel looks like he won the lottery. His light blue eyes get big and round. With a mumbled, “I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” he disappears down one of the aisles, and I fear I might never see or hear from him again.

I’m only half-joking.

The store is huge, way bigger than I expected.

There are rows upon rows of different pigments, pastels, and every possible thing under the sun you could possibly need to create something.