Interpreter

by Kristy Marie

  I’m not.

  I am far from okay.

  This was a mistake. A colossal mistake. Dread seeps through my skin as an invisible weight pushes down onto my shoulders. Penelope’s fate will not be mine. I won’t make the same mistakes she did. I won’t retreat from the world. Except… I already have, haven’t I? I’ve already taken the first step. I shut out the world. I’m in denial just like Dr. Parker suggested. Somewhere, in this countdown to silence, I lost my fight. Just like she did. “And what if you can’t fight it, Timaeus? What if it’s too strong to fight alone? What if I lose?” she had asked, her words ringing out loud in my head. I remember grabbing her hand and wrapping it in mine. At the time, I didn’t realize how monumental my advice would be, not only for her, but for me too. “Then you build an army and go down with honor.”

  The twenty-year-old man who gave her that shitty advice couldn’t understand how she was feeling. He could hear. He could still play the piano. He still had an invite to the New York City Orchestra. He didn’t just lose his Las Vegas show that he had for five years. He didn’t just lose his husband and manager because he could no longer hit a high note. No, that man had no idea how it felt to Penelope Lambros, Grammy Award winner and current nobody.

  My breaths turn shallow, and my chest fights for oxygen. “I can’t breathe,” I choke out to Milah whose eyes have widened. A bead of sweat drops onto my shirt. “I need to go,” I pant. “Excuse me.”

  I rush from Milah’s and Oliver’s worried faces and barrel through the mostly empty hallway, pushing past the couple of teachers that linger. Breathe, Tim. Breathe. But I can’t. My lungs won’t inflate, and that scares the hell out of me. Outside of the fifth grade hall, I take the first turn I see and pray there is a bathroom or somewhere I can get myself together. No one needs to see this. An exit sign at the end of the corridor sends me into a sprint, but when I find it locked and alarmed, a pain rips through my chest. “Fuck!”

  I let my head bang against the adjacent wooden door. I can’t do this. I know I’ve already established this, but I feel like it needs to be reiterated. Dr. Parker was right. I haven’t moved on, and I don’t think now is the right time for me to start. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do need more therapy or to write in that fucking journal he’s always talking about.

  My lungs settle down with a few deep breaths as I slide down the wall.

  Get your shit together, Tim. Dr. Parker gets paid to make you feel like you need him. You don’t. You built an army. You have friends. You are not alone.

  But it feels that way.

  My family, no matter how understanding they are, will never know what it feels like to be isolated in this way. To be embarrassed of how their voice is changing. Or how a piano prodigy with the world at his fingertips has become a hyperventilating teenager in the hall of an elementary school. They won’t understand what it’s like to feel the whispers and the pitied eyes of others. They won’t understand what it feels like to have it all and then have to scour rock bottom for whatever morsels life left for you. They won’t—my phone buzzes in my pocket. Unlocking the screen, I see I’ve missed a couple of texts.

  Hayes: I heard your new boss is hot. ;) Sneak a pic. Not for me, but Mason could use a release. He’s been a cranky little bitch lately.

  Mason: Fuck you, Hayes!

  I grin knowing Anniston went straight home and filled them all in. Nosy bastards.

  Tim: Ha! I’m glad you all have time to sit around and gab. Bitches.

  Cade: So how’s it really going?

  I think about Cade’s question for a moment. Should I tell him the truth that I just had a panic attack and ran away like a little kid?

  Tim: I don’t think working here was such a great idea.

  Cade: I’m sure it’s not that bad.

  Cade, always positive and shit.

  Mason: I told you kids were unreasonable.

  That’s a little better.

  Vic: Give it time.

  Kane: No one is coming to get you. Suck it up.

  Now that’s more like it. Kane, our resident Asshole Number Two, doesn’t give a single fuck if he hurts your feelings. He speaks the truth.

  Cade: Kane! What he means is that Anniston asked that we all respect Dr. Parker’s orders and let you work through this. A new job is hard on everyone.

  Theo: No, it isn’t, Cade. Not everyone is such a damn pussy. Fuck the teacher to pass the time, or a mom. No one said you actually need to work.

  Kane: What’s a line leader do anyway?

  Vic: He’s not a line leader. Stop telling people that, Theo!

  Cade: Theo, are you seriously naked in the pool?

  Mason: I’m out. I’ll be by to get you later, Lambros.

  Hayes: Theo! You said you were too hungover to scout the Blakemore boy with me!

  Theo: I am hungover, Hayes. I’m hung over this pool float, providing your commander with a much-needed attitude adjustment. Mind your business, boys, and let Daddy keep the peace around here.

  Laughing and suddenly feeling a little better, I pocket my phone. Those ridiculous fucking texts couldn’t have come at a better time. My breathing is better and, well—a vibration tickles the muscles in my back. What the hell is that? Are they working on the building? I look around and see nothing out of the ordinary while the vibrations grow against the door. Once… twice…. It’s a pattern. I sit stock-still feeling the intervals of vibrations that carry the distinct pattern of Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 in G minor. I know that piece. I’ve played it a million times. My hands push flat against the wooden door, feeling. The vibrations grow stronger, and my fingers begin to tap out the rhythm. I don’t even realize the vibrations have stopped until my back hits the floor and I’m staring up at curious eyes nestled behind thick eye-glass lenses.

  “I thought I heard someone out here,” the stranger that looks like a sitcom version of a grandma says. “Did you need me?”

  I straighten and stand. “No, ma’am. I just….” What the fuck do I say here? I just needed to have a meltdown by your door, but it’s hilarious that karma sent me careening toward the fucking music room’s door to have said meltdown.

  The music teacher cocks her head to side. “Do I know you?”

  Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

  Intent on going back to Milah, I take a step back.

  “Timaeus….”

  Don’t panic. Lots of people know you from the foundation.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Lambros! Penelope and Tom’s brilliant boy!”

  Well, there goes the foundation theory.

  “Come inside,” she says, pulling my arm and leaving me no room to argue.

  “On a scale of ‘I would let him go down on me only after an expensive meal’ to ‘he could lick up the crack of my ass without telling me his name first,’ how hot are we talking here?”

  Why is Felipe my only friend? Why couldn’t I have called up a fellow teacher and had drinks over grading papers?

  Because I’m not a boring ass, that’s why.

  “He’s ‘lick up my ass crack’ hot,” I reply with a nonchalant shrug, hiding my grin behind the glass tumbler clutched in my hand.

  “You lucky bitch!” he singsongs, clapping his hands and folding his legs underneath him as if he’s settling in for a long story. “What’s the problem, Mami?” He waggles his brows. “Too much man for you to handle?”

  Sharing this information with Felipe was a terrible idea. Anytime hotness is involved, he can’t be objective. He calls it dickbrain. Not love on the brain but dick on the brain.

  Sighing, I sink into the leather of the bar’s most comfortable sofa and take a slow sip of the red wine Felipe poured us about ten minutes ago. “He’s not thrilled to be stuck with me.” I shrug like it’s no big deal that Tim barely glanced in my direction and purposely ignored my welcoming smile. I’m a nice person, dammit! He could have at least smiled back. He didn’t have to turn away and sign “I changed my mind,” to the woman with him. And when she shook her
head and signed, “Too late,” he didn’t have to turn his lip up in disgust and force out a smile.

  “Maybe he’s shy?” comes Felipe’s brilliant response.

  He wasn’t shy. He was pissed. Tim wanted to be there like I wanted to hug Samuel.

  I roll my eyes dramatically in Felipe’s direction. “And maybe I’m a virgin,” I pop off with way more bitchiness than I should after two glasses of wine. But seriously, Felipe wasn’t there. He didn’t see the way he reacted to me. It was like he was stuck in hell, forced to sing the gospel in A minor. And then he just walks out after seeing Oliver? What the hell? I mean, if this is the kind of professionalism I can expect out of him, then I’m going to need to speak with Principal Moorehouse.

  Felipe burst out laughing. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe he isn’t happy to be ‘stuck with you,’ but it was the first day. Give it time.” His bloodred nails trace up my leg in a loving gesture. “Who knows? Maybe you both can benefit from a little hate fuck.”

  And it’s time to go. Wine o’clock is officially over. I chug the last of my drink and kiss Felipe’s contoured face. “The last thing I need is a man. Especially one as salty as this one. I don’t have time for drama.”

  Felipe’s phone buzzes on the table, but he ignores the call. It’s Marcus, his boyfriend. Again. Since I’ve been home, he’s called over a dozen times. Apparently, they’re arguing.

  I stand, correcting myself, handing Felipe his phone. “At least any more drama.” I give Felipe a pointed look. “Call him. It’s not even Friday. Don’t be a cunt.”

  He gasps like he’s seriously insulted. He’s not. He’s just a diva—seriously.

  “Pura vida,” I say on the way up to my room, wishing him a Costa Rican farewell before he opens the bar doors and I fall asleep with my noise-cancelling headphones on.

  The next morning, I reason out that Tim is going through something that I will never understand. He’s entitled to be standoffish and a bit… asshole-ish. So rather than judge him on first impressions, I’m going to pretend today is our first day together. I can relate to being in a new environment and not knowing what the hell you’re supposed to do.

  So, I’m only slightly bitchy when I try juggling the two coffees in my hand—yes, one is a peace offering to Tim—while attempting to open my car door that seems to be rusted shut. It isn’t. The damn thing just likes to piss me off by making me look like a complete idiot while cars are stopped at the light across from Magic Michelle’s parking lot. Finally—and after only a couple of horn blows—I’m inside the car and stain-free, which is a freaking miracle in itself. And if I didn’t already feel lucky enough, the angels shine down on me one more time, making the traffic a breeze. Once parked, I shuffle all my bags to one shoulder so I can hold Tim’s full coffee in one hand and my almost empty one in the other.

  “Good morning, sweets,” Gretchen calls as soon as I enter the teachers’ lounge. “Is that for me?”

  I try not to sound shitty. “You don’t drink coffee, Gretch. You said it gives you gas.”

  Her Care Bear-size eyes go wide while she sweeps the room, searching for witnesses. “Can you not keep a secret?” she whisper yells at me.

  “Well, you asked me if the coffee was for you,” I attempt to explain. “I would have brought one for you if you drank coffee.”

  Her lips pinch at the corners. “Maybe I wanted you to think of me?”

  Wouldn’t that have been a waste of coffee? Yes, yes it would have been. This whole conversation has been a waste, but I told myself it was a new day. I was not going to spend the rest of my year here being annoyed with my ridiculous friend.

  “You’re right. Next time I’m getting coffee, I will think of you, Gretchen.”

  My comment seems to suffice since she goes back to pilfering through the refrigerator.

  “Eep!” she squeals, turning back around before I can even set my coffee down. “Did you hear about the new guy?”

  Ah, shit. Here we go.

  “What new guy?”

  It’s possible we may have more than one.

  Gretchen hops up and down like the mere thought of containing this information for much longer is going to explode her body into bits. “The Greek god! Did you not see him yesterday in the car line?” She trots over and grabs me around the arm, killing my stain-free morning with one well-placed shake. “Not only is he hot, but he gets into a Jeep with two other hot guys and O-M-G! Guess what he did as soon as he got in?”

  I’m wiping the coffee off my pale pink top, which is now favoring a cherry chocolate color when she flops down at the table all dramatically with a hand on her forehead like Scarlett O’Hara. “He kisses the baby in the car seat!” Her body slumps as she comes down from the high. “Girl, I thought I was going to come right there, halfway in Ms. Tipton’s car.”

  Oh for goodness sake.

  “Men kissing babies is the best porn ever. Screw the puppies and firefighters. Give me a hunky dude and a baby and BOOM! Instant orgasm.”

  I highly doubt it’s instant, but nevertheless, I laugh at her inappropriate description.

  “No one knows his name,” she continues in a dramatic fashion. “Martha, on the third grade hall, tried talking to him, and he completely ignored her. I mean, she’s kind of a twat, so maybe he has good bitch radar, but now I want to know who he is!”

  Part of me feels like I should tell Gretchen it was Tim who she saw getting into the Jeep with those other guys. Not that I was stalking him or anything. I was merely watching to see how he got home. The baby kissing thing was a surprise though. Does he have a kid?

  “Someone said he came from your hall. How did you not see him, Milah? I nearly had a seizure at the sight of his ass in those khakis. Who looks good in khakis? No one but this man. Milah, I can’t even with you. I’m so disappointed you didn’t see him wandering down your hall. I’m going to ask Cal about him during my free period.”

  Okay. I guess I have to tell her. I don’t know why I don’t want to. It’s not like it’s a secret, but some part of me wants to keep onlookers away from Tim for a little while longer. At least until he feels more comfortable. I doubt Gretchen realizes he’s deaf. Martha probably doesn’t either. I’m sure he didn’t see that she was trying to speak to him. Tim doesn’t strike me as an asshole. He probably would have been clipped, but he would have been a gentleman about it and at least responded.

  Fuck my life.

  Sighing, I take a seat next to Gretchen who is now scrolling through the school’s directory searching for new names. “His name is Tim, and he’s been assigned to my classroom for the remainder of the year.”

  Her phone falls onto the table while her mouth forms this perfect oval. “You little witch. You kept that man all to yourself yesterday!”

  Just when I think she’s about to unleash on me, she squeals. “Oh my God, oh my God! Is. He. Single? You have to tell me!”

  You know when you’re shopping and you see a pair of shoes that you could die for but you refrain because you just paid the power bill and the responsible thing to do is save up for those coveted pair of shoes? And so you leave, sans the shoes, feeling all responsible only to come into work the next day and see your friend with the same pair of shoes that you left sitting on the display. It’s this weird sensation that almost feels like jealousy, but not. Because you’re happy your friend has those cute pair of shoes and you have a paid-up power bill. But there’s also this little bitchy feeling like maybe you don’t want her to have your shoes that you already started a fund for.

  I’m just saying, Tim is my pair of shoes. He’s not for sale, and I don’t want to find out if he’s single for Gretchen. And I should want to help Gretchen find a man. She’ll still be here at the end of the year when I’m back home in a whole other country.

  But I don’t.

  “I doubt he’s single,” I lie. Is it really a lie, though? I don’t know if he is or isn’t. Hot men like him don’t stay single. And what if the baby was his? Then he may have baby
mama drama, and Gretchen doesn’t need that in her life. I’m really just looking out for her.

  Gretchen’s smile morphs into a frown. “Really? You think he’s married?”

  Ugh.

  “I didn’t see a ring on his finger.” I did look for that.

  “Eep! That means there is a chance!”

  I sigh. I’m not going to deter Gretchen from pursuing Tim. Whatever. She’s a nice person, and again, I’m leaving anyway.

  I stand, ignoring that Gretchen has started scouring the employee directory again. “See you later,” I tell her with a pitiful wave.

  “Wait!”

  I knew she wasn’t finished.

  “Are you guys eating in the lunchroom with the kids today?”

  I hadn’t thought about it. We have a new system where teachers are assigned days to monitor the lunchroom for their hall. It was implemented so we could grade papers and work on lesson plans without having to take as much work home with us. So far, all the teachers like it. We’re able to sit with our class if we want. Sometimes I do when I’m all caught up, but today… with Tim… I’m thinking we should eat in the room.

  “I doubt it. I think Tim might need more orientation.”

  Gretchen’s eyes roam my whole face like she’s trying to sniff out a secret. When she’s satisfied, she asks, “Can I come and eat with you guys?”

  Whatever. I shouldn’t have thought today would be a better day.

  “Sure. See ya.”

  The door to the classroom is already open by the time I get there. Cal is lurking in the hall with a hawk-like stare through my door.

  “Did they see the mouse again?” I whisper to him, keeping my distance from the door. “Please don’t tell me it’s in my room. I don’t think I can handle any more surprises this morning.”