Ron adapts quickly. He always has and that's why he's still alive. Teaching at Eisenhower isn't so different from MacArthur. The children are different, but in the end, children are usually all the same. These children are unique, however, in that they've had three months of Norma Dike's teaching to stunt their education. From the stories Ron's heard, the man was every bit as stupid and lazy as he'd seemed at the poetry reading. Ron makes up for that the only way he knows how: by pushing these kids to excel.

His overall teaching style hasn't changed much, though, new school or not. He lectures, he assigns readings and he quizzes daily. He forces discussion and hints about essays to come. He pushes them hard and they hate him for it, probably. But he's doing his best by them, and they'll be better for it.

The rumors have started back up, too. They follow him wherever he goes. His whole life they've been there. He doesn't mind them much. In school, as a child, he'd felt sick when he'd hear the others talking about him like that. Now, though, he absorbs it. He can't stop rumors, but he can use them to his advantage. If his students fear him, and he knows they do from the way they still fidget when he watches them, they excel because of it. No one wants to draw his wrath upon them by not doing work. Most students are good ones, he's learned, if only they have the right incentive.

So Ron teaches and grades. He's been assigned lunch duty every other day. He embraces it, like he does all his duties. It's also his secret pleasure, however, because it's a duty he shares with one Carwood Lipton. Ron makes his rounds of the cafeteria, eyeing students and making sure no one causes any trouble. And while doing all this, he also watches Carwood. He calls him Car in his head, and watches as he speaks with students, sometimes reprimanding them and sometimes just chatting. Sometimes they stand together, he and Carwood, by the wall, surveying the room. When this happens, Ron always lets his arm brush very softly, almost accidently against Car's. He can't bring himself to say anything, not yet, nothing beyond the occasional hello. Sweet Carwood Lipton doesn't mind, though, just smiles and moves past it.

The awkward silences with Speirs keep happening, but somehow Carwood doesn't mind. In fact, the more they happen, the less awkward they become. It could just be familiarity, but the silence is soothing sometimes. Carwood's never been the most talkative man, but Speirs is almost completely silent. It's unusual, certainly, but maybe not such a bad thing as he thought at first.

It's during on one of the days they have lunch duty together that Carwood first hears the rumors about Speirs. They're silly, really, the type of things children make up when they have nothing substantial to talk about. They say he once failed a kid for forgetting to put his name on a paper. Another time he brought the whole class candy then gave them a week's worth of detention. They're plausible, but only barely. Carwood has to stop himself from laughing every time he hears a whisper about the terrible things Speirs must have done at MacArthur. Kids are ridiculous, sometimes, and Carwood's glad, because teaching would be a pretty boring if they weren't.

The rumors are still circulating by the time the Academic Bowl team starts preparing in December. Speirs has been at the school a month, on lunch duty every other day, and they've become friends of a sort. Speirs seems like a good man, though a quiet one. He's apparently a good teacher, too, or so Carwood gathers from conversations during after-school team meetings.

"He's a slave-driver," Babe Heffron says, one afternoon. He's a new recruit this year, but he's catching on quickly. "I haven't had a teacher so tough since the nuns at my Catholic elementary school."

Bull Randleman shrugs. "He's not so bad. At least we got rid of Dike."

"I guess," Heffron says. "I just wish he wouldn't give so many pop quizzes."

"As long as he doesn't give you candy, you're golden," Malarkey says. He looks affronted when Carwood laughs a little. "It's true! My cousin goes to MacArthur. Saw the whole thing."

Carwood just smiles and lets them talk for a few more minutes before initiating another practice round. It's better, he figures, for them to get it out of their systems now. It's just because Speirs is still new. The rumors will fade eventually; they always do. In the meantime, Carwood will just sit back and smile.

Nix sometimes goes out for a drink at lunch. Dick knows this and doesn't mind, as long as it's only one drink. He doesn't want the man coming back to work drunk after lunch. He doesn't especially want him coming into school in the mornings hung-over, either, but that's less within his control. It does start to become a problem, though, one Friday, mid-December. It's the third day in a row Nix has come in looking like he'd never even gone to sleep and smelling like a brewery. The first day, Dick had let it go. The second day, Dick was gentle, asking him if he was okay. Today, he's going to put a stop to it.

The trick with dealing with Nix is to be supportive but laid-back. Nix's parents were apparently neglectful and overbearing by turns, so he's got an aversion to both ends of the spectrum. Dick's learned over the years that if he just acts concerned in Nix's general vicinity for long enough, he'll get answers.

It takes until lunch time. Dick spent the entire morning doing paperwork with his door open, occasionally calling out to Nix, who just grunted or swore. At lunch, though, he apparently has some sort of breakdown. There's shouting involved, and a stapler gets thrown. Eventually, after the theatrics are over and the office aides have been scared away, Dick learns that Nix and Kathy have broken up and Kathy has taken the puppy they got together. To be honest, Nix seems more upset about the dog than anything, but that's not really unexpected. Nix never really seemed to like Kathy all that much. If anything, he seemed to actively dislike her, spending as much time over at Dick's place as possible.

Dick doesn't say anything to Nix's news or about his tantrum. Coddling or scolding him will only make things worse. Nix will get over the breakup on his own, probably sooner rather than later. It's good that he's gotten it all out there, even though the main office is a little bit worse for wear afterward. Still, Dick resolves to keep an eye on Nix until he's sure the man is really okay. Nix is his absolute best friend, and Dick doubts even Nix knows how much that means to him.

It does mean an awful lot, though, their friendship. Nix was the first friend Dick had made out of everyone in the staff. It seems odd to think that they've only been friends for a few years. Sometimes, especially in the trying times like now, it seems like forever. Nix is a man who needs a lot of patience at times. Luckily, Dick has always been a patient man, and he's perfectly willing to wait. He can wait for this thing with Kathy to blow over, and next time Nix has a problem, he'll wait then, too. And one of these days, Nix will realize he's ready to be more than friends, and all Dick's waiting will have paid off. But until then, well, Dick can be patient.

Carwood knows something odd is going on after his fourth failed date in a month. Certainly he's had people he hadn't clicked with right away, and in those cases when someone didn't call about a second date, he accepted it and moved on. But the weird thing is how all of these men he's gone out with recently have seemed very interested and attentive, until about halfway through the meal, when they all go twitchy and make their excuses to leave abruptly. Tom, the first date, had received a conveniently-timed phone call from his sister about a family emergency, and the second, Alex, had gone to the bathroom and never come back. It was after the third man, Jake, had almost certainly faked a food allergy that Carwood began to think he was cursed. The fourth date never shows up at all. Carwood sits at the table by himself, feeling more and more embarrassed, for nearly twenty minutes before he spots something that could maybe turn his night around: a few tables over, Ron Speirs is sitting by himself, reading a menu.

"Hey," Carwood says, approaching the table, only a little cautiously. If Speirs is here with someone, he doesn't want to butt in, but if they're both alone, there seems to be no reason not to sit together. They're almost friends, these days, after all. "Want some company?"

Speirs looks up at him and shrugs in that way he has, nonchalant and easy. "Have a seat."

Carwood pulls out a chair and sits down. "I'm glad you're here, actually," he says without really knowing why. "My date didn't show up."

Speirs doesn't say anything, only quirks an eyebrow and motions for him to continue.

"It's a bit odd, to tell you the truth. I never had trouble with dates until recently, but they've all been a mess lately."

He spills the whole without meaning too, while Speirs just nods along, silent as always. Once he's begun talking about it, Carwood starts to feel relieved. It's nice, being able to say all the things that have been bothering him about the matter, especially the nagging suspicion that it's not that his dates have been especially rude or that he has bad luck, but rather that Carwood is somehow too unattractive or too boring to be worth dating.

Something flashes across Speirs' face after he's said all this, but it's gone so quickly Carwood can't make it out. He's silent for a long moment, then begins to speak quietly.

"Ever since I came to the school, I've been hearing things about all the other teachers. Students talk in the halls or during projects and I always hear about who talking about the best teacher in the place: someone they can always ask for help and who never turns a student away, no matter what they're having problems with."

Carwood nods, a bit confused about where Speirs is going with this.

"You don't know who I mean, do you?" Speirs smiles, and it's so soft and sweet that Carwood's breath catches in his chest. He would never expect such a serious man to smile like that. "It's you, Lipton. Every kid I've ever heard talking about it agrees that you're the go-to teacher for any kind of problem, ever since Winters stopped teaching. You're a good teacher and a good man, and whatever is scaring off these men, it's not you."

The tight feeling in Carwood's chest expands and spreads to his fingertips, which begin to tingle, just a little bit. No one has ever said anything so nice to him, probably in his whole life. And coming from a man like Speirs, who speaks so rarely, it really means a lot.

"You can call me Carwood, if you want," he offers.

"Carwood," Speirs repeats, smile spreading and eyes crinkling in the corner.

The waitress brings their food, then, and Carwood looks away to thank her. When he looks back, Speirs' smile is gone, replaced by his usual blank look. It's disappointing, but at least Carwood knows the truth. Inside Ron Speirs is a sweet man, and Carwood is determined to find him again.

A week before Christmas vacation is supposed to start, Carwood finally realizes that he's going to need help managing the Academic Bowl team. It's not that it's hard work, exactly, but more that the team needs more practice than he can give them with his schedule already so full. He doesn't have much of a social life, either, having finally given up on dating after so many failures, which makes it all the more frustrating that he can't find the time to fit in all the practices they need. The thing is, though, that even without dating, Car has an extremely busy life. He tutors after school at least twice a week, and at six every day he's got to check up on his mother in the nursing home, make sure she's okay. Since her mind is in perfect condition, even if her health's not so great, she would definitely notice him not showing up, and he couldn't do that to her, anyway. The kids in tutoring need him, too, if they want to pass their classes. So that pretty much means that practices are confined to three days a week when they should be happening four or five.

The real problem is who to ask to help. There are plenty of teachers interested, he's sure, but most of them probably have busy lives, too. He doesn't need someone to be there every day, probably only two or three times a week, but it has to be someone reliable. He also needs someone that the kids will like and trust, someone who's a good teacher and willing to spend their time on a project like this. The ideal choice, of course, would be Dick Winters, but he's already made it clear that his job as acting principal means he can't run the program. Carwood's second choice would be Buck Compton, but he's teaching for another district now, which would make it difficult, if not impossible. Apart from those two, Car can't actually think of anyone who would fulfill the requirements.

The answer comes to him a few days later after practice. All the kids are filing out, waving goodbye and calling, "Seeya, Lip," as they go. For some reason, though, Babe Heffron is lagging behind, tying his shoe slowly enough that Carwood can tell he's stalling on purpose.

"What's up, Babe?" he asks, once everyone else is gone. Babe straightens up, looking caught out and embarrassed.

"Can I ask you a question, Lip?" he asks, nervously. "Something personal-like?"

Carwood doesn't sigh, but he wants to. He wants to help these kids, he does, and if that means telling them things about his personal life, that's what he'll do. He just knows from experience that telling them those things is a risk, one that's as likely to make the problem worse as solve it. "Sure," he says, anyway. "What's on your mind?"

"Are you gay?" Babe asks, whispers, really, like he's afraid to say the words too loud.

Here we go, Carwood thinks. He's got a good idea of where this is going, because the last student to ask him that was George Luz, who was harboring a very inappropriate and very obvious crush on him. Carwood never wants to have that conversation again, the one about breach in contracts and just staying good friends. Still, he can't let this go unchecked or send the wrong signals, not if he wants what's best for Babe.

"Yeah, I am," he says, and he makes sure he sounds proud to admit it. These kids get enough bad messages about being gay that they could use a positive role model, even if he can't be what they want romantically.

"Oh," Babe breathes. "I need advice, then. There's this guy I like, but he doesn't even know I exist."

"Is this guy on the Academic Bowl team?" Carwood asks, silently begging, please don't let it be me.

"Yeah. But like I said, he doesn't even know me. He won't even call me by my nickname, just calls me 'Heffron' or one time he even called me 'Edward.' The last people that called me that were the nuns, you know? I think maybe he hates me."

"Is this about Eugene Roe?" Carwood asks, realizing suddenly who they're talking about. "Because, Babe, he never uses anyone's nicknames. It's nothing personal."

"Exactly," Babe says.

"Look," Carwood says, reasonably. "You have to be direct about this. Gene's never going to know you like him if you don't tell him. Ask him on a date or something. I know Gene, he's a nice kid, and even if he says no, he's not going to hate you. What do you have to lose?"

"Nothing, I guess," Babe admits. "It's not like he knows who I am, now, anyway."

"He does, Babe," Carwood tells him. "Trust me."

"Okay," Babe says, apparently reassured. Mostly these kids just need someone to talk to, and that's what Carwood's there for. "Thanks, Lip. I appreciate it. I was thinking I was going to have to talk to Speirs about this, and I wasn't sure I would make it out of that alive."

"Get out of here," Carwood says, laughing just a bit. Kids are ridiculous, but by this point the fear of Speirs is mostly for show, he knows. But as Babe's thanking him again and leaving the room, the idea sticks with him. Speirs. Why not, right? He's not the ideal choice for the Academic Bowl, but he's certainly capable and the kids are fond of him, whether they'll admit it or not.

Carwood makes a decision, and grabs his keys from his desk. He's still got to go see his mother, then dinner needs cooked and his apartment needs a good cleaning, but tomorrow, he'll definitely ask Speirs for help.

Nix gets over Kathy quicker than he'd anticipated and he knows it has everything to do with Dick. Dick's there for him all the time, every day, there to fill the holes in his life that being single brings. With Dick around, Nix knows he'll never have to eat alone if he doesn't want to, and he'll always have a place to crash if his empty apartment becomes too much. He likes Dick's place better, anyway, truth be told, and not just because it has Dick in it. It just feels more like home, somehow, for all that it's in a less respectable part of town than Nix's apartment.

By Christmas break, Nix is almost completely over the breakup. He never really liked Kathy anyway, was only dating her because it seemed like the thing to do. But with a friend like Dick, who needs a girlfriend? He gets almost everything he needs from Dick: time, attention, entertainment. If only sex was a thing between them, he wouldn't ever need to have another girlfriend again. They're friends, though, nothing more, and even best friends don't think of each other like that. And that, right there, is the reason he kept Kathy around, the reason he needs to get another girlfriend soon, because the more time he spends fucking some chick, the less time he spends thinking about things he's not supposed to, like Dick, all spread out on his bed, flushed from something other than spicy chicken, panting and needy, all for Nix.

Um. Anyway.

"What did you say?" he asks, because Dick is looking at him expectantly from his position just outside his office, like he's waiting for an answer.

"I asked if you wanted to come over tonight, to celebrate school being out for a whole week and a half. We could watch a movie or something." He doesn't even sound mad about having to repeat himself, which is another reason Nix loves him (purely platonically, of course, nothing gay here): his patience.

"Sure," he says. "Why not? Will there be liquor or should I bring my own?"

Dick sighs, but he clearly loves Nix, too (no homo) because he just smiles and says, "I'll pick something up."

He'll get the good stuff, too, Nix knows, because they're best friends, and that means something.

"Hey, Ron," he hears during lunch duty, and looks up to see Car standing next to him, smiling nervously. It's odd. Car's smiles are many, though all beautiful, but they're not normally nervous. It's one of the things Ron likes about the man: he's rarely afraid.

He nods his hello, because even if it's just Car, he still gets tongue-tied, sometimes. Because it is Car, though, it doesn't matter that he can't talk.

"Are you busy after school, usually?" Car asks, and Ron feels his stomach getting tight in anticipation. Knock it off, he thinks sternly at it. This is no time for that. He's right, too, because then Car continues, "It's just that I need someone to help with the Academic Bowl practices, and I think you might be the man for the job, if you're up to it."

Not a date, then. Not an invitation for dinner or to the movies or wherever it is people go on dates. From his observations, Ron knows that Car likes to meet his dates at a certain restaurant down town called Mario's. The food is okay, and with Car there, the company is fantastic, but none of the men he brings there are worthy of it. Luckily, Ron's preventative measures seem to be taking effect, since Car hasn't gone on a date in seventeen days. And even if this invitation isn't all it could be, it's still spending time with Car, which means it's half of a date, already. And if it helps the students, too, it might be okay. As long as there's not much talking involved.

"Yes," he says firmly, determinedly. "I'll do it." Then the words he really wants to say force their way out of his mouth without his permission. "Do you want to see the fireworks with me on New Year's?"

"I'd love to," Car says, and his smile makes Ron feels so warm and soft that it almost makes up for his next words. "We should definitely hang out more. Dating was such a failure that I almost forgot I could just be friends with people, too."

Friends, Ron thinks, but doesn't repeat. Friends. Some of the warmth drains away, and his breath stutters a bit, with a feeling he thinks might be disappointment. Still, it's with Carwood, it's spending time with him, and watching him smile and just breathing in the air around him, which smells like mints and paper and a soft cologne. If that's all Ron can get from this man, he'll take it.

They do go to the fireworks together, and it's the first time a date's shown up after saying they would, even if this isn't a date. They don't hold hands, but they sit close together on the grass, Carwood watching the lights and Ron watching Carwood, seeing the colors reflect in his eyes and noticing the way his smile shines when he laughs. It's loud and crowded and noisy at the park where they go, but no one stares at Ron or whispers about him and he's so busy watching Car that he doesn't even notice if people get fidgety around him. And Car, he never gets fidgety, not even when Ron's at his quietest, and certainly not tonight. This might not be dating, but it's better than anything Ron's ever had, and he wants to keep it with everything inside him. And hopefully, hopefully he will.