Chapter 2
Chapter two
Sam
“Okay, Marcus, walk me through it again,” I said, leaning against my desk as he fidgeted in front of me, the sleeves of his hoodie pulled down over his hands. His annotated copy of Of Mice and Men lay open on the desk between us, margins filled with his scribbles, half notes, and mindless doodles.
He let out a sigh, tapping his pencil against the page. “I don’t get why Steinbeck didn’t just say what he meant. Why make it so complicated?”
I bit back a smile. “Writers like Steinbeck do say what they mean. They just make you work for it. Think of it like… emotional archaeology. You’re digging through the dust to find what’s buried underneath.”
Marcus gave me a look that was equal parts skepticism and exhaustion. Like he was already convinced classic literature was soul-crushing punishment. The kid had a flair for the dramatic. I’d been trying to nudge him toward theatre for months.
“So,” he muttered, gripping his pencil like it had personally betrayed him, “if George says something but means something else, I’m supposed to… read his mind?”
“Not read his mind,” I said, crossing my arms. “Read his subtext. What’s going on beneath the surface. Writers don’t waste words. Especially not Steinbeck. If a guy like him mentions a dog, it means something.”
Marcus stared at the page, brow furrowed. “Okay, so when he shoots the dog, it’s, like… foreshadowing?”
“Exactly. It’s not just about the dog. It’s about mercy, control, fear, maybe even what’s coming for Lennie. It’s a layered thing. Like an onion.”
He looked up at me, unimpressed. “That’s a terrible example.”
I grinned. “Yeah, probably. But you get the idea?”
He sighed, then started underlining a few lines in the text, mumbling to himself as he jotted notes in the margins. Still grumbling, but thinking. That was progress.
Then he stopped and stared at the same sentence like it had personally insulted him.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “I know what you’re saying. I do. But my brain is doing that thing where it’s like… buffering.”
I nodded. “Like twenty tabs open and one of them is playing music but you don’t know which one.”
His eyes widened. “YES. Exactly that.”
He shifted his weight, tugging his sleeves farther over his hands. “I mean, you know I’ve got ADHD. Sometimes I just lose the thread.”
“Totally fair,” I said. “Let’s zoom out for a second.”
I slid his book a few inches closer to him and pointed to the top of the page. “Forget the symbolism for a moment. Tell me, in plain language, what literally happens in this scene.”
Marcus blinked. “Uh. Carlson complains about the dog. Everyone agrees it’s suffering. George shoots it.”
“Good,” I said. “Now one layer deeper. How does George feel about it?”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “Like… he doesn’t want to. But he thinks it’s necessary.”
“Boom,” I said. “There’s your anchor. Hold onto that. Necessary, but awful. Now read the paragraph again with that in mind.”
Marcus leaned in, rereading quietly. His pencil hovered, then moved, underlining one line.
“Oh,” he muttered. “Okay. Yeah. That… sucks.”
I smiled. “Welcome to Steinbeck.”
He snorted. “I hate him.”
“See? You’re doing literary analysis. You’re a codebreaker,” I said.
“I’d rather break the book in half,” he grumbled.
“Not an option,” I said lightly, tapping the page. “Keep going. You’re getting there.”
He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, which counted as a win. I glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes until lunch.
Not that I’d get a real break. Essays to grade, unit plans to tweak, meetings to survive. Just another typical day at Havenwood High.
I’d been here long enough to stop feeling like the new guy, but some days I was convinced I’d somehow snuck past security and they were one clipboard away from realizing they’d let a theatre-obsessed English teacher who volunteers to run drama club near minors and curriculum.
Before I could fall too far into that particular spiral, my phone vibrated on my desk.
Callie. My best friend. Hair stylist. Professional instigator. Nonbinary icon.
Callie: You better not be bailing on the cookout, Samuel.
I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head as I typed back.
Me: You think I’d miss free food and Jules micromanaging Elliott’s grilling?
Callie: Exactly. It’s our duty to make fun of him.
Me: Then I’ll be there.
I set my phone down, rubbing the back of my neck. The cookout. Jules had been talking about it all week. Nothing special, just an excuse to get everyone together at Elliott’s place, grill, drink too much, and enjoy a rare day off.
I was happy for Jules and Elliott. They were good together. The kind of relationship that actually worked. Not that I had any firsthand experience with that.
Dating, for me, has always been awkward. A series of miscommunications and fizzling sparks. I was great at being the friend. The guy people could lean on, talk to, trust with their secrets. But romance? Somewhere between first dates and defining the relationship, things always fell apart.
Maybe I was just too much of a people pleaser. Maybe I wasn’t bold enough, exciting enough, the kind of guy who made someone’s pulse race.
The bell rang, sharp and loud, slicing through the room.
Marcus jolted like he’d been jump-scared. “Jesus. Why is the bell always so aggressive?”
“Because it hates teenagers,” I said solemnly.
He stuffed his book into his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder as he headed for the door. Then he paused, turned back, and gave me a crooked grin.
“Uh… thanks, Mr. Ortiz. For helping me wrangle my feral ADHD today.”
I laughed. “Anytime, Marcus.”
He shot me a grin and stepped in instead, knocking his fist lightly against mine before snapping into our ridiculous, overly complicated handshake, fist bump, shoulder tap, spin, finger snap, the whole thing we’d perfected over the semester.
“Emotional archaeology, right?” he said
“Look at you remembering metaphors.”
He shook his head. “Don’t push it.”
Then he jogged out into the hall.
A quick knock at my classroom door pulled me out of my thoughts.
I glanced up to see Elliott Brooks leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his usual easy smile in place.
He was in his button-down and tie, sleeves rolled up, looking every bit the well-put-together history teacher he was.
I love that I get to work with my best friend.
We met in college and have been together ever since.
“Did you get your reminder about the cookout yet?” Elliott asked, stepping inside.
I snorted, waving my phone. “You mean the 2:32 AM text from Jules that I saw when my alarm went off? Yeah, I got it. I’m pretty sure he scheduled it just to make sure we all woke up thinking we’d missed something.”
Elliott groaned, running a hand down his face. “I’m sorry about that. I told him not to send it that late, but you know Jules. Once the idea’s in his head, there’s no stopping it.”
I chuckled. “He probably laid there staring at the ceiling until he couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Elliott said with a sigh.
I laughed. “Yeah. And Callie just reminded me too. They think we have a moral obligation to mock Jules’s grilling commentary.”
Elliott sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “I love that man, but I swear, if he tells me one more time that the ‘grill needs to breathe’ like it’s a living thing, I might throw myself into the fire.”
I laughed. “You should let him take over.”
“Oh, I’ve tried. He won’t. He just wants to hover and judge.”
“Sounds about right.”
Elliott leaned against one of the desks, studying me for a second. “You good?”
The question caught me off guard, and I hesitated. Was I?
I shrugged. “Yeah. Just… you know, long day.”
Elliott nodded like he understood, because he probably did. Teaching had a way of draining you in ways you never expected. Some days, you felt invincible, like you were actually making a difference. Other days, you wondered if you were just running in place.
“Well,” Elliott said, stretching. “If you need an excuse to get out of grading tonight, Jules is insisting you come over for a board game night. His words were ‘mandatory fun.’”
“Mandatory fun sounds suspiciously like a thinly veiled attempt to humiliate us at Settlers of Catan.”
“Oh, it one hundred percent is. But there will be beer.” Elliott beamed as he pushed off the desk and pointed at me. “See you there?”
I nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good.” He shot me with a finger gun on his way out. “Oh, and prepare for Jules to interrogate you about your love life. He’s in matchmaking mode again.”
I groaned. “Fantastic.”
Elliott just laughed, shaking his head as he disappeared down the hall.
I sat back against my desk, staring at my phone for a second before locking the screen. The cookout would be good. Food, friends, nice conversation. Nothing I had to overthink.
Elliott, though. He looked different. Lighter. Happier. Maybe it was just my imagination, but there was something in the way he talked about Jules, in the way he was looking at the future.
Still, as I looked around my classroom cluttered with books and lesson plans, the stacks of ungraded essays waited for me.
It was just one of those days.
I grabbed my lesson plan notebook, flipping through the pages, trying to refocus.
No time for distractions.