The morning sun had barely peeked over the sleepy town of Columbus, Indiana, when the Clarke-Fields household was already in its usual whirlwind of breakfast negotiations, lost shoes, and cereal-related debates.

Kaden stood at the kitchen counter in his dinosaur socks, staring into his cereal bowl like it owed him money. "This milk is suspicious."

Daniel, already dressed in his crisp navy dress shirt and slacks, poured himself coffee. "Suspicious how, exactly?"

"It's staring at me," Kaden said, wide-eyed. "I think it has plans."

Andrew, sipping coffee in one hand and buttoning his cardigan with the other, deadpanned, "Unless that milk starts filling out your math homework, you're eating it."

Kaden sighed dramatically. "I need a lawyer."

Daniel smirked. "You have two dads. That's at least a legal team."

The drop-off line at Clifty Creek was buzzing with PTA moms in SUVs and confused dads juggling coffee cups and backpacks. Kaden high-fived the security guard, hugged Miss Lynn with a full 10-second cling, and waved back with the elegance of a tiny prince.

"Have a good day, bud!" Daniel called out.

"Remember," Kaden shouted back, "I am still emotionally allergic to subtraction!"

Andrew nodded solemnly. "We'll have the paperwork ready."

Columbus North High School — 8:15 a.m.

Andrew parted ways with Daniel in the hallway, heading toward his office with his work bag and a travel mug labeled "Guidance Gurus Do It With Empathy."

He was quickly intercepted by Peter Chandler—tall, stylish, annoyingly British, and a fellow counselor who had the jawline of a magazine model and the energy of someone who probably said "timetable" instead of "schedule."

"Andrew," Peter said with a sigh that somehow sounded like tea steeping. "It's time."

Andrew blinked. "...Time for what?"

Peter held up a manila folder. "To break the news to Mrs. Dunwoody's second period class."

Andrew groaned. "Oh no. British Literature."

Peter nodded gravely. "The district's pulled the course. Replacing it with European Literature. They're adding Voltaire and Tolstoy and taking out the Jane Austen marathons."

"They're going to riot," Andrew muttered, already regretting the task.

Peter flipped his hair with the ease of someone who was used to people forgiving him for bad news based on accent alone. "You're charming. I'm British. We can handle it."

Andrew and Peter walked into Room 218. A sea of high schoolers in flannel, oversized hoodies, and iced coffees looked up expectantly.

Andrew cleared his throat. "Hey everyone. Sorry to interrupt your reading of Wuthering Heights—which I'm sure was just about to get really cheerful—but we've got an announcement."

Peter stepped up. "Effective immediately, British Literature is no longer part of the curriculum."

Groans. Gasps. Audible heartbreak.

Peter continued. "It's being replaced by a broader, more inclusive European Literature class."

A student raised her hand. "Does that mean no Shakespeare?"

Andrew nodded. "Shakespeare's still in. So are the Brontës. But you'll also be reading Kafka, Dante, and—yes—Voltaire."

A boy in the back whispered, "Who's Voltaire? Is he on TikTok?"

Peter replied dryly, "Only in spirit."

Another student threw a dramatic arm in the air. "What's next? Replacing prom with a group tax filing?"

Peter blinked. "Honestly, that sounds more practical."

Andrew clapped his hands. "Alright. Just remember—books change, but you still get to write five-paragraph essays about them."

More groans.

Mission complete.

Meanwhile, Daniel had only just sat down at his desk when he was summoned by the Principal, who looked like someone had just handed him a resignation letter written in glitter ink.

"I need you in the hall," the principal said, pulling Daniel down the corridor.

There stood Kyle, the notorious freshman Daniel had already caught vaping, twice.

Kyle was standing in front of his classroom holding a bag of cookies. Next to a sign that read "AP Calculus Review in Session — Please Respect the Quiet."

"Kyle," the principal sighed. "Care to explain why you're passing out oatmeal raisin cookies during a midterm exam?"

"They're brain food?" Kyle offered.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Did you label the cookies as Extra Credit?"

Kyle nodded. "I mean, technically... they're incentives."

Daniel rubbed his temples. "Kid, this is the third time this week. I caught you last month trying to sell 'bootleg' pizza rolls."

The principal turned to Daniel. "You know what? I've had enough. Fields, you handle it. You've got the people skills. You've got the common sense. You've got..." He paused. "...discipline energy."

Daniel blinked. "Wait—what?"

The principal smirked. "Congratulations. You're now the new Dean of Students."

Daniel blinked again. "Like… a real Dean? With an office? And a nameplate?"

"Yup," the principal said, clapping him on the back. "Welcome to the wild side."

Daniel stepped into his newly assigned office. A shiny plaque on the door now read: "Dean Fields."

Inside was a clean desk, a plant he was already convinced would die under his watch, and a massive whiteboard labeled "Accountability Corner."

Andrew popped in holding a salad and a bag of M . "Dean Fields, huh?"

Daniel spun in his chair like a supervillain. "I expect my coffee stirred counter-clockwise from now on."

Andrew sat on the guest chair. "I warned you about mentoring teens. It's a slippery slope from whistleblowing to whistle-wearing."

Daniel grinned. "I didn't even apply. I just yelled at Kyle until I got promoted."

Andrew held up a bag. "Brought your favorite lunch."

Daniel gasped. "Did you put extra croutons in the Caesar wrap?"

Andrew leaned in. "Only the crispiest. For my Dean."

Daniel kissed him quickly. "This is why I married you."

Andrew teased, "Because I bribe you with crunchy bread?"

"Exactly."

They laughed, sharing a quiet moment between meetings, hallway chaos, and high school melodrama.

Outside, the bell rang, and the halls filled with students.

Inside, Andrew and Daniel looked at each other—two former ghost-town survivors, now educators, husbands, and reluctant adult figures.

"Ready for round two?" Daniel asked.

Andrew nodded. "Always."

And with that, the new Dean and the Mental Health Dad of Columbus North High rose to their feet.

Ghosts behind them.
Students ahead.
And not a single copy of British Literature in sight.