“Yes.”
He slowly runs the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip and thoughtfully ponders his answer.
“I owed someone a favor.”
“The man who had an accident. How is he, by the way?”
“He’s doing fine.”
“You weren’t happy at all.”
“I wasn’t. I had other plans that evening.”
My guard goes up, and his eyes come to me.
“It’s not what you think. I just didn’t want to be in a room full ofnormalpeople.”
I look at him, intrigued, before laughing, entertained.
“There is no such a thing as normal when it comes to people. Do you think I’m normal?”
A smirk pulls at his lips as he tilts his head back a little and takes me in with a wolfish grin.
“You were a big surprise to me and made my sacrifice worthwhile.”
“Your sacrifice??” I chuckle again. “You sat on a chair and had your picture taken with my students while I had to do everything else, from organizing the event to making sure Santa showed up.”
He studies my face for a little while.
“What made you go into this line of work? Become a teacher?”
“What else could I have done?” I ask, shrugging. “I couldn’t work in a corporation. And working for someone else without having a smidgen of autonomy would’ve driven me up the wall. I’m doing my best to be a good teacher.”
“Why all the side hustles then?”
That’s the thing about having these conversations.
Sooner or later, they become uncomfortable and raw, peppered with unpleasant truths.
My smile fades.
“I make extra money to pay my bills, my mortgage, and my student loan.”
His eyes stay on me a little longer before I escape their scrutiny.
It feels good to speak the truth and don't have to pretend I’m something that I’m not.
On the other hand, I feel uncomfortable.
I don’t want him to think I wallow in self-pity.
That’s not me.
“You should ask for a raise,” he says out of nowhere, and my eyebrows go up. “Yeah. You should. I can send a letter of recommendation to the school administrator.”
“You can do that?” I ask, incredulous.
“Yes.”
