2. Kate
“You are immersed into a gallery of different species, with a variety of shapes and sizes, all ranging from whales to Homo sapien genitalia.”
Horror. Sheer horror.
A creepy sensation moves up my spine, and my stomach retches from dread as I stare at the poster board hung on my chalkboard that is covered in graphic images and stickers. Charlie Henders, the senior class clown, continues his presentation on the Icelandic Phallological Museum. An actual museum he visited with his family over winter break. Pictures of animal and human phallic shapes are scattered across my whiteboard along with a picture of Charlie, himself, grinning from ear to ear as he stands next to a whale replica.
I shove my reading glasses onto the top of my head and rub my temples, praying the pressure erases the images. He continues discussing the details of each sculpture, the size comparisons, and the history of the museum. That’s right, the history of a penis museum. To my dismay, the class is completely engrossed in this presentation, giggling and whispering as Charlie continues. I should probably stop this…but the kid is so focused on his work and getting the extra credit—he hasn’t been this motivated to participate all year. Maybe the tornado alarm will go off so we can end this before someone walks by.
“They even had a cafe and bistro!” Charlie holds up a restaurant menu. “If any of you are looking for a cultural experience …”
A cultural experience? What is happening? I sneak my phone out of my desk drawer, desperately needing to share this horror with someone.
Henders presented his senior project today.
I’ll give you three guesses on what it was…
Malcolm:Hmm…
You’ll never get it ??
Malcolm: Do I get any hints?
Of course not!
Malcolm:Is it over a place?
….yes
Malcolm:A museum perhaps?
?? ?? ??
yes….
Malcolm: Does this museum showcase art of the penis kind?
HOW DID YOU KNOW?!
Malcolm:I know everything.
I hate you.
Malcolm:Don’t lie to yourself.
Fine. I don”t. But you took away my fun ??
Malcolm: Just doing my duty.
I roll my eyes at my know-it-all best friend, sliding the phone back in the drawer. Refocusing my attention on Charlie’s presentation, I see he has now started a slideshow with more images, and the rest of the class is taking pictures of the ginormous phalluses.
“Alright, then.” I stand, slapping my desk to interrupt Charlie mid-sentence. “Let’s not get me fired today.” I gesture for Charlie to take a seat and hide all evidence of his presentation. “Thank you, Mr. Henders, for that in-depth presentation.”
“Yeah, Charlie, real deep presentation, bro,” Travis Van says from the back of the class. The students cackle and cheer at his innuendo. Charlie bows. God, help me.
I drag a hand down my face and groan. “Moving on.” I eye Charlie as he high-fives his friends on the way back to his seat. I fold up his posterboard, quickly hiding it from the world underneath my desk. “Who else would like to present?”
A few hands shoot up at the same time the class bell rings. Time flew by, and I feel flustered for not monitoring the time more efficiently.
“Alright, then, we’ll get through the rest of the presentations tomorrow,” I say to the rest of the students as they rush out of my classroom. “Don’t forget the exam on Friday!” No one acknowledges my reminder.
I fold up Charlie’s board and shove it under my arm before he can snag it back. This one will not be on display. I feel the thick foam give way to the bend and crack a tiny bit. I ignore it, grabbing my phone out of the desk and heading out into the busy hallway. The minutes in between classes are always a blur—students racing to their next period or, the complete opposite, blocking the hall with their group chit-chat.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Malcolm:Iceland is calling.
Hilarious. I weave around the kids and make my way to the teachers’ break room, penis poster in hand. The death grip I have on this thing makes it difficult to text and walk, but I cannot let its contents be seen. I reach the door to the teachers’ lounge and stare at my phone screen, desperate for a funny comeback.
Your mom is calling.
Malcolm:Kate Stanley, you can do better than that.
I stand by my comeback!!
Malcolm:You sure about that?
Ugh! YOU DIDN’T GIVE ME TIME TO BE WITTY.
Malcolm:The definition of witty is quick humor, dollface.
Hush, you bearded dragon.
I stare at the screen, awaiting Malcolm’s response. Text bubbles pop up and disappear for what seems like an eternity. Then, a picture of his face, squished cheek to cheek with mine, pops up on my screen as his call comes through.
“Do we need anything else for tonight?” His voice is breathy on the other end.
“What are you doing?” I lean against the lockers in front of the lounge and clutch the poster to my chest.
“Working out.” Another heavy breath pulses through my phone speaker. “Why?”
“You sound like a dying old man.” I laugh as his erratic breathing slows down. He’s clearly trying to hold it in for my sake.
“I am a dying old man.” Malcolm clears his throat. I hear movement on the other end of the line—a slam of a locker door, a thud, a zip. “Answer the question, Kit Kat.” A quiet, breathy chuckle moves over my speaker.
The nickname Malcolm gave me five years ago hits me in the chest. It wasn’t the first time someone tried calling me that, and I always hated it—loathed it actually, with a deep passion, my entire life. But for some reason, I don’t hate it coming from Malcolm, and I definitely couldn’t tell him I hated the nickname, especially not when it took him six months to warm up to being my friend.
Malcolm was like a baby deer the first year he was at Glendale. Any sudden movements or unplanned conversations were avoided by him at all costs. And I sure as heck wasn’t going to be the one to scare him off, especially after giving him such a hard time with the chickens. So when he called me Kit Kat, I let it happen. Then it just stuck.
“I think we’re all set! Be there by eight.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see you later.”
“Wait!” I click over to a video call, and he answers immediately, his bright-blue eyes peering at me through the screen. “Did you get a question today?”
His chin dips with a silent laugh, pulling the phone closer to his face. Every inch of my screen is covered by Malcolm—piercing blue eyes, smile lines, and his perfectly trimmed, light-brown beard on full display. “Oh, I got one,” he whispers, eyes darting around, checking if the coast is clear. “Did you?”
I pout. One of the highlights of my day is sharing the ridiculous questions and anecdotes I endure as a high school teacher. It”s rather startling how out there some teenagers can be in their thought process. Even if the majority of my classes are filled with seniors who are children approaching adulthood in a matter of months, I am constantly shocked at the things said in my classroom. Today, though, I came up short. No revelatory remarks or bizarre inquiries to share. “Aside from the penis museum, I got nothing. Now you go!”
“Well, to maintain the student’s dignity, I will keep their name off record.” He waves a tsking finger at me when I try to retort. Clearing his throat and raking his fingers through his damp hair, he says, “I was asked if you can get cancer from smoked ham.”
“What?” We stare at each other through the phone, both rolling our lips and cheeks splotching red as we fight the inevitable. I break first, a wave of cackling laughter bellowing out of me. Laughter overtakes us, and I have to hang up without speaking.
“What are you bringing tonight?” Benny’s voice startles me as he approaches.
“Cheese and rice, you scared me!” I jump, somehow hitting the back of my head against the locker then dropping the poster and my phone onto the grimy hallway tile.
“Maybe you should check your surroundings, then.” He chuckles as he picks up the poster board. “Oh, is this the infamous penis poster?” His eyes are full of mischief and delight as he attempts to unfold it.
“Did you know about this too?!” I snatch it from his greedy paws and hit him in the arm with it.
In one swift motion, my annoyingly athletic cousin jukes to my left then to the right, grabbing the poster board so fast I don’t even have time to respond. He walks into the teacher’s lounge, opening the poster and reveling in all its glory. A cackle leaves his mouth as I follow him.
“Whoa,” Ellie giggles over our shoulders. She must’ve snuck in behind us. “What a detailed presentation.” She points at different pictures on the board, belting out a trill of laughs. Benny joins her. Their synchronized pre-marital chuckling is so adorable I almost forget what they are laughing at.
Almost.
Unfortunately, the images are burned into my brain, so I’ll probably never forget.
“Anyway,” I say through gritted teeth, “are you guys coming tonight?”
“Of course,” Benny says, still heavily focused on the poster. “You think this could be used for actual scientific research?” He bites his fist to stifle his laughter. It’s unsuccessful.
“Alright, that’s enough out of you!” I snatch the poster board and wave my finger at him. “I would think our vice principal wouldn’t be favorable of this kind of presentation.”
Benny shrugs nonchalantly. “Charlie put in a lot of effort. I couldn’t tell him no. Plus, I figured it would end your week on a high note.”
“A hard note,” Ellie corrects with a laugh. “No, a limp note!”
They both burst out into hysterics, and all I can do is groan as I storm out of the break room. What’s the point of enduring their jokes if Malcolm isn’t here to enjoy it too? He is the first person I want making fun of my classroom torture, and he’s missing out on it.
“Kate, wait!” Ellie calls after me as I head into the hallway.
The crowd of bodies has slimmed to a few wanderers as we mosey back down to my classroom.
“We’re sorry. It’s just so funny. You know it is.” She hooks her arm around mine.
“It is.”
“Then what’s wrong?” She follows me into my classroom as I shove the poster board into the supply closet. I’ll just give Charlie a B and call it a day. No need to endure actually evaluating this thing any more than I already have. I definitely won’t be checking his sources of information either.
“I’m just distracted.” I sit at my desk and pull out my phone.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ellie sits at the student desk directly opposite me.
“Will this be a friend talk or a therapist talk?” I roll my eyes.
“Ouch.” She crosses her arms, leaning back in the chair. She’s not offended by my words in the slightest, I’m sure. My attitude doesn’t hold a candle to the people she’s had to deal with as a therapist. But maybe receiving a reaction like that from a friend isn’t ideal either.
“I’m sorry.” I blow a curl off my face. They’re crazy and untamed today, my hair clip hanging on for dear life. “I just had a long night. Then a long morning.”
Ellie stifles a laugh. “Long, huh?”
“I hate you.” I throw a pen at her but can’t help giggling with her.
“What’s going on, Kate?” She leans over the desk, resting her chin in her hands.
She’s so effortless when she talks to people. I mean, yes, it’s kind of a requirement for her job, but she’s so freaking good at it. I bite at my thumbnail as she watches me. I can’t hide anything from her. Not that I want to. She’s my best friend. But it doesn’t bode well that, on top of her seeing right through me, keeping secrets from a therapist in general is downright impossible for me. Those two things together make Ellie my secrets’ kryptonite. When Benny told me he was going to propose, I had to fake sick with contagious diarrhea for a week just to avoid ruining the surprise.
“I don’t know. I just don’t feel like myself.” I grab a rubber band from my desk and twirl it between my fingers. “I’m stressed about the party. My students already have a case of senioritis. And I haven’t told Malcolm…”—I pause, pulling the band back farther—“my plans…yet.” The rubber band snaps against my finger, and I wince in pain, shoving it in the trash can in protest.
“I see.” She pauses, doing that therapist thing where she chooses her words carefully. “One, of course the kids have senioritis. They graduate in three months. Two, don’t stress about the party. It happens every year. And lastly, why haven’t you told Malcolm?”
“I don’t know.” I chew on my nail again. But I do know. I’m afraid of what he’ll think of my random decision to start dating again. He’s so protective and opinionated, like a German Shepherd sniffing out the drugs. I’m already anxious enough about getting back out there, but I know as soon as he finds out, he’ll be watching like a hawk. Some might find it annoying, but I’d do the same for him if he were to get out there. But he’s never liked dating—or so I think, since I’ve never seen him with anyone. And I haven’t dated since—
“Are you afraid he’ll be mad?” Ellie asks, cutting off my thought.
“Kind of.”
“Why?” Her green eyes flicker at me as she leans forward.
I shrug as she stands and walks down an aisle of desks, her black high heels clicking against the floor. The fluorescent lights and baby-blue sweater she’s sporting today are harsh against her pale skin, yet she still glows like an angel. She’s really come out of her shell, going from all black or neutrals to an array of colors in her wardrobe, since she’s been with Benny. I guess that’s what happens when you find love…the color comes back into your life.
“Malcolm is a grown man. The guy is almost forty—”
“Thirty-seven,” I correct her.
“Years old,” she continues. “He’s been single a long time. I doubt he’ll be upset that you, a grown woman of child-bearing age, is ready to find a mate.”
“First of all, ew. Do not use those weird fairy book terms with me again. Second, children? Also, ew. Calm down.”
“You don’t want kids?”
“That’s not—no, I don’t—I’m not sure. Maybe. Can we focus please?” Leaning my head back against my chair, I spin around in circles, noting pieces of Scotch tape left from my Christmas decorations last term.
“All I’m saying,” Ellie says, refocusing as she keeps walking around my classroom, “is that Malcolm is an adult. You both are. Just tell him you’re ready to date, and he’ll support you. He wants you to be happy, and if getting back out there makes you happy, then so be it.” She makes her way across the back of the room, noting the science presentations on display, before pivoting on her heel toward me.
“I know he just wants me to be happy. He’s the best. We’ve just been single pals for so long I don’t want him to feel abandoned or something.”
I’ve been single for the last three years. After Eric left Glendale, our relationship didn’t last longer than a month. Long distance just never works—not for me anyway. And Malcolm was there for me when it happened. He ate ice cream with me. Watched sad movies with me. He even went to a Mamma Mia production with me. The poor guy was so out of place, but it made the night a million times better. So, of course, when I was tipsy off two glasses of wine one night, I told him we should make a pact. Stay single until we’re old then live off our retirement together.
“I just can’t help but feel like he’s been holding out on dating because of me. Because I wasn’t ready. Being a good friend and all.” I do one final spin around in my chair, bringing my knees to my chest for momentum. “Now I’m just jumping back in the sea and leaving him on land.”
“Malcolm won’t have any issues finding someone. Just tell him you’re thinking of dating again.” Ellie sits on the edge of my desk, straightening my stapler and clicking my pens so they don’t dry out. She does this every day. Sometimes I leave my pens unclicked or uncapped just to drive her a little crazy.
“Well, here’s the thing…” I hesitate. “I already am…dating…again.” My voice cracks at my words, and Ellie gives me an incredulous look.
“What?” She grits out, pressing her lips into a tight line, nostrils flaring. I half expect to see smoke come out of her ears at this information.
“You’re mad,” I whisper, looking down at the discolored tile under my feet.
“Am not.”
“See, if you’re mad, then can you imagine how Malcolm will feel? What will he think when he realizes his best friend has been lying to him for weeks about her extracurricular activities?” I groan, throwing my head into my hands.
“Weeks?” she exclaims, jumping off my desk, her heels screeching against the floor. Such a horrible noise. I wince as she towers over me, tapping her foot. “Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know.” I really don’t. Maybe I’m embarrassed. Embarrassed that it’s taken me this long to get back out there. Embarrassed I let the Eric situation knock me down so hard. Embarrassed that every time I see my family, they hound me about getting married and giving them grandbabies. The embarrassing truth stings my eyes.
I look up at Ellie, her eyes softening at the sight of my pitiful self. The pain I feel about this conversation is probably all over my face, because she doesn’t press me any more.
“And I thought Benny was Malcolm’s best friend?” She smirks, changing the subject for me. I hate conflict. Avoid it at all costs. Ellie figured that out early on when she found me pacing in the girls’ bathroom, a cupcake squashed in my fist. Patsy, our old school counselor, was mad at me for bringing vegan cupcakes to her fundraiser bake sale. I was too chicken to defend myself and my efforts, which is not out of character for me. But Ellie saved the day and bought every last cupcake, taking them to her office. She is a friend above the rest—well…behind Malcolm. But no one compares to him.
“We can let them believe that. Benny is his favorite guy friend,” I answer her question. ”But we both know I’m Malcolm’s all-time favorite.” She nods in agreement at this fact, both of us refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room.
I’m dating again.