Zach slammed his car door with more force than was necessary and strode into the house. The evening had started out so well. That kiss—he wasn’t going to forget that any time soon—but once Amy realized they were “out” now...it got more awkward than his first date in high school. In the end, the tamales had been the highlight of the night. The tamales and the kiss.

“You’re back early.” Jackson looked up from the book he was reading on the couch.

“Yeah, well.” Zach stuffed his hands in his pockets and jingled his loose change. “Once the movie was over, I decided to head home. The trick-or-treaters had tapered off so...no real reason to stay.”

Jackson frowned. “What happened?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t really know. The first group of kids was escorted by some of our students. They made the kind of ‘ooooo’ noises you’d expect. Except I got the impression Amy hadn’t expected them. It’s like she freaked.”

Jackson tucked his bookmark between the pages and set the book aside. “What’d she say was going on?”

Zach growled. “She didn’t. Wouldn’t. She was all, ‘No it’s great.’ And ‘Let’s eat now.’ Anytime I tried to bring it up or talk to her about it, she brushed me off. So I quit trying and left as soon as the movie was over.”

“Mmm.”

Zach fought the urge to roll his eyes. He knew exactly what that meant, but how much were you supposed to push? Didn’t you have to let it go at some point? “Where’s Ben?”

Jackson arched a brow. “Taking Becca home. I take it you don’t want to talk about it?”

“What’s there to say?”

“Shoot some zombies?”

Zach grinned. And that, right there, was why he was going to miss his roommates when they got married. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

Neither the mass execution of the undead nor an incredible sermon and relaxing Sunday had done anything to quiet the questions circling without answer in Zach’s head. He’d stopped himself from calling Amy too many times to count. If she hadn’t wanted to talk about it on Saturday, she was unlikely to want to talk about it on Sunday. And until they talked about it...he sighed and straightened the stack of papers he needed to hand back to his first period class.

Until they talked...what? He wasn’t going to walk away. But was there any hope of a reasonable relationship if they couldn’t—didn’t—talk about things? Especially when someone as dense about this stuff as he usually was realized they needed to talk. He fought a second sigh. Time to quit mooning like a teenage girl and do his job. At least that was a different set of frustrations that had the potential to actually be solved.

“Mr. W. How was your Saturday?” D’Andre’s voice took on a teasing sing-song.

Zach tried not to smile. “Good. How was the candy haul?”

“That’s it, man? Good? Come on.”

Zach leaned a hip on the corner of his desk. “On what planet does a teacher talk about that with his students? ‘Cause I want to be sure to avoid ever living there.”

D’Andre snickered and held up his hands. “All right, all right. Gee, man. You gotta’ expect a guy to be curious when you land the hottest chick at the school.”

“Let’s go with ‘woman’, okay? I’m reasonably sure there’s never been a female who actually appreciated being called a chick.” Zach wasn’t going to dwell on the incredulity in the boy’s voice; he probably didn’t mean to insinuate that Zach didn’t deserve Amy.

“Got it. Don’t call them that to their face. Check.”

Zach shook his head. “Not even in your head, D’Andre.”

“What? Why not? They don’t care what I think.”

“Maybe not. But how you think about women is going to impact how you treat them, whether you know it or not. So be respectful, even in your thoughts.”

The boy tossed his backpack down by his desk, a frown etched on his face. “Is this like that positive attitude cra—junk—you’re always talking about? If we don’t tell ourselves math is hard, then it won’t be?”

At least one of them was listening. Zach nodded. “Along those lines, yeah.”

D’Andre rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

Zach glanced at the clock. Technically school hadn’t started yet. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and thumbed open the Bible app as he moved to sit at the desk in front of D’Andre. “I know you go to the mission sometimes. You ever listen to what Becca and the other folks who work there are saying?”

“The Jesus stuff?”

Zach nodded.

D’Andre shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

Zach turned the phone so D’Andre could see. “Read this.”

“What comes out of the mouth comes from the heart.” The boy furrowed his brow. “So?”

“So, your heart—what you really think and feel about things—will always influence the words you say. So if you want girls to see you as someone who respects them, someone worthy of their time and interest, it has to start in your thoughts, or your words will inevitably betray you.” Zach pushed himself out of the desk and stuck his phone back in his pocket. “You do your homework?”

D’Andre blinked and gave a half-laugh as he reached for his bag. “Yeah. You want it?”

Zach grinned. “Of course I do.”

He’d managed to put Saturday out his mind. Finally. Almost. Now, as Zach made his way through the halls to the choir room and the Christmas program rehearsal, the questions came screaming back. The piano plunked out the soprano notes to a Kwanzaa song, and the girls echoed the line as he entered. He smiled and lifted one hand in a wave to Amy, resulting in a handful of grins and a few quiet titters from the kids who’d been by her house to trick-or-treat.

Terri pounded on the lid of the piano. “Focus, please. The tune is hard enough to learn without any extra distractions and today is really our only day to break-down the Kwanzaa music. The concert is in five weeks. We have three more major religions, plus the non-religious Christmas songs to cover. Not to mention the skits. Who wanted to help Mr. Wilson with the sets?”

Four hands went up.

“Okay, you four, go with him to the auditorium. The rest of you, let’s take it from the top.” Terri scooted her glasses back up her nose and started on the introduction to the song.

Zach jerked his head and held open the chorus room door for the kids who were helping him. Not that he had any idea what he was supposed to do with them. He hadn’t even drawn up a plan yet. Maybe they could do that? Though...

“Zach, wait.” Amy jogged down the hall toward him.

“Go on, I’ll meet you down there.” Zach stopped, waving the kids on. The kids drifted to the wall and leaned against it. Clearly the word had spread and they were waiting to see if anything juicy was going to happen. “Yeah?”

“I had my dad drop off some wood and other supplies, so it’s all down in the green room. And here.” Amy offered a tape measure with a grin. “You’ll probably need this.”

“Read my mind. Thanks.” He glanced at the kids from the side of his eye and bit off any remaining conversation. With a casual wave, he turned back toward the auditorium. “Thought you were going to meet me there?”

As one, the kids shrugged.

Zach shook his head. Kids. “Let’s go see what we have to work with. Any of you spent time thinking about what the set should look like?”

One of the boys, Shawn, reached into his back pocket and fished out a crumpled piece of lined notebook paper and thrust it at Zach. Eyebrows lifting, Zach unfolded it and studied the design.

“This is fantastic. You’ve got dimensions and everything?”

Shawn nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Zach clapped him on the shoulder. “Nice. Wanna be in charge?”

“Really?”

Was the kid more surprised that he’d spoken or that Zach had offered? He had only a vague memory of Shawn as the quiet kid in the back row of his class last year. Steady grades, nothing to write home about, good or bad. But clearly there were unplumbed depths. How many others was he completely missing because he spent so much time worrying about the poor achievers? “Really. You three cool with that?”

D’Andre bumped Shawn’s shoulder with his own. “Told ya’. Mr. W’s cool. I’m in.”

The other two nodded.

“Great.” Zach pushed open the green room door and stopped, his jaw dropping. Four by eight sheets of plywood leaned against one wall in piles that had to be at least a foot deep. Another wall had stacks of two by fours and other assorted lumber. Paint cans, brushes, rollers, and drop cloths were stacked in a corner next to a box with tools dripping over the sides. There was enough there to build sets for several full-length plays. He cleared his throat. “Looks like we can get started right away. Miss Harris’ dad appears to have cleaned out Mr. Sam’s home improvement aisle.”