Disclaimer: I don't own The MBS

Chapter 8 (Sticky's POV)

Normally Mondays were viewed more or less like any other day of the week to me. I usually enjoyed my job, so I had no real reason to dread the beginning of the workweek. I won't lie that I wondered if that would change when Constance started working at my school. She'd surprised me though and been shockingly professional about it all. Maybe she'd really decided to get the job because of me?

The thought still felt ridiculous, but I couldn't argue with her feelings. I'd felt them for myself after all… So whether I understood why she felt that way, I knew without a doubt that she did. What I still didn't know was how I felt. We had managed to avoid each other over the weekend, but now the thought of seeing her at lunch was enough to make me lose my appetite. I felt myself frown.

I didn't mean that the way it sounded, it's just… How was I going to face her and act like nothing happened? Should I just explain to her that I didn't feel the same? Did I not feel the same? Before I even thought about what I was doing I felt my hands reaching for my polishing cloth. But biting my lip I forced myself to resist the urge. I was too old for this. I'd had a lot of opportunity over the years to learn how to be more bold and confident, and now wasn't the time to abandon all that.

So folding my hands on my desk I tried my best to focus. But in reality all I could focus on were the clock hands drifting closer to noon. When finally the bell sounded I watched as my class flooded out into the hall as usual. I guess I figured that just eating at my desk instead of the lounge was the best option all things considered, but it still made me feel like a coward. So with a sigh I hesitantly drifted out into the hallway.

I hadn't gotten more than two steps out though before my eyes landed on her standing over by the wall across from my class. Thankfully the halls were still more or less swimming with students so I could manage to slip away without her noticing. But that's when I noticed she wasn't looking at me in the first place, she was busy talking to a student. I wanted to sigh in relief and just walk away, but something stopped me.

Something I didn't understand…

So instead I just stood there gazing at the glimpses I could catch through the crowd. Constance wasn't much taller than the middle school girl she was speaking with, but… But I could still tell who was the file clerk and who was the student. It was a subtle maturity in her face I guess… A look I'd never really noticed. She wasn't a child anymore was she?

I felt my hands curl into nervous fists as my fingernails dug into my palms. Neither of us were children anymore. So I would have to handle this like an adult. No running away and no hiding. I'd have to speak to her… Tell her the truth. The thing was… I wasn't really sure what that truth was at this point. But hoping I'd find it in the next few moments I boldly took a step closer through the crowd. Before I could make it any closer though she and the girl paced off down the hall and out a side door.

I felt my eyebrows bunch. Why was Constance always difficult? I had to act before I lost my nerve, so I followed after them. Stepping outside I hesitantly scanned the area for them. I felt my heart beating like a marching band's drum inside of my chest, but I told myself it was just because of how awkward this would be. How hard it would be to find the right words, the words that would hurt her the least.

When my eyes landed on them I saw she was still with the student and now they were sitting on a bench together. Constance was pointing to a piece of paper and discussing something with her typical half-lidded expression. I knew I should have just waited until she was finished with her conversation. But the nervous energy flowing through my veins made me creep closer until I could almost make out her words. Then in a final act of courage, and maybe lack of good sense, I leaned my back against the tree that was just behind their bench.

Now I could hear every word…

"Prose and poetry are completely different." I heard Constance say. "Maybe most people don't get that but it's true. But mostly people pay too much attention to labeling art. Written expression is about what you feel more than what you think."

"But how do I tap into what I'm feeling?" The student asked seeming a little confused. Was Constance giving poetry advice? I felt myself frown. I wasn't sure how her reputation had preceded her, but I guessed the student might have wanted help with an English assignment.

I heard Constance sigh before silence lingered for a long second or two. "Sometimes it's a mistake to do that in the first place… But unfortunately, it's the only way to write. You can't really force it though, you just have to let your emotions speak at their own pace. And then be brave enough to listen when they do. Be brave enough to write it down no matter the cost."

I felt my face heating up a little. Did that mean she'd written about me…?

"I see… But…" The student hesitated. "Won't that be embarrassing just for an assignment? Couldn't I just write about something general?"

More silence.

"No." Her tone was as grumpy and resolute as I'd ever heard it. In fact, under different circumstances I would have smiled, maybe even laughed.

"Writing just for a grade, writing without meaning, it's a desecration. And chances are your teacher will know the difference too."

"Well okay...I guess you're right…" The girl replied seeming more than a little disappointed.

I could almost hear Constance thinking that of course she was right, but she didn't say anything. Anything at all. Instead, the student spoke again. "Well...thank you Ms. Contraire."

To my horror, I heard footsteps coming around the tree and then… "Oh, hello Mr. Washington."

I nodded at the student but couldn't manage much else. But I knew what else was coming for mustering what courage I had left I leaned around the tree and met Constance's stare head on. It wasn't nervous though, well not for more than a second. After that slight flicker it was like a mask of indifferent strength fell over her.

"George Washington." Was all she said with an acknowledging nod. Pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose I stepped around to face her. I had meant to say something resolute about how we needed to talk, but all that happened was I felt my tongue tie and my feet wobble. So to break our awkward positioning I slipped into the now empty spot next to her. Then fumbling with my paper lunch bag I realized I was really going to act like nothing had even happened.

I pulled out an apple and nervous took a bite, reminding myself to chew before swallowing. She just crossed her arms and stared straight ahead. "Why are you spying on me?" She finally said which made me almost choke. I wasn't sure how to answer, but I guess she took my sudden coughing fit as answer enough. And surprisingly she dropped it…

"I don't know what you all are teaching these children anyway…" She muttered in obvious disapproval. "Writing isn't about getting an A or A+. Anyone should know that."

I nervously straightened my glasses again. "She was just in middle school you can't expect her to...um understand all that." The truth was I didn't understand all that either. When it came to art and emotion my great memory didn't seem to help much.

"I understood it then…" Constance mumbled still not looking at me.

"You're special Constance…" I said simply.

Not surprisingly she didn't respond to that. Instead, she just glared down toward her shoes. The shoes than now were business heels. When had she grown up, and why hadn't I ever noticed? It was like instead of happening gradually it all came as a sudden shock. Like one day she was a stubborn three-year-old scowling with jelly on her face, and the next...

And the next she was an adult...an adult in love with me..

Was she just like an annoying little sister to me…? Could she, could we, ever be more?

I frowned and looked in the other direction. Both of us knew that nothing was the same...yet neither of us were brave enough to mention it. Or at least I thought I wasn't…

"Constance…" I said slowly. I wasn't sure what I planned to say, but I guess I just thought I had to say something… Anything…

"Don't." She muttered sharply. Then she added softer."You don't have to. Not for me..."

"No but what I mean is-" But she cut me with a wave of her hand as she rose to her feet.

"Of all the things that could never be, that Sticky is you and me…"

Her rhyming words came out calmly like she was reciting a simple verse, but something in them felt more like a knife. Like something sharp and cold…

I leaped to my feet but I knew I didn't have the sure decisive words that she would need. That we both would need… So I simply watched her walk away. And any thought of going after her was dashed when a certain student from my class laughed beside me. Turning I noticed a group of boys smirking at the scene. I just frowned at them before huffing past and back inside. I spent the rest of lunch sitting in the teacher's lounge alone. Needless to say, I didn't eat anything…

And when the afternoon bell finally rang I hesitantly walked back into class. My next group of students wouldn't be appearing for another hour or so, and I was looking forward to the time to think. But walking in I felt my heart twist into knots instead. On the blackboard a messy heart had been drawn with mine and Constance's name scrawled in the center. Biting my lip in anger I quickly reached for the eraser and gave the image a swipe down the middle. But before I could finish the job with a few more strokes I felt my hand freeze just above the board.

A million images flickered through my mind. A million memories. The bad times when she'd make me so angry I wanted to scream, and...and the good times. Like the time years ago that I'd tutored her in math through morse code messages out of our bedroom windows. Or the first time she'd ridden in my bicycle basket.

The truth was, I hadn't been wrong…

Constance was special…

She'd always been...

Stick around for more coming soon! :)