It's the kind of Autumn day when everyone should be outside—bright sunlight, 65 degrees and a cool breeze. The forest surrounding our school is bursting with colorful leaves, and its times like this when I'm so thankful to live in a place with four seasons.
The annual Fall Festival is a big fundraiser for the school, and every administrator is involved in some way. For the second year, I'm a volunteer in the apple cider booth, and the parent association asked me to participate in a relay race this afternoon. I reluctantly agreed, because I know students would like to see me humiliate myself for a good cause.
I spend an hour chatting with parents, teachers and a few students from my spot in the booth. We have a supportive community at Mounthaven, and I thank my lucky stars that I'm not working in a public school like the one I attended. I can see myself here long-term.
As I'm about to wrap up my volunteer shift, I spot Piper walking across the field with two students. They're each licking one of those huge lollipops that's almost as big as their heads. Piper is wearing jeans and an unbuttoned flannel shirt with another shirt underneath, and her hair is in a ponytail. If I didn't know who she was, I would assume she's a senior or recent graduate. The two students peel off in another direction, and Piper walks towards the apple cider booth. When she sees me, a smile crosses her face.
"It's going to take you all day to eat that thing," I say as she approaches the booth.
"That's ok." She shrugs, glancing at the colorful lollipop and then back at me. "I like licking things."
Oh, fuck.
"I won it at the milk bottle toss." She shows no signs of remorse for making such a statement. "It was either this or a stuffed giraffe."
Once I recover I offer, "At least with the giraffe, you could sleep next to something tall and relatively cute."
"Giraffes are cute," She takes another lick. "But I'd rather sleep with tall, hot women."
I gulp and look away; I am far too close to the flame.
Piper changes the subject, and I wonder if she senses my anxiousness. "How long are you working in here?"
"Another 30 minutes or so."
"That's not bad." Piper twists her neck to look at the other booths lining the side of the field. "I heard you're participating in the relay race."
"I'll probably regret it," I sigh. "You?"
She nods. "That, plus playing in the faculty/student kickball game."
Our PE teacher approaches the booth and taps Piper's arm. "Game starts in 15 minutes. We're about to do a little warm up if you want to join us."
"I'll be right there," she replies. "What about Alex?"
He chuckles. "We've asked her to play every year, but she refuses."
I hold up my hands. "Still true. I'll support the faculty, but I'm not a kickballer."
"Too bad," Piper replies.
He nods in her direction. "See you out there."
"I guess I'll see you in the stands, then."
"Yeah." I wave and watch her walk away.
"Hi, Ms. Vause," a senior greets me, taking Piper's place.
"Hi, Neemah. How's it going?"
I make small talk with Neemah and her mom for a few minutes, and then one of the parents interrupts us, telling me she'll take over in the cider booth. As I walk to the field where the kickball game is taking place, every few steps, a student, parent or teacher says hello to me. Sometimes they want to chat, but most of the time, it's a quick "how are you doing?" I feel well-liked and respected at school and have only had run-ins with a handful of demanding or dissatisfied parents. There are a few faculty members who are pains in the ass, but for the most part, Mounthaven is relatively drama free.
I hand the Student Council kids $1.50 for a bag of popcorn, and then take my place in the stands to watch the game. Piper's flannel shirt is now tied around her waist and she's wearing a white baseball t-shirt with green, quarter length sleeves and a backwards ball cap. I take in the sight of her and gulp. Guh.
I'm going to try cataloguing the many shades of Piper Chapman—I've seen the casual side and the professional side, now I want to see the sexy side. Not that her current look isn't sexy; I'm talking knee-high leather boots and a fitted dress with a slit up the side sort of sexy. No matter how she looks, there's no question I'm drawn to her. I reflect upon the deep conversation we had about curriculum development yesterday versus how she's playing kickball, looking like a tomboy today. She's a lesson in contrasts.
"Mind if we sit next to you?" a parent asks, stirring me from my musings.
"Sure." I scoot down a bit and end up conversing with her and her husband for much of the game.
During the last inning, our art teacher, the one who bent my ear about her summer trip to Paris, twists her ankle as she rounds first base. I walk onto the field to survey the situation, but the athletic trainer beats me to it, determining that it's just twisted, and she needs to ice it.
"We need another player." The PE teacher sticks his hands on his hips. "You know I wouldn't ask if we weren't desperate."
"Uh, no." I shake my head. "Not me."
"Please," Piper pleads. "All you have to do is kick one time. Brent is on third, and if he scores we win. Easy."
"Easy for you," I retort.
She locks eyes with me and runs her hand down my arm, squeezing my wrist. "We need you, Alex."
How is it that I hardly know her, but I can't resist her plea?
"Fine," I protest. "One kick, and that's all."
The faculty cheer, but the student team shouts things like "easy out, guys!" and "let's beat Ms. Vause!"
I taught the pitcher English for two years, and I'm writing one of his college recommendations. "You better put some heat on it, Blake."
"If I strike you out, will you still write my letter?" he asks through a big smile.
"No," I joke.
"Alright guys bring it in." He waves the outfield closer. "Ms. Vause has never played kickball in the four years I've been here! This is a piece of cake!"
"Just watch the ball all the way through," the PE teacher coaches from down the first base line.
The first pitch rolls by, and the umpire calls a strike.
"It's ok! You can do it!" Piper yells. "Three steps and kick it with all your might!"
"I'll give you a raise if we win," the head of school, Louisa, shouts from the dugout.
The second pitch is a little bouncier, but I connect my foot with the ball and watch it sail right over the left fielder's head. Cheers erupt from the faculty bench as Brent scores and we win the game by one run. The teachers pile on me like we've just won the Super Bowl, and I get knocked to the ground, laughing along the way. I realize Piper is hovering over me, bracing herself with her hands on the grass on either side of my head.
"You did it!"
I hold her waist so we don't go tumbling over, effectively crushing us, so really, it's more for our safety than for the exhilaration her body on top of mine. She smells like grass and dirt and kickball.
"Doesn't it feel good to win?" she asks.
You feel good, I want to say. "Not really. Everyone needs to get off the pile before we get crushed."
"Everyone?" she whispers.
Teachers peel off one by one, and I'm left lying there with words hanging on my tongue that I don't voice: No, not everyone.
By the time we're all standing and celebrating with more high fives than body piles, Piper goes over to the student team to congratulate them on a hard fought game. I console the pitcher, who laughs it off and thanks me for still writing his college letter of recommendation.
After the party is over, I approach our head of school. "How about that raise?"
"Contracts were already signed for this year." Louisa shrugs, patting me on the back. "But I'll gladly buy you lunch."
"Deal."
I eat with some of my closest work friends, including Louisa, and we enjoy the gorgeous weather and the somewhat decent bratwurst and potato salad.
"Seems like our two student teachers are doing well," Louisa comments.
I pause mid-bite, hoping someone else will respond.
"I can vouch for Tim in chemistry. He's been effective so far," our science department chair says.
"Piper's outstanding," the dean of student replies. "The kids adore her, though a few said she gives too much homework."
The science department chair rolls her eyes. "That's what they all say."
"Alex, have you interacted with either of them much?"
I swallow my potato salad. "Yeah. They're great."
"Good." The head of school looks at me funny. "We'll talk more formally about them at our check-in next week."
I nod. "Sounds good."
I don't know why I get so worried and self-conscious when Piper's name comes up. Nothing happened after our first meeting in the early summer, and nothing is happening now. Maybe I'm just overly sensitive to perceptions because I am attracted to her, and I don't want anyone to pick up on that. She's a good teacher, and I can acknowledge that…I should acknowledge it.
"Relay race is starting in 10 minutes," the PE teacher says as he approaches our table. "Alex are you ready to be the faculty ringer again?"
"Hardly," I chuckle. "That kick was sheer luck…and it was a one-time thing, so don't assume I'm going to play again next year."
"We'll whip her into shape," the dean of students replies.
I take my plate to the garbage. "I guess I better find out what this relay race is all about."
They all wish me luck, and I walk to the opposite side of the event space to see six students and five faculty members stretching and talking. I have never participated in nor witnessed the relay race before today, so I don't know what it entails. The PE teacher told me it involved minimal movement, so I'm counting on that to be true—it's been a very long time since I've run other than in the rain the last time I had dinner with Nicky.
"Alright everyone, attention please," the PE teacher begins with a clap. "Thank you all for agreeing to participate in this year's relay race. I'll call out the two-person teams now, and then the student council will demonstrate how each leg of the race works."
I'm standing next to an English teacher and the physics teacher, and right next to him is Piper, followed by a long line of students. The PE teacher calls the pairs out, and the last faculty pair is none other than Ms. Vause and Ms. Chapman. Go fucking figure.
Piper leans close to my ear, breath tickling it and sending a rush throughout my body. "We'll kick their asses."
From what I've gathered in the last couple of months, Piper is competitive. That was proven today in the kickball game and now as she prepares to run the race with me.
She stands to my left, hands in her back pockets, looking even more like a tomboy than when she was on the kickball field, and listens closely to the instructions for each leg of the race. I'm torn between watching her and watching the student council demonstrate each segment. I quickly surmise that there will be considerable touching during the race, which concerns yet excites me in a way that it definitely shouldn't.
Piper nudges me with her shoulder. "You ready?"
"No, but I don't think that matters right about now," I sigh. "Should I remove my glasses?"
"On your marks, get set, go!" The PE teacher lowers his flag, and we're off.
The first leg is the wheel barrow race. Piper's hands are on the ground, and I'm holding her ankles. I push her forward as fast as she can "walk" until we reach the end line. The further we go, the more her shirt inches up and I can see half her back. I watch the muscles work as she skitters across the grass. All six teams are almost even.
The second race involves me putting the end of a plastic spoon in my mouth and a Cheerio in the dip of the spoon. I have to walk 20 feet to where Piper is waiting with a plastic spoon in her mouth just like mine and transfer the Cheerio to her spoon without using our hands. If we drop the Cheerio, I have to go back to the starting point. I run evenly with the other participants, and when I get to Piper, I put my hands on her hips and tilt my head to the right. She bends her knees, placing her hands on my upper arms and slanting her head to the left. I successfully transfer the Cheerio, and we've mastered that challenge. Four of the other teams are still with us, and two dropped the Cheerio and have to try again.
The third event is the three-legged race. A student ties our ankles together with a bandana, and I put an arm around Piper's shoulders while hers wraps around my waist. We walk briskly towards the end point, not missing a beat, stride for stride with each other. We're ahead of the pack after this race, but the debate club president and the star soccer player are hot on our tail.
The final stretch involves popping two balloons between our bodies without using our hands, feet or any sharp objects that we might have in our pockets. Piper and I hold each other closely, dropping a balloon between our stomachs and thrusting against each other to try to pop it.
"I usually buy a girl dinner before getting this close," I say.
She thrusts forward. "Is that an invitation?"
"The operative word is before."
"No breakfast afterwards?"
"That depends." We pop one balloon and place another one between us.
"On what?" Piper asks.
I lock my arms behind her back. "On how good it was."
The second balloon pops, and two students rush over to raise each of our hands, declaring us the winners. I'm far more elated than I should be, but it's because of my proximity to Piper more than winning some silly relay race. Through the cheers of the crowd, Piper and I hug, and for a moment, I think about kissing her, but I quickly come to my senses. What in the fuck am I thinking? I pull away and opt for a high five.
My body reacts a certain way when I'm close to her, and although it's involuntary, it borders on inappropriate. She looks at me, I stare at her. She touches me, I want to touch her more intimately. She hugs me, I want to kiss her. It's a cycle I'm determined to break, but for now, I just want to celebrate: we won.
Nothing comes of our flirtations at Fall Fest, not that I expected it to. I think about texting Piper, apologizing for my comments during the relay race, but I decide against it. Acknowledging the inappropriate nature of our brief conversation would give it life, and I'd rather just put it to bed. Take her to bed. I try to force all thoughts of Piper and beds out of my mind and concentrate on the week ahead.
Other than the mornings when Piper greets me from the hallway when she arrives at school, we don't interact that following week. That is, until my Outlook calendar alerts me to a curriculum development meeting with her an hour before it occurs on Thursday afternoon.
Peggy was so close to getting it right. "When did you sneak this meeting with Piper onto my calendar?" I call from my desk.
"It's been planned for a few days; I just forgot to tell you I put it on there. I thought that's what the Outlook reminder was for."
I roll my eyes. "There are two steps to this. First, you either ask me if I can meet with her, and then schedule it, or you schedule it and then tell me about it. Second, you click the button in Outlook that reminds me of the meeting an hour in advance."
"Like I've said before, those are a lot of steps." She rolls her chair back. "Anything else before I leave?"
I avoid exhaling the frustrated sigh that's begging to come out. "No, thank you."
An hour later, Piper stands in the doorway with a box of Mimmo's. "I come bearing pizza."
I suck in a deep breath through my nose. "I can smell it from here."
She sets the box on a side table, followed by her messenger bag. "You changed clothes."
"You looked so comfortable last time." I move from behind my desk to one of the guest chairs. "Thought I'd give it a try."
She has on a similar outfit to the one she wore the last time we met, only this time, her top is a wide-necked sweatshirt and her collarbone peeks out, teasing me.
"What kind of pizza is it?" I peek inside the box to see for myself.
She pulls out her laptop and a legal pad. "Bacon and artichoke—it was the special today."
"Yum."
Piper sits next to me. "I was thinking about writing an outline of what I'd like to discuss so we stay a little more on task this time."
"Great."
She hands me a handwritten outline. "By thinking about you actually meant doing."
Piper shrugs. "If you would've disagreed, I wouldn't have given it to you."
I shake my head and smile as I glance at her topics of choice. "Are these in the order in which you want to discuss them?"
"Pretty much." She takes a sip of water. "But if you think there's a more efficient way to proceed, I'm open."
We begin by talking about the value of a standardized curriculum, spending less time on Advanced Placement and more time on International Baccalaureate. I try to remain neutral as we discuss the merits of both programs, allowing Piper to come up with the conclusion I figured she would: standardized curriculum lacks innovation and gets stale quickly.
An hour later, I'm hungry.
"If I don't eat a piece of that pizza I might die." I stretch. "The smell has been driving me crazy since you got here."
She leans over, grabbing the pizza box and placing it between us. "You've shown great restraint."
You have no idea.
I take a now cold slice. "What about you?"
She pauses, then looks me in the eye. "I've shown great restraint as well."
The way she's staring at me makes it crystal clear that she's not referring to the pizza. We're a step away from treacherous territory, so I need to change the subject fast.
"I remember the first time I ate Mimmo's." I take another bite. "I was on a date, and the woman I was with gobbled down six or seven slices without pausing to even sip her beer."
She giggles.
"She kept talking about her car that was in the shop even though her mouth was full, and little bits of pepperoni kept flying out."
"She sounds super hot," Piper says through laughter.
"The opposite of hot." I take a drink of water. "That date was one and done."
She finishes her first slice. "I've got a better story, or worse, depending on how you look at it."
"Oh, that wasn't my worst date," I offer. "Just my first time at Mimmo's."
"Ah." She takes a bite and swallows before continuing. "My sophomore year at Smith, I dated mostly guys."
I raise my eyebrows, though I'm not really surprised to hear Piper is (or was) bisexual.
"I went out with this total hippie from Hampshire, and he cried at the drop of a hat."
"He cried?"
She nods. "I think his roommate's childhood pet had just died—a cat this guy had never met—and he bawled like a baby. Then he told me about his goldfish that died when he was like seven or eight years old, and he cried. I ended the date about an hour into it when it was clear the man had emotional issues."
"Sounds unstable."
"He was." She takes a bite of the second slice.
We go round and round, telling stories about bad dates, and by the time we're done, we've eaten the entire pizza. It's true that I would never talk about bad dates with any other teacher at Mounthaven, but Piper's different. I enjoy the way she tells stories—she's animated and descriptive and precise. She has an ease about her that I appreciate. While nothing we've discussed is intimate or flirtatious, I confirm there's a connection between us that I've felt since the first time we met.
Eventually, we return to our curriculum discussion that runs until just after 8 p.m.
Piper raises her hands above her head and tilts to the side. "My back is starting to hurt."
I roll my neck and hear the tendons pop. "These aren't the most comfortable chairs for long periods of sitting."
She places her laptop in her bag. "Let's meet somewhere more comfortable next time."
I worry about meeting somewhere 'more comfortable' but Piper has shown no signs of inappropriate behavior tonight. She made the one comment about great restraint, but if she's restraining from flirting with me, she's doing a good job.
So I make a bold suggestion. "We could meet at my house."
Piper pauses mid-air and blinks at me. "Ok."
"Say, next Saturday around 4?"
"Yeah, I can make that work."
I might be making a colossal mistake, but I'm prepared to take a leap of faith that we can keep our hands to ourselves and have a professional discussion somewhere other than at school. I don't examine why I didn't recommend that we meet at a coffee shop or another public place. Wouldn't that be a better choice?
"Thanks for such a good discussion," Piper says, strapping her bag over a shoulder.
"You're welcome. See you tomorrow."