Love You Better (Better Love 1)

I shoot the shit with Geoff for a few more minutes when I hear, “Mr. Pierce!” shouted from the hallway. Unsure if the call is directed at me or my pops, I glance up to see my student, Matthew, scrambling toward me. He gets within inches from me before slamming to a halt. The grin he’s wearing takes up his entire face.

“Hey, Matthew. What’s up, man?”

“Nothing,” he shrugs, suddenly sullen, and gestures behind him. “Had to come to a meeting with my mom and grandpa.” His face falls. “Dad was here but he left.”

Just then Ivy, my mom, and a woman I assume is Matthew’s mom come walking up the hallway. The sight of Ivy brings an entirely different kind of smile to my face, and she winks at me. The little flirt.

“Mom!” Matthew shouts. “This is Mr. Pierce. He’s my teacher I told you about.”

“Student teacher,” I correct with a smile. “I’m interning in his Social Studies class this semester.”

“Oh, so you’re the man Matthew eats lunch with. I’m Allison.” She assesses me with kind eyes. “Thank you. Truly.” I’m taken aback by her sincerity. “Come on, Matty. We have to go.” She thanks my mom and Ivy, saying she’ll be in touch, and then exits with Matthew.

I say a quick hey to my mom, give her a kiss on the cheek and tell her to say hey to Pop, and then I lead Ivy out.

“So that’s the kid you talk about? The one you always share your lunch with?”

“That’s him. One of my favorite students.”

Ivy hums in response. “I’m not really allowed to talk about it, but whatever you’re doing to make him light up like that around you, keep doing it, okay?”

Her cryptic message fills me with worry for Matthew, but as we round the corner into the parking lot, my attention is pulled right back to Ivy.

She jumps once and claps her hands. “Does this mean I get to drive?” she asks excitedly, and I feel a little zing of triumph that I called this one correctly.

“Sure does, Speed Racer. I borrowed the truck just for you.” I toss her the keys and open the driver’s side door for her. “Hop in. I’ll be your navigator.”

One hour later, Ivy pulls into the parking lot of our old school and turns off the engine. She does a quick survey of the area, and then turns to me.

“The high school?” She scrunches her nose and furrows her brow quizzically. “Why the high school?”

“Patience, Grasshopper,” I tease. “C’mon.”

On the outside, I’m all confidence and swagger, but on the inside, I’m shaking and sweating just like I did at my first ever soccer tryout. I take Ivy’s hand and lead her to the back of our old high school building where there’s a flower garden maintained by the agriculture class.

“Remember the first day we met?”

“Of course,” she beams. “How could I forget? You were my first friend and table buddy. You were the only thing that made being forced to move schools tolerable. Enjoyable, even.”

The sparkle in her eyes when she looks up at me fuels my confidence and my chest puffs out like a damn strutting rooster. A cocky cock, if you will.

“Well, what if I told you that you knocked me on my ass that first day? I had the biggest crush.”

“What? I had no idea.”

I give a wry chuckle and nudge her with my elbow, turning her toward the flower garden. “You were totally oblivious.”

“How was I supposed to know?” she protests. “You never said anything. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Well, funny you should ask.” I pause our stroll and survey the raised beds. The agriculture classes have added new landscaping projects over the years, so it takes me a minute to find what I’m looking for. But when I see it, I lead Ivy into the garden.

“So, after the first few weeks of school, I actually decided I was going to shoot my shot. Tell you I liked you.” I glance down at her, and she’s watching me with rapt attention.

“I even asked my mom for advice,” I admit with an embarrassed grin.

“What did she say?”

“She said to make it special and be honest. So, with all my fourteen-year-old wisdom, I decided that make it special meant give you flowers. But I also had already spent my allowance on a new video game and way too much soda from the vending machine, so I had to improvise.”