When Dexter leans over and whispers in my ear, his breath tickling my neck, I forget why I thought I should listen to the chancellor. “This has been the best semester I’ve ever spent at this school,” he says, and I can feel the warmth of him in every syllable. “And it’s all because of you.” That heat spreads from where his breath touches the side of my neck all the way down my arm. I shake my head.
As he starts to move away, I turn and put my own mouth to his ear. “I did not make these last few months an easy time,” I say, loving the way I can see him squirm. Is he ticklish? This is an awesome new development.
I reach over and take his hand.
“I certainly didn’t make it easy on you,” he says back.
This could be the best faculty meeting on record if we can take turns warming each other with our whispers.
We both hear Dr. Moreau mention the faculty council and sit up straight. Take away my temptations (Dexter’s neck, Dexter’s ear, Dexter’s breath on my skin) and I’m excellent at paying attention. My fingers grip his.
“Under the direction of the Chamberlain board of directors,” she says, gesturing to the suited men and women behind her, “I am pleased to announce that Miss Joey Harker has been appointed to be Chamberlain’s first arts department chairperson.”
Beside me, Ginger cheers, Hank whistles, and Dexter leaps from his seat and pulls me up to hug me. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, but even that isn’t enough to hide the fact that, aside from these three, the room is responding to the news of my appointment with perfectly appropriate mannerly applause.
I pull Dexter back down into his seat and lean my head on Ginger’s shoulder. “Good job, you,” she says.
Hank reaches across Dexter and gives my knee a friendly squeeze. From the stage, I see Wanda, grinning widely at the ruckus we must be making. Dr. Moreau keeps talking, but all I can hear is the love surrounding me.
When Dr. Moreau turns the microphone over to Wanda Chamberlain, I lean forward a bit. I want to catch every one of her words, and I want her to see me doing it.
“In light of one very important announcement I need to make,” Wanda says, “I would like to publicize an update to the Chamberlain teacher’s handbook of policy and procedure.” She darts a glance directly at me. “This is in regard to the intra-faculty relationships policy.”
I stop breathing. I feel Dexter’s palm instantly damp with sweat. I don’t let go of his fingers, but if he’s half as uncomfortable with what’s happening here as I am, he’s in agony.
“For many years, we have had a rule in place prohibiting dating among the faculty and staff at our school. There is plenty of good data to support this policy. And within the last ten years, we have had to let at least one of our teachers go for abusing the board’s leniency on this matter.”
Dexter tries to whisper something to me without appearing to lean in. I catch a few words. “My theater teacher,” among them. He is not the only one whispering. There’s a buzz. A hum. I must be the only person in the room who doesn’t know at least a few specifics about this piece of Chamberlain gossip. I plan to find out every single detail over lunch at Lola’s as soon as this meeting ends.
Then it hits me.
People know about Dexter and me. About things that are starting to progress between us. Moreau knows because her assistant Michael saw us. Heard us. Wanda knows. Because Wanda has eyes, and she loves me, and she can see me being happy.
Oh, no.
Is Dexter getting fired? Because of me? Are they making an example out of him? Is the board using him as some awful object lesson? Would they do something horribly public like this? Would Wanda?
I can’t believe it. It’s so wrong. It goes against everything Wanda seems to care about.
But what do I really know about Wanda’s priorities? Wanda cares about Chamberlain. She cares about the school’s effectiveness. Its standing among the elite New England prep schools. About the success and welfare of the kids who study here and the teachers who work here. How does my heart, how does Dexter’s heart fit into that list?
Somehow, Wanda is still speaking. Her smile hasn’t shifted, so at least she feels happy about the terrible—what did she call it?—update she’s announcing.
Oh, Wanda. How could you? I know she likes us together. It was all over her face when we saw her at the winter show. She could see then, and she must see now, that we are good for each other.
Dexter is gripping my hand as tightly as I am holding his, and my bones might crack from the pressure. If my heart doesn’t give out first.
Wanda’s voice waves back in over the rushing sound of blood in my ears.
“This is a twenty-first century solution to an age-old problem,” she says. “The board,” and she does a gesture like Dr. Moreau did to encompass those board members seated behind her, “trusts you. You are adults. We recognize that there are things you do not need our permission for. We want you to have the same private privileges adults have who work for other organizations.”
I try to whisper to Dexter without moving toward him. “What is going on?” I ask, trying to move my mouth toward the side of my face to my words land near him.
He makes a strangled sound, and I turn to look at him. He’s trying not to laugh. “Consent,” he says. “That’s what is going on.”
Wanda continues. “So, with every expectation of appropriate behavior in word and action, we rescind the outdated rule.” She chuckles. “Outdated. See what I did there?”
A few people laugh. I cannot.