Pencil, Paper and Passion.

I entered Mr. Gallagher's room after school, awkwardly and cautiously. He sat at his desk, as usual, grading papers. I tiptoed in and quietly set my things down, which consisted of the notebook I’d filched from Charlotte and a few pens and pencils from Brandt, before shuffling to the supply closet. I knew that eventually he would realize that I was there, but the longer it took the better for me. I let out a small breath when I slipped into the closet.

First things first, I thought and grabbed the broom and a dustpan, intending to sweep up any errant pieces of glass. I was just finishing when a sound at the door had my head lifting. Mr. Gallagher stood, surveying me with amusement. "Why didn't you do this when you first started on the closet?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Never thought about it, I guess."

"Hm. Where were you during lunch?" He asked abruptly, turning purple eyes on me.

"Nurses' office. They had to make sure I wasn't still sick." I shrugged again, swallowing a grimace as I realized that I‘d, once again, ditched Charlotte. She wasn’t going to be as forgiving this time around. "Why they waited until lunch is beyond me; I could have infected loads of people before then."

"Maybe they were pressed for time."

"Maybe." I put the broom and dustpan up, then grabbed a filing box and sat on the floor. I picked up a stack of papers and started putting them neatly inside the box. Mr. Gallagher cleared his throat and I looked up questioningly. "What?"

"Are those papers anything I'd want to keep?"

I stared at him. Anything he'd want to keep? He had damn well better keep them, I thought as anger slowly flooded my system. I'd just spent two and a half weeks stacking and moving and filing! And he wanted to know if any of it was worth keeping?! I tucked a few more papers in the box, my movements jerky and stiff as I tried to keep a lid on my temper. "I don't know."

He didn't say anything else and I looked up again. He was giving me a strange look. "What if they could just be thrown out?"

"Fine." I tossed the papers I had in my hand into the air, glaring at Mr. Gallagher as they floated to the floor of the closet. "Then throw them out."

His eyes followed the last piece of paper to the ground before they narrowed on me. "That was childish."

"I don't care." I crossed my arms over my chest and continued to scowl at him. It deepened when amusement crossed his face, turning up the corners of his mouth. I practically growled, "What's so funny?"

"You. I hope you realize that that frown isn't very intimidating. You look like a petulant child, sitting on the floor like that."

"You're not supposed to make fun of your students, Mr. Gallagher."

"Yeah?"

My own eyes narrowed. "Yeah."

"I believe we've established that our relationship goes beyond that of a student and teacher, Elizabeth."

"What do you-" I started to ask uneasily, but he cut me off.

"I feel it's safe to say that we've at least developed a friendship. Don't you?" He spoke conversationally, leaning against the doorjamb with his hands in his pockets.

I stared at him and said simply, “No.”

“’No’?” He asked, blinking. “Why not?”

I shook my head. “Think it through… How many students are actually friends with their teachers? People speculate and often come to the wrong conclusions. It’s not a good idea, Mr. Gallagher.”

“Well,” He said, chuckling slightly. “It’s not as if I’m going to run down the halls, screaming your name.”

“Of course not, but-”

“We’ll be closet friends. Get it?” He grinned foolishly at his obvious pun.

I chuckled despite myself. “Yes, I get it. But-”

“C’mon, we’ll keep it under wraps, okay? No one will know.”

“But…Why? I’m sure you can find friends your own age, Mr. Gallagher. So, why do you want to be mine?”

“Yes, I can find friends my age, but it’s not so easy to find one with your level of maturity. Most people my age are just out of college and still growing up.”

“So…you can be friends with someone who’s older. Why do you feel you have to be my friend?”

He was silent for a full minute, only staring at me seriously. “Because, Elizabeth, it’s in my opinion that you need a friend you can actually talk to.”

“What? I have Charles and Bran-”

“Yes, but I’ve seen the way you act around each other. Most of the time, you’re joking around.” He trailed off into silence, again. Then, all too sudden he was crouched beside me, purple eyes locked on my green ones. “Tell me something. How often do you talk about your father with them?”

“M-my father?” I stammered, surprised at his sudden proximity.

“Never, right? Why not?”

“Well, I don’t know. Why should I?” I looked away from his probing eyes but he reached out and grabbed my chin, turning my face back to his. “Yes, you do. Tell me.”

“Death makes people uneasy. It’s not something they want to talk about.”

“No, it’s not. So, why don’t you talk to Brandt and Charles about your father’s life? About the things the two of you did together…Like sliding down banisters or going out for ice cream when you were supposed to be studying.”

“I- I don’t know… I just…” I lifted my hands, then let them drop into my lap. “When you’re talking about someone who’s died, especially to those who loved them, it’s difficult. You have to watch what you say, so as not to accidentally offend them and it’s just a strain. Especially on the loved ones…People scrambling to offer condolences at every possible moment and always with something nice to say about the deceased.
I hated that. No one ever mentioned the bad things because they didn‘t want to hurt our feelings. But the bad things were just as much a part of him as the good. My father had flaws, he wasn‘t perfect. He was…human and everybody made him seem unreal, almost like a fictional character in a book.” I jumped up, to pace around the closet. I realized that I’d gone from speaking of all people, in general, to speaking directly of my father, my experiences after his death. I sucked in a breath and stared hard at Mr. Gallagher, angry with myself for saying things I hadn‘t dared say to anyone else and angry with him for making me say them. “There, does that answer your question? I don’t talk about my father, to anyone, because I don’t need the pity.”

I whirled away from him, intending to stalk from the closet but before I had gotten two steps, his arms had snaked around my waist. I didn’t struggle; I already knew from experience that I wouldn’t win. Instead, I said icily, “Let go of me.”

“No. Elizabeth, I didn’t mean to upset you quite this much. I was only-”

“You mean you only wanted to upset me a little bit?” I hissed sarcastically, and then almost immediately shook my head. “No. It doesn’t matter. Let me go.”

“It does matter. I was only trying to-”

“Dammit, let go of me!” I shouted, not caring if another teacher happened to hear.

“I said no. Now, you’ll listen to me if I have to tie you to a desk, Elizabeth Sinclair.”

“Fine! I’ll listen.” Only because I had no doubt that he would do exactly as he said.

“Good,” He said, but didn’t unwrap his arms from around me. I could feel his breath against my ear as he leaned down and spoke softly. “I am sorry, Elizabeth. I only wanted you to open up. I didn’t expect a full on rage.”

I twisted around until we were face to face. “I didn’t mean to rage. I don’t know why I did.”

“Because you needed to, I’ll bet. Don’t you feel better now?”

I took stock of my emotions: sad, a little bitter…and strangely lighter. But… Frowning, I stared at Mr. Gallagher and shook my head. “No, I don’t feel better. In fact, I feel sick to my stomach. And I’m tired.”

He nodded knowingly. “Emotionally exhausted.” Grinning, he stepped back and grabbed my hand, pulling me behind him as he strode from the closet. “And I know just the thing to make it better.”

“Mr. Gallagher-”

“Call me Ben.” He tossed negligently over his shoulder as he scooped up my very few things from the front desk. “How do you feel about ice cream?”

In curiosity, I let him pull me from the classroom, into the hallway of the school. “I have very warm, good feelings towards ice cream.”

He chuckled. “Good.”

In less than five minutes, we were in his SUV, speeding down the road to a destination unbeknownst to me. Idly, I ran my hand over the dashboard, then shot a look at Mr. Gallagher. “This reminds me. Do you happen to know where my car might be? And my bag?”

“Yep. In the auto repair shop on East 21st Street. I know it was just your tires that needed replaced, but I gave them the go ahead to give your car a tune up.”

“Oh. Thanks, Mr. Gallagher.”

“I didn’t do anything but call a tow truck. Besides, you‘re paying for it. And it’s Ben.” He switched on his blinker and made a left turn. “Anyway, I grabbed your bag the day you threw it down in the school parking lot. It’s in the back.”

“Seriously?” Without waiting for an answer, I quickly unlatched my seatbelt and scrambled into the backseat. Ignoring Mr. Gallagher’s shout for me to sit back down, I leaned over the back seat and grabbed my forest green, canvas bag with a cry of joy. I crawled back into the passenger seat and eagerly dug through my bag, searching for my phone. After a few seconds, I pulled it from a side pocket and tapped the touch screen. When nothing happened, I frowned and tapped it again, then groaned. “The battery! It’s dead!”

Mr. Gallagher shot me a glare as he pulled into a parking lot. “I could’ve been pulled over and all you care about is the fact that you’re phone is dead. I’m glad you have your priorities in order.”

I wasn’t listening. Instead, I was staring at the sign on the building we had just parked in front of. Lifting my eyebrows, I turned towards Mr. Gallagher. “‘Freckles Frozen Custard’? Are you serious?”

“Wait until you try it. You’ll understand why I come here.”

“Um…Alright. At least we don’t have to be worried about anybody from the high school coming here. The elementary school now, maybe.”

“Ha ha, Elizabeth. Besides, it’s not like we’re going inside to sit down.”

I examined the front of the building as we exited the SUV, taking note of the checkerboard trim and drive-thru like windows where you obviously ordered. “Mr.-”

“Honestly, how many times am I going to have to tell you to call me Ben?”

“A lot.” I said easily. I lowered my voice as we stepped into the line of seven or so people at the windows. “I mean, come on, I’ve been calling you Mr. Gallagher for a month now.”

He blinked at me. “Has it really only been one month?”

“It’s Friday; so technically, it’s been three weeks and five days.”

“Christ, it feels like it’s been several months since I met you.” He sent me an accusing glare as the line moved three steps forward. “You make time slow down. Cut it out.”

I glanced at him in amusement. “Wow, that was almost romantic.”

“Really. Doesn’t it feel as though we’ve known each other for longer than two weeks and one day?”

“Yeah,” I said slowly, nodding as we moved up another place in line. “It does. I’ve felt that way since that first detention.”

He laughed. “The list! I would have been insulted had it not been so comical.”

"Funny for you, humiliating for me." I grimaced. That stupid list had started everything. If it weren't for the list, nothing would have happened and Mr. Gallagher and I would just be a teacher and his student. I said as much to him.

"I suppose," He said, thoughtfully. "But I think we would have become friends anyway." He smiled and said simply. "Fate."

"Fate? You mean, everything that's ever going to happen is planned out for you?"

"No, not necessarily. Just that everything happens for a reason. I believe you've said something similar.” He sent me a meaningful glance.

“When I was talking about my dad, the first time. Yeah, I remember.” I stepped up to the window as it finally became our turn to order. I asked Mr. Gallagher, “What’s good here, anyway?”

“Everything.” He said reverently, then spoke to the bored looking teen behind the window, “I want chocolate with gummy bears in a cup.”

I turned to stare at him. “As in, chocolate ice-cream with gummy bears mixed in, in a cup. Right?”

“Pretty much. What do you want?”

“Ah…” I stared hard at the menu. “You know what? I’ll just have what you’re having. It can’t be too bad, right?”

“I know it sounds weird, but it’s delicious.” He promised as he paid. We stepped aside to a different window, to wait for our treats. I gave a slight hum, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

“So,” I asked conversationally. “Why did you choose to become a teacher?”

“Ah. Tough question.” He paused to think then finally just shrugged. “Why does anybody choose to do anything?”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course a teacher would answer a question with a question.” I went on before the annoyance that flashed in his eyes could reach his lips. “Let’s see…It’s not for the money; I’ve had twelve long years of endless amounts of teachers complaining about the lousy pay. So, it must be something else.”

He was silent so long, only reaching out and grabbing our ice creams as they were set on the counter, that I didn’t think he would answer. Just as I opened my mouth to complain, he shoved my cup into my hand and spoke. “It’s a family tradition, I suppose. My father is a professor, my grandfather was a middle school teacher and my mother is a kindergarten teacher.” He smiled softly. “I’m the only one that followed in their footsteps.”

“‘Only one’?” I asked, dubiously examining an orange gummy bear atop a spoonful of my ice cream as we walked back to the SUV.

Mr. Gallagher dug cheerfully into his own treat and talked around a mouthful of frozen dairy product. “I have an older brother and sister.”

“What do they do?”

“My sister is a pediatrician and my brother is a cop.” He looked up from his cup and laughed as I cautiously stuck my tongue to the ice cream in my spoon. “If you don’t eat it, Elizabeth, it’ll melt.”

Shooting him a dirty look, I shoved the ice cream into my mouth. I chewed the gummy bear thoughtfully. It actually wasn’t that bad. It was chocolaty sweet with a slight tang; not all together unpleasant. Scooping up another spoonful, I said, “It’s okay.”

“‘Okay’? What, not rich enough for you?” He asked, mock sneering at me as we climbed into the SUV.

Playing along, I lifted my nose into the air and assumed a haughty tone. “Not nearly. I’d really prefer a few chocolate truffles or a bit of caviar.”

“You do that ‘lady of the manor‘ tone very well.” He set his cup down in the cup holder and started the SUV. I quickly latched my seat belt, then shot him an amused look as we drove out of the parking lot, back onto the road. “I get it from my mother. She’s the master.”

“Ah. So, why are you filthy rich anyway?”

“Sinclair Air.” Feeling much happier than I had earlier, I dug into my ice cream with renewed fervor. Just as I lifted another bite to my mouth, Mr. Gallagher slammed on the brakes and the ice cream flew at me, hitting my chin then slipping down to my shirt. Nearly swallowing my spoon, I yelled, “Jesus! What the-?”

“Sinclair Airlines? The most renowned, not to mention largest, chain of airlines in the world?”

“Yeah.” I wiped the ice cream from my shirt with my hand then turned to glare at Mr. Gallagher. “You better have some napkins in here. And you might want to get moving; people are starting to honk.”

Indeed, at least six cars were lined up behind us, leaning on their horns. Mr. Gallagher flicked a glance at the rear view mirror then accelerated. “There are napkins in the glove box. Are you really Sinclair Air?”

“Yes. My grandpa started it about fifty years ago. When he died, fifteen years ago, my dad took over. When he died, the vice president, Allen Hawley, took over as president. But, when I hit twenty-two, I’ll take over as president.”

“That is extremely confusing.” He pulled into another parking lot and I looked out the windshield to see the city park. Unlatching my seat belt, I leaned back in my seat and ate my ice cream. Enjoying the view of gold, red and brown leaves covering the sidewalks, I was content to just watch as children raced to and fro, competing to step on every crunchy leaf. Without taking my eyes off the autumn scene before me, I smiled and said, “It’s not so confusing once you get used to it.”

He shook his head, munching on his own ice cream and watching the same scene I was. We sat in companionable silence, strangely at ease with each other. I didn’t feel tense and knotted, like I was when I was around my mother. I didn’t feel edgy and energized, like I was when I was around Charlotte and Brandt. I felt relaxed and, despite my earlier outburst, light, like I had nothing to worry about.

Smiling, I realized that I felt as carefree as the children running back and forth in the park. Like I was out there with them, laughing and running and chasing. And it felt good.