Look Again

Reuben is the first to jump on the Torture Train. He wipes the crumbs from his hands and says, “Ready to see your display?” He manages to ask it without breaking into a laugh. His face is perfectly sincere and serene. I barely hold in a laugh. “It’s just over here.” Reuben waves toward the back corner of the room, gesturing with both hands. “Picture this: The sculpture will be lit from above, with a spotlight we’re borrowing from your auditorium and dangling from the ceiling.”

Dexter sends me a worried look.

Dierdre jumps in. “And Annabeth’s hourly collage photos have been printed on metallic boards, so they’ll stick to the magnets we’ve glued to the paneling in the corner.”

“Right,” said Reuben. “We’ll have three monitors showing the animated music video. Miss Harker, will you sing the soundtrack and I’ll act out the animated dance moves? It’ll be just like you’re there.”

I just can’t anymore. I lose it. My laugh, sneaking out past both my hands and closed lips, sounds like a snort mixed with an explosion of air. All the kids burst out laughing, and I watch the color return to Dexter’s face.

He laughs with us (but we laugh harder, I notice). It takes him a minute to lower his shoulders from the altitude they’d climbed to. “Okay, that was good. Did you practice that?” he asks.

Chad shakes his head. “We are just excellent at following our teacher’s lead.” I wonder if Chad is capable of saying anything that doesn’t make him sound like a complete tool. He always sounds like he’s performing for some kind of audience.

For a second, I wonder if Dexter was like that in high school. I hope not.

“That was off the cuff?” Dexter sounds surprised, impressed, maybe intrigued. “We have this improv team that every single one of you should come out for.” He turns to me. “Especially you,” he says, half pointing, half resting his hand on my shoulder, his thumb barely grazing my collarbone. I lose my breath and melt again at the way he smiles at me.

What? Where is this coming from? I glance around to make sure I didn’t accidentally make some swoony face in front of the kids. Luckily, they are momentarily absorbed with Dexter, which is awesome. Something I did made them all comfortable with him. Maybe they’re going to be his now, too.

“Improv? Like a bunch of people making up plays and telling jokes and dancing around?” Dierdre asks. I’m grateful for her chatter as I bring my breathing pattern back to normal.

Dexter looks confused. “No. Not really. None of that.”

Dierdre shrugs. “Too bad. I could have gotten behind something like that.”

Dexter turns and looks at me again. “Is she messing with me?” he asked, his hand still on my shoulder, his thumb still a whisper near my throat.

“Messing with you is the order of the day,” I say.

The corners of his eyes crinkle up with his smile, and I can’t look away.