goodness, oh my goodness, oh my goodness. She stops by the water fountain and leans against the wall to catch her breath. Her heart pounds: bam bam bam. Her face feels flushed, and when she wipes her forehead, her fingers come away damp with sweat. All this, and she isn’t even in PE!
She’s in the hall, midway between Mr. Emerson’s room and Ms. Perez’s room, that’s all.
She’s on the way back from running an errand for her beloved teacher, that’s all.
An errand that involved delivering a note to Mr. Emerson. Just a note from one teacher to another, that’s all.
And she’s a good girl—a very good girl—so when Mr. Emerson asked her (again!) to hold up while he penned a reply to Ms. Perez’s note, she said yes, and that’s all there was to that interaction. There’s nothing unusual or blush-worthy about being an errand girl for her teachers. What could possibly be unusual or blush-worthy about that?
Except.
“Oh my goodness gracious,” Yaz says aloud, her voice the faintest breeze stirring the air molecules around her. “What have I done?”
She sinks to the floor, sitting on her bottom with her knees pulled close. The note she’s supposed to return to Ms. Perez dangles from her hand, which dangles from her wrist, which is connected to her forearm, which is propped on her knee. So many bones holding her body together, some of them big and others as small and delicate as a snail’s shell.
Yaz remembers learning that there are twenty-six bones in a human foot. Surely there are as many (if not more!) in a human hand. It’s mind-boggling. And if there are twenty-six or more bones in a human hand, then how many bones are in an entire human body? Add in a second human, then a third, then a classroom full of humans, a city full of humans, a continent full of humans …
And bones are only one piece of the puzzle! There are tendons to consider, too, and joints and muscles and skin and … and … ligaments, and every single part of a person’s body matters when it comes to holding that body together.
Same goes for friendships. Same goes for families. Same goes for communities and neighborhoods and congregations and jemaahs, which are the equivalent of congregations, basically, but for mosques instead of churches. So much goes into holding any relationship together, whatever the relationship’s particular flavor is.
Yaz thinks it’s amazing and beautiful and glorious that relationships exist, period. The fact that they’re complicated doesn’t matter one bit. That’s just the way relationships work, especially new relationships. And a new relationship, an early-days relationship that’s just starting to bloom … oh, it’s so amazing and beautiful and glorious!
That’s why she read the note. That’s all. Not to be sneaky or devious or bad.
So why is her heart thumping so crazily? Why is sweat dotting her hairline, right where her hijab meets her skin?
Oh my goodness gracious with gravy on top, she thinks. She is not equipped for a life of crime, that’s for sure. She’d die from the stress of it. She might die right now. Or if she doesn’t die, she might at least faint.
Katie-Rose would be so jealous if she fainted. No, not jealous, but mad. She’d be like, “Really, Yaz? You just had to faint right that second, with not a single soul watching? You couldn’t have waited until I was there to film you? REALLY????”
Yaz presses the back of her head against the painted brick wall. She closes her eyes, but she doesn’t faint. Instead, she breathes. In—one, two, three—and out. In—one, two, three—and out. She breathes and tells herself to calm down and tries to think.
You are not trapped at the bottom of a coal mine, she reminds herself. You are not being eaten by a wild lion that escaped from the zoo. You read an itsy-bitsy note passed between two teachers, that’s all. An itsy-bitsy note THAT HAPPENED TO BE A LOVE LETTER (!!!), that’s all!
She could drop the note. She could. She could separate her thumb and forefinger, and floof! The note would flutter to the ground, graceful as a butterfly.
Or she could read it again. Why not, given that she already has?
Oh my goodness, she thinks for the fourth or seventh or forty-ninth time. What would the Imam at her mosque say? Doing a bad thing is, obviously, bad. But if she’s already done the bad thing …
Well, doing it once is bad. Is doing it two times twice as bad?
Out of the blue, she remembers her sister’s poem, the one on the wall. The one that said, “Look at me. I am sweet and honest and don’t hide things.” Yaz was—is—proud of Nigar for being like that, and she thought she was that way, too.
Turns out she’s not, because look: There go her hands, her very own hands, unfolding the note again. And now her eyeballs, her very own eyeballs, travel over her teachers’ love letter for the second time, starting with Ms. Perez’s initial message to Mr. Emerson.
Hey there, my hottie-with-a-body, Yaz reads, and her pulse accelerates all over again. Because “hottie-with-a-body”? Hottie-with-a-body?! From her teacher to her other teacher?!!
Okay. Stop freaking out, Yaz commands herself.
She tries again:
Hey there, my hottie-with-a-body. I’m having my kids study their vocab while I pretend to write tomorrow’s quiz questions, but oh dear, I’m actually writing you, aren’t I?
I’m a devil. I know. But is it my fault you’re so cute?
Sure did have fun last night. Hope you did, too.
When do I get to see you again? Other than in the halls or the teachers’ lounge, I mean. It’s been less than twelve hours, and I miss you already! I miss your kisses. You’re an excellent kisser, Mr. Teacher Sir.
Yours,
Maria
Ah, Maria. Maria, Maria, Maria. I love saying your name—can you tell? Even if I’m writing it, I love it just the same. And I’m fairly certain you know how much I enjoyed our evening, too. I’m fairly certain you know that “fun” doesn’t come close to describing how magical it was, in so many ways. (And fine, fine, I’ll admit it once again: though the magic of the evening had little to do with your Magic Cookie Bars, the cookies (bars?) were indeed delicious, the coconut notwithstanding.)
You have converted me, Maria.
I am a changed man.
As for when I’ll see you again (and kiss you again, you better believe it!), do you have plans after school? Would you like—ahem—to study together, perhaps? You could come to my apartment, and this time I could be in charge of snacks. I make a mean plate of nachos, and by “mean,” I mean without a doubt the cheesiest, saltiest, ooey-gooey-ist nachos you’ve ever tasted. (And the manliest nachos you’ve ever had as well. I say this because it occurs to me that “ooey-gooey-ist,” while absolutely true, might possibly read as a tad bit, ah, epicene.1 Have I been spending too much time in the company of ten-year-old girls?)
We could, while munching on nachos, even get some actual work done.
Possibly.
1. How’s them apples, hmm? By which I mean: Are you impressed by my impressive2 vocabulary?
2. Yikes. “Impressed” and “impressive” in the same sentence—now that is not impressive.3
3. I see that I also used “mean” three times in the same sentence, when I was bragging about my nachos. I then used it a 4th time in my first footnote,4 and a 5th time in this here footnote. Altogether unimpressive!
4. But do I get bonus points5 for using footnotes in the first place?
5. Better: bonus kisses?6 Especially for using footnotes within footnotes …
6. Here’s hoping.
Enjoy your morning, sweet M. I’ll catch you at lunch.
—John
Yaz sighs. She’s made it all the way to the end of the back-and-forth without fainting or hyperventilating once. Which is good!
She, on the other hand, is bad. A bad girl. A snoop and a Nosy Nelly and a sneaky little fifth grader whose teachers trusted her, and whose trust she betrayed.
She refolds the note, careful to stay on the pre-creased lines. She pushes herself to her feet, smooths her hijab, and brushes off her jeans.
And now go back to class, she tells herself. Go back to class and give Ms. Perez the note and pretend like nothing has changed.
She’ll have to use her best acting skills, of course, because everything has changed, and not just the way she sees her teachers. The way she sees herself has changed, too, and she senses there’s no going back.
She had no idea that being bad could feel so ridiculously delicious.