It's my free period, and usually at this point in the day I'd be kicking my feet up on my desk and enjoying a soda and a muffin from the staff lounge as I flipped through the papers that my sorely mistaken students have written about how people like Gerard Way and Pete Wentz were musical geniuses in their heyday, but today I have other things on my mind. So I take my soda and my muffin, forgetting about Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance (as it was meant to be), and head out through the maze of corridors to Race's office.

His secretary, Natalie, gives me a flirtatious smile and a nod to signal that he's in his office. I poke my head in and watch him for a moment, his back turned to the door and the phone attached to his ear. He's arguing with someone, and it's hilarious to see how flustered he gets.

"No, it's not because I enjoy ruining your retirement. You're not even really retired anyway; you don't spend any time gardening or going on cruises or spoiling your grandchildren."

He pulls the phone away from his ear and I can hear a high-pitched shrieking coming from the receiver. The words are unintelligible, but the voice is unmistakable: Medda.

"I wasn't calling you old! You have grandchildren! What the hell, Medda?" He sighs and shakes his head, thumping a fist a couple times on the arm of his chair. "Look. All I'm asking is that you come in and teach." There's a pause and even through the back of his head, I can see him smirk. "Our current drama teacher is a blithering fool who thought it was a good idea to stand under a loose stage light, point up, and say, 'I think that's going to fall.'" I hear him laugh, and I smile. "Well, it did, and it broke his leg in two different places. He'll be out for the rest of the year."

Race rolls his head from side to side and clears his throat. "I'll give you full-time pay, artistic license with the school plays, and the right to kick my ass every time I get out of line." Medda says something to make him laugh, and he thanks her, mutters an "I love you, too," and hangs up. There's a surprised look on his face as he spins around in his chair and sees me. "Well, hey."

"You have an odd relationship with that woman," I say, smirking, as I stroll in and plop down in the chair in front of his desk. "Medda's coming back to sub?"

"Yeah, through the year. So what's up?"

"You talk to Maria yet this morning?" I take a bite of my muffin, not caring when crumbs tumble to the carpet.

"No, why?" Race gives me a puzzled look as he reaches across the desk to tear a hunk out of my muffin.

"She wasn't in my class today. And generally she's too scared of you to skip my class."

Race's eyebrows knit together and he scowls. "Hmm. I don't know." He chews the muffin thoughtfully, then shrugs. "Well, why don't you go talk to her at lunch?"

"Students are in the dorms at lunch. They'll question the presence of someone who should have no real interest in Maria."

"You're a concerned teacher. Plus, you have to take her classwork to her anyway, so it doesn't matter." His phone rings again, and he sighs. "I have to take this. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

I nod and get up, heading for the door. "Love you," he says before he picks up the phone.

Smiling, I mouth it back at him and walk out.

--

I never really had a use for the phrase "brisk walk" before, but that's definitely what it is from my classroom to the dorms. October is on its way out and there's a definite bite to the air; I wish I'd grabbed my jacket before I left my office. Shivering, I slip through the front doors and stop to bask in the heat before heading for the stairs.

It's been over a month since Maria's whole "I hate you" phase, and I'm hoping that this visit won't result in her screaming about how she needs therapy because of me or anything. You never know with that kid.

I knock on the door, and one of her roommates opens it. "Oh, hey, Mister Conlon," she says, her voice a mix of cheeriness and confusion. "What's up?"

"Is Maria around?"

"She's, uh..." Her roommate blushes. "She's not here right now."

"What do you mean she's not here? She missed class this morning, where could she possibly be?"

The bathroom a couple doors down opens, and Maria steps slowly out, wiping her mouth. She's pale and faintly green, but she still seems to have enough strength to glare at me. "What do you want?"

"Jeez, kid. You okay?" I reach out to stroke her cheek, but, remembering her roommate, hand her her classwork instead.

"I'm fine," she says, taking the papers and swallowing hard, like she's trying not to vomit again. "I think I just have food poisoning or something."

"Have you gone to the nurse?"

"No."

"Come on, I'll take you."

"D-- Mister Conlon, you don't have to do that. I'll be fine. I just need to rest. Sorry I missed your class."

"Maria, you don't turn that color just from food poisoning. Come on. We're going to the nurse." I take her arm and head with her down the hallway.

--

"She's been in there for, like, an hour." Race is pacing outside the nurse's office, chewing his lip and shoving his hands in and out of his pockets.

I look at my watch. "Fifteen minutes, actually."

"Shut up, Spot." He slumps against the wall. "She probably has, like, salmonella or something. Or leukemia. Oh, my God."

"I'm pretty sure she doesn't have leukemia, Race." I put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze gently. "She's probably just got the flu. She's okay." He relaxes, just barely, but I can feel it.

Patricia, the school nurse, slips out the door and quietly closes it behind her. "Tony," she says, "how much do you know about Maria's extracurricular activities?"

"Well, she's in jazz choir twice a week, and I know she's active in the GSA club, um, she volunteers in the library, she's auditioning for the fall play, and she has a study group every Thursday night from five to nine." He drags a hand through his hair. "She's doing too much, isn't she? I shouldn't have let her do so much. She's probably exhausted. My poor baby."

Patricia just stares at him, a sad look in her eyes. I look from her to Race and sigh.

"Race, I don't think that was what she was referring to."

"Huh?"

"Tony," Patricia says again, her voice gentle and smooth, as she places a hand on his arm. "I need your permission to give Maria something."

"What?"

"I need to give her a pregnancy test."

Race's eyes roll back in his head and I don't even have time to catch him before he hits the floor.