Chapter 17 Harry
HARRY
On Thursday afternoon, I’m sitting in my classroom after school, staring at the pile of essays on my desk. We’ve been exploring the theme of fear in Lord of the Flies, particularly irrational fear, and the stack of papers stares back at me accusingly.
The thought of tomorrow’s trip to Hartford hangs over me like a dark cloud I can’t shake.
We’re supposed to leave for the finals tomorrow after school, but I have no desire to go.
I’m avoiding Darius, which I know is childish, but I can’t help it.
I’ve spent the whole day dodging him, like a frightened mouse.
When I walked the kids to PE earlier, I stopped in the hallway and let them enter the gym without me.
It’s not unheard of for me to let them enter a special class independently, but it’s not typical.
And even though the kids have no idea what’s going on between Darius and me, I’m sure they were all giving me judgmental looks as they passed me.
I know it’s silly, letting those old insecurities about sports and masculinity get to me. It’s unfair to Darius, and I hate that. But I can’t seem to shake it—and I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine.
Christine pops her head in the door. She must’ve seen me wandering the halls earlier with a lost look on my face.
“You okay, Harry?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe with a curious smile.
I give her a tight smile and nod, but she’s not buying it. She steps into the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
“You sure?” she presses. “You’re looking a little . . . off. Something on your mind?”
I don’t want to talk about it, but Christine can be persistent. I know she’s just trying to help, but I’m not sure how much I want to share. Especially after I pushed her to give Darius a chance.
“It’s nothing,” I mutter, flipping through a stack of essays to distract myself.
She raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. ‘Nothing.’ So, you and Darius are good, right? I thought you two were, well . . . you know, getting along. You went to the Mariners game with him last night, right? What happened?” Her chin lifts as her nostrils flare. “Did he do something?”
I stiffen, and for a split second, I feel that familiar flush of frustration creeping up my neck. I shouldn’t feel this way, but I can’t help it.
I don’t know what I want to say. I don’t want to talk about Darius, but somehow, I can’t bring myself to ignore her accusation.
“Christine, it’s not him,” I finally say, dragging my fingers through my hair. “It’s me. I don’t think I’m ready for . . . whatever this is. Was. I mean, we’re just . . . we’re too different. You know?”
She looks at me, confused. “Oh, Harry.” She walks in and sits at the table closest to my desk. “Talk to me.”
I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to explain it. I think about the hockey game, about how I realized it wasn’t just Darius’s charm or his smile that I’d been drawn to. It’s more than that.
“We’re two completely different people with different lives, different interests. Darius is the PE teacher, the hockey coach. He goes to sports events. For fun. And I’m—well, I’m the English teacher. I like classical music. I enjoy staying home on Friday night and reading.”
“He’s Travis, and you’re Taylor.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about, but sure.”
“Oh, sweetie.” She pats my knee.
“He wears a baseball hat everywhere, and I don’t even own a baseball hat.”
“I mean, it would be a crime to cover those curls.” She offers a smirk.
“We’re just . . . too different, Christine,” I say, shaking my head.
“I thought I could make it work, but I can’t.
I realized it at the game last night. It’s not him—it’s me.
Sports make me—I don’t know—really uncomfortable.
It was different with the kids. They’re little.
We were there to help them. This wasn’t like that. This was . . .”
“Super hetero?”
“Exactly.” I sigh, wishing the unease in my chest to settle. “I don’t think I’m able to see past our differences.”
She looks at me with a mixture of sympathy and frustration.
“Able to, or don’t want to?” she asks softly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ve been on two dates.
It sounds like you were really connecting.
But, it’s your life.” She shrugs. “Regardless, you need to talk to him. I saw him moping by the office. You can’t just leave him hanging. ”
“I know,” I mutter. “I’ll figure it out.”
She doesn’t push me anymore. She just nods, sensing that I need to figure this out on my own.
After a moment, she asks, “But you’re still going to the finals tomorrow?”
I freeze—the finals. With my existential crisis taking over, I’m desperate to bail.
“Uh, actually,” I say, shifting uncomfortably, “I was thinking I might back out. I just don’t think I can do it.”
Christine’s eyes widen a little. “You mean, you’re not going?”
I shake my head. “I was going to ask Darnelle if someone else could go.”
She sighs. “Harry, you and I both know nobody is going to take an overnight trip to Hartford with one day’s notice except you or Darnelle herself, and we’re not asking our sweet principal who’s months from retirement to sit on a bus with a bunch of sweaty fifth graders.”
“And their sweaty coach.” The image of Darius in my apartment last weekend after his practice, in his jockstrap, flashes in my head.
“Exactly.” She cocks an eyebrow. “Which is why you’re going.”
A few minutes later, I’m pacing outside Darnelle’s office. It’s almost four, and I should be home reading cobbled-together essays, but I’m here, hoping for a miracle to save me from another bus ride and hotel situation with Darius.
“Mr. Peterson,” Darnelle’s voice calls from her office, warm yet authoritative, carrying the weight of someone who’s seen it all.
I straighten up, taking a deep breath before walking into the room.
None of the staff knows how old she is, but she’s been in education for almost forty years.
She carries herself with a quiet strength that makes her seem ageless.
Her short, silver hair is neatly tucked behind her ears, and her glasses sit perched on the tip of her nose as if she’s always scrutinizing the world around her with a keen, patient gaze.
I sit down across from her, the polished wooden desk between us reflecting the soft afternoon light filtering through the blinds.
Her steady, reassuring presence contrasts with the unease bubbling in my chest. I pull my lips in, instinctively, like a student who knows they’ve been caught just shy of crossing the line.
Darnelle’s expression remains gentle but firm, the kind of look that says she’ll listen but expects accountability.
“What’s up, Harry? Everything okay?”
“Yes. Fine. Great. Amazing.” Even though I’m babbling, I offer a smile, hoping to distract from my incoherence.
“Wonderful. And you’re all set to chaperone the boys tomorrow? I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you doing this. As does Mr. Applegate and the puppies.”
“Yeah, about that,” I say, but I don’t know how to finish.
I can’t tell her the truth.
She stares at me for a moment, then sighs. “Okay, Harry. Spill it. What’s this about? You were a big help at the semifinals. I was told you were—I believe ‘invaluable’ was the word Coach Hill used. And the boys need you.”
I feel a knot tighten in my stomach. She’s right. I was fine with it. I did help. But now, I just don’t want to go. Not if it means spending time with Darius on the bus. In the hotel.
“I’m just . . . I’m not sure I’m the best person for it this time. I’ve got papers to grade.”
Her neck bends forward, and I slump a little in my chair. “You can’t be serious, Harry. Papers? You can take them on the bus. Is that what this is really about? The boys need you. They look up to you.”
I glance at her, feeling the weight of her words pressing down on me. She’s right, damn it. She’s right. I know I should go. But the thought of being stuck in Hartford with Darius . . .
“You know,” she adds, “if you really can’t do it, I can step in. But I think you should go.”
I nod, even though I don’t feel like agreeing with her. “No, you’re right,” I say softly. “I can bring the essays with me. I’ll go.”
“Thanks, Harry.” She offers a small smile. “You’ve got this.”
As I leave Darnelle’s office, my mind races with what’s coming. I have to face Darius. I’m not sure what to say or how to act, but for now, all I can do is head to the finals and hope I don’t make things worse.