Chapter 16
Two months later, Fernando stood in the bathroom and fought a panic attack.
The bathroom light was too bright for six in the morning.
He squinted at his reflection, hair tangled from sleep.
The house was quiet, and Beans was still sleeping.
Walker’s unit was deployed for training again, luckily, a much shorter one this time. He was set to return in another week.
The pregnancy test lay on the counter.
He had promised himself he wouldn’t look right away. Instead, he washed his hands. Breathed. Counted to thirty.
“That’s long enough.” He looked. Two pink lines.
For a moment, nothing happened. He was still Fernando. It was just that the world had tilted and forgotten to keep spinning. That’s all.
“No,” he whispered automatically, hoping the words could change something. He picked it up and turned it toward the light, hoping it would reveal a different answer. Nope. The lines were still there.
His chest tightened, and his stomach dropped, then fluttered. A baby. He sat down on the edge of the tub, knees suddenly giving out. His thoughts began racing ahead to the doctor appointments, tiny clothes, his siblings’ faces, his face. Oh God. His face.
Tears welled up without warning, and he pressed his hand to his mouth and let out a shaky breath. “I’m pregnant,” he said to the empty bathroom, giving the words a try.
The words made it suddenly very real. They hadn’t planned this.
They were still figuring things out. Walker had another six months left in the military and had no idea what he would do afterward.
Fernando had only just started the new school year.
They were planning to move to Hobson Hills next summer.
Fuck, he still sometimes felt like he was pretending to be an adult.
However, beneath the fear was something else. A warmth. A flicker of awe. His hand drifted to his stomach, still flat, still ordinary. Nothing had changed, but everything had changed. There was something there. The tiniest, faintest beginning of a life.
A laugh bubbled up through his tears. “Oh, fuck me,” he murmured, laughing and crying at the same time. He looked at the test again, then at himself in the mirror. “I’m okay,” he managed, voice wobbling. He stood, wiped his cheeks, and opened the door. Everything would be alright.
He went through his morning routine in a daze, walking Beans, feeding Beans, petting Beans, feeding himself, searching for his keys. Then he drove to work. The school he taught at was across town, and traffic sucked.
Somehow, he made it to his classroom and through homeroom. His first class, though, was a little challenging.
He blinked at the whiteboard like it had personally betrayed him. “Okay,” he said slowly, marker hovering over the board. “So. Symbolism. In chapter… in chapter…” He glanced down at the book in his hand.
Several students helpfully chimed in at once.
“Seven.”
“Eight.”
“Fourteen, if you actually did the reading,” griped Alisha from the back.
Fernando squinted at the cover. The Outsiders. Right. He absolutely knew that. “Chapter seven,” he repeated with forced confidence, turning back to the board. He wrote a large, slightly slanted 7. Then he stared at it, hoping it would continue the lesson for him.
A baby. I’m having a baby.
The classroom hummed with middle school energy, desks squeaking, someone tapping a pencil like a woodpecker, and a crumpled paper ball arcing lazily toward the trash can and missing by a mile.
“Mr. Medina?” asked Alisha, hand raised but already talking. “Are we still doing the essay today?”
The word essay seemed to travel across the room in slow motion before colliding with his brain. “Essay,” he asked faintly. “Yes. No. I mean, eventually.” He rubbed his forehead, leaving behind a faint smear of dry-erase marker. “First, we’re discussing the fire scene.”
A hand shot up again. “Why did you write Chapter Seven if the fire is in Chapter Six?” asked Alisha.
Fernando slowly turned back to the board. The large 7 stared back at him, smug.
“Excellent question,” he said, nodding gravely. “That was a critical thinking exercise.”
His class did not believe him.
He erased the 7, then paused mid-swipe, staring at the half-erased number like it was a philosophical dilemma. I’m going to have a baby. Another living being that I’m responsible for.
For a full five seconds, no one spoke.
“Sir,” said Alisha, “are you okay?”
He blinked again, doing his best to gather his thoughts.
“I’m fantastic,” he said too brightly. “Thriving. Life is good.”
A few students laughed.
“Okay,” he said finally, closing the book with a soft thud. “Group discussion.”
A ripple of excitement passed through the room.
“Talk to your partner about what the fire symbolizes. Five minutes. Use textual evidence.” He pointed vaguely around the room. “And stay seated.”
The class erupted into conversation instantly.
Fernando leaned against his desk, breathing slowly. He watched as Alisha animatedly explained something with wild hand gestures while another student flipped pages frantically. A paper ball narrowly missed his shoulder.
Despite the fog in his brain, a small smile tugged at his mouth. They were engaged. Loud, chaotic, occasionally feral, but engaged.
Alisha waved at him from her desk. “You should drink coffee, Mr. Medina,” she advised.
He nodded solemnly. “You’re wise beyond your years.”
The bell rang, slicing through the noise. Chairs scraped back, and students poured out into the hallway in a rush of chatter and sneakers.
Fernando remained where he was, staring at the half-erased smear on the board. He sighed and picked up the marker again. “Okay,” he muttered to himself. “Chapter six. Fire. Symbolism. You absolutely know this.” He wrote “Fire = ?” on the board.
After another class ended, he finally got a lunch break. Before he could leave to meet the friends he ate lunch with, the principal’s assistant, Lester Sherry, came to his door. “Mr. Medina, the principal needs to speak to you.”
Fernando swallowed hard. This can’t be good. Principal Nester was strict and no-nonsense. She kept a tidy school and expected much from her teachers. He knew he hadn’t been at his best that morning, but she wouldn’t know that. Right?
He suddenly felt like he was twelve again. “Uh, sure. I’ll head to her office.”
A few moments later, he stood in her doorway, staring at the framed motivational posters as if they might rearrange themselves into something that made sense.
“Come in, Fernando,” Principal Nester said, not looking up from the folder on her desk.
He stepped inside. The office smelled like lemon cleaner and stale coffee. The blinds were half-closed, casting the room in pale afternoon light. He’d been in there a few times before, but it still made him nervous.
“You wanted to see me?”
Nester finally lifted her eyes. Her expression was careful, practiced. “Please, sit.”
He sat.
She folded her hands over the folder. His name was printed across the tab in black marker. He recognized his own handwriting from the supply room—he’d labeled it himself at the beginning of the year, thinking it would sit in a cabinet collecting positive observations and commendations.
“I’ll get straight to the point,” she said. “The district has decided to terminate your employment immediately. Another teacher will take over your classes this year. You are to clear out your desk and leave after classes end today.”
For a second, he genuinely thought he’d misheard her. “Leave? I’ve only been here two months.”
“Yes.”
“My early evaluation was exemplary.”
“Yes.” She inhaled slowly. “This decision isn’t about performance.”
He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Then what is it about?”
“There have been… concerns.”
“From who?”
“The board.”
He waited.
“Regarding your family history.”
“My family history,” he repeated. He closed his eyes and thought about the classroom he’d put so much effort into. The mismatched beanbags he’d bought with his own money. The shelf of dog-eared novels. The sign over the board that read Stories Matter.
“What concerns?” he pressed, anger building. He wanted to hear her say it.
Principal Nester hesitated, then chose her words carefully.
“It’s been brought to the district’s attention that your past in New Mexico was quite sordid.
We expect more from our teachers, as you well know.
Your relation to Diego Medina is unacceptable.
If parents were to find out, they would be outraged. ”
“I have nothing to do with his crimes.”
“The board is under pressure, Fernando.”
“Pressure,” he echoed.
She looked tired now. Not cruel, but tired. “The parents of our students want the very best for their children. We cannot risk keeping someone related to a child molester. It is simply intolerable.”
He took a breath, forcing himself to steady. “I have done nothing wrong.”
Nester’s eyes flicked down. “It’s about optics,” she said finally.
“Optics,” he repeated again, as if tasting something rotten.
“The school board election is next month. There’s been a lot of… attention.” She lowered her voice. “If your past was discovered by the wrong people, you would become the focal point.”
“You’re firing me because some parents would be uncomfortable about something my uncle did. An uncle, by the way, that I am not in contact with,” he said. “Do you think I would do something like him?”
“No one is saying that.”
“You don’t have to say it.”
She flinched slightly.
“The official reason,” she continued, retreating to formality, “is a restructuring of staff to better align with community values.”
“Community values,” he repeated, almost smiling at the absurd vagueness of it.
Her voice softened. “You will be an excellent teacher, Fernando.”
“Then fight for me.” The plea slipped out before he could stop it.
Her gaze held his, and for a moment, he saw the truth there. Fear. The fear of angry board members and loud parents. Of losing her own position.
“It’s bigger than me,” she said quietly. The clock on the wall ticked, loud and indifferent. “You’ll receive severance through the end of the semester,” she said. “We’ll provide a neutral reference.”
He straightened, the initial shock cooling into something steadier. “Fine, but I’m leaving now.”
“I understand. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” she added, almost in a whisper.
“Oh, fuck your sorry.” He gave her a hard look. “This isn’t right, and you know it.”
Then he opened the door and stepped into the hallway, where lockers slammed, and laughter sounded, and the world went on exactly the same as it had that morning.
He didn’t know for sure who had called the board and told them about Fernando’s uncle, but he could guess. It didn’t matter anyway. He had done nothing wrong. He could fight the termination, but honestly, he didn’t have the energy to do it.
He was completely numb as he quickly grabbed his belongings from his classroom and went to his car. A few other teachers tried to ask him what was happening, but he ignored them. He was so tired.
Back at home, he sat on the edge of his couch, the lamp in the corner casting a soft golden circle over the living room. The house felt too quiet without the television on, too aware of its own stillness.
“Come here, buddy,” he murmured.
At the sound of his voice, Beans lifted his head from the rug.
His tail thumped once, then twice, against the floor before he stood and padded over, nails clicking softly on the hardwood.
He rested his chin on Fernando’s knee first, looking up with those warm, patient eyes, as if asking to hear everything. Fernando smiled despite himself.
“You don’t even know what kind of day I had,” he said, scratching behind Beans’s ear.
Beans huffed gently and leaned harder into his hand.
Fernando shifted back against the couch cushions and patted the space beside him. Beans climbed up in an awkward, enthusiastic tangle of paws and fur, circling once before settling half across Fernando’s lap. He was far too big to be a lap dog, but neither of them seemed to mind.
He wrapped one arm around the dog, fingers sinking into thick, soft fur. Beans let out a deep, contented sigh that vibrated through his chest.
They stayed like that for a long moment, no words, just the steady rhythm of breathing. Fernando rested his cheek against the top of Beans’s head, inhaling that familiar, clean-dog smell.
“You’re the best part of this place,” he said quietly. “Well, you and Walker.”
Beans’s tail thumped again, slower this time, as if in agreement.
Outside, a car passed, and somewhere outside, a door shut, but inside the living room, everything felt warm and safe. Fernando rubbed slow circles along Beans’s side, feeling the rise and fall of each breath.
Beans stretched one paw across Fernando’s chest and closed his eyes.
Fernando did too, and for the first time all day, the weight on his shoulders felt lighter, replaced by several pounds of loyal, steady comfort.