Aaron swallowed thickly. “Uh, thank you.”
“I know that there’s still prejudice out there. I deal with it every day. But I think a lot of people are starting to understand that gay people aren’t bad, or whatever. For what it’s worth, I don’t think William thinks gay people are bad, either.” Elsie pushed a long strand of orange-red hair from her face and shrugged. “His dad’s just a jerk, that’s all. My dads say they feel sorry for William because his father is a raging bigot. They say William hardly stood a chance, you know? But, with people like you and me in his life, my dads say William could still turn out all right. He’s just got a lot of learning to do.”
Aaron swallowed, compassion for Elsie and for himself coming to do battle with his anxiety. “Thanks for sharing all that with me, Elsie.”
“So youaregay?”
“I prefer not to talk about my private life at school.”
She shrugged. “It’s up to you. But I have your back, Mr. Danvers. So do a lot of other kids. Most people won’t care. And the ones who do don’t matter. You should just come out and get it over with.” She smiled, a light in her eyes switching on. “Maybe as a Christmas gift to yourself. I mean, if you celebrate Christmas. If not, Hanukkah?” Her expression grew a bit panicked. “Or Kwanzaa or whatever?”
“I do celebrate Christmas.” Aaron chuckled. “Thanks, Elsie. You’re a smart young lady.”
The bell rang, and Elsie gasped. “I’m gonna be late.” She darted from the room, her hair trailing out like a flame behind her.
As soon as she was gone, Aaron checked the small mirror he kept in his desk to make sure that he didn’t have a giant hickey he’d somehow missed, or some super obvious beard burn on his chin. But, no, he looked all right. A little tired. Maybe his eyes shone a bit brighter than they normally did—lingering delirium—but there was no reason for William or anyone else to assume that he’d slept with a former student the night before.
God, it’d been so good. He squeezed his butt cheeks and closed his eyes, enjoying his asshole’s remaining tenderness. RJ had been really big, the way tall, stringy men like him often were, thick and long, like the fucking eggplant emoji hookups used when sexting.
Shit. He shouldn’t be thinking about this again. He shook the memories free as kids piled into his classroom with expectant eyes and freshly scrubbed morning faces.
Time to get his head out of his ass and into the classroom. It was showtime.
Chapter Eight
Aaron’s first periodclass went by in a flash. Advanced Composition for seventh-graders was his favorite. They were all intelligent, funny kids, and they never tried to half-ass their work. He’d given them all a creative writing assignment the weekend before to take their favorite winter holiday story from whatever country or tradition they preferred and update it.
They’d finished the draft over the weekend and now it was time for them to edit one another’s work. He looked forward to seeing the end results. He walked around the room making sure everyone used Mr. Danvers’s Three Rules of Criticism: Number one: praise. Number two: critique with the intent to improve, not insult. And number three: praise again.
Most were doing well, but he had to put a hand on Barrett Rogers’s shoulder and lean down to whisper, “I’m fairly sure that, ‘This entire thing is dumb,’ doesn’t follow rule number two, Barrett. Come up with something more specific that your partner can improve on.”
After the bell rang announcing second period—his free period of the day—he’d eased himself back into his desk chair, pleased that his ass cheeks were still smarting a little from the spanking RJ had given him the night before. The speaker above his desk blared, and the principal’s voice came through loud and clear.
“Mr. Danvers. Come to my office. Now. Thank you.”
At school, Principal Shock never sounded anything but irritated and commanding, so the tone was meaningless. Still, Aaron’s gut tangled with worry. Had William or some other kid actually gone to tattle on him for being at a pub last night? Drinking on a school night? And was he going to actually get in trouble for it like some little kid?
He rose from his desk and headed down the quiet hallway, avoiding the wayward backpacks that somehow hadn’t made it into their owners’ lockers and passing by the occasional child camped on the floor outside a classroom working on something alone. Christmas tree lights had been strung up on the ceiling by the janitorial staff three weeks prior, and they glowed like a runway leading him toward the main office.
As he walked, he grew more annoyed than worried. But that didn’t mean he could just ignore the summons. He owed Principal Shock his job after all. She’d been the only one willing to take him on after the Coach McAllister debacle. And she liked to remind him of that fact.
The Christmas tree in the school office was decked out in ornaments made by the kids in art class, but the charm of that didn’t take the edge off the sharp, antiseptic nature of the women who worked the front desks. They glared at him through their glasses—twin sets of disdain. They’d looked at him in that exact same way since he was twelve years old.
“Aaron,” Jolene said, eyebrow twitching up. “She wants you.”
“I know.” He gave her a grim smile. If Jolene hadn’t been wearing a gingerbread man shirt and jingly red Christmas bells for earrings, he’d think she was pure evil instead of a middle school office employee.
“Now,” Rita added, pointing with her index finger, a long, red-and-green striped nail proving that she’d spent yet another Saturday at her salon getting her hair washed and set, and her fingers and toes done up in something gaudy. Was it a prerequisite for the front secretaries of schools to have no taste?
“Aaron!” Principal Shock called from her doorway. “Stop dawdling.”
He held back a scoff. Dawdling with Rita and Jolene would never be something he’d ever do willingly. They’d been a torment to him in his childhood, and nothing about that had changed.
Principal Shock looked pissed as he stepped into her office. The jingle of carols from the radio next to her desk didn’t help ease the palpable sense of danger in the air. Kids often peed themselves when brought in to sit in Principal Shock’s office to await her judgment. She had that way about her.
Aaron cleared his throat and studied the chairs in front of her desk, trying to determine if one was less stained than the other. The last time he’d chosen the chair closest to the window, but that one now looked to have a new dark patch.
“Aaron!” Principal Shock said again, voice demanding his attention. “You and I need to talk.”
