Teach Me

by Olivia Dade

  When he started plucking at the note’s edges, he realized he’d underestimated the artistry involved in its creation. In true Rose fashion, she’d ensured no one else could accidentally see its contents, and either one of them would know immediately if someone had intercepted and pried open the message, unless that person had a goodly amount of time and patience to burn.

  He supposed he had enough of both.

  Half an hour later, the note lay spread before him, unripped, creases delineating the neat folds Rose had made. The message was simple. Direct—again, in true Rose fashion—but filtered through a girlhood she’d left behind long ago.

  Do you still like me? As in like me, like me?

  She’d drawn three little checkboxes below. One for NO. One for YES. One for NOT SURE. Stars and hearts decorated the expanse of paper, and she’d signed the note with a tiny, terrible sketch of a rose.

  It was a perfect recreation of the type of note he’d never, ever received in high school, but had always wanted to find slipped into his locker. The only contradiction of early-1990s teen custom was a little addendum toward the bottom of the note.

  P.S. Please place your answer in my department mailbox before the end of third period.

  He didn’t know what she wanted or what she intended, but he wouldn’t lie to her. Wouldn’t dishonor his own emotions by denying them. He put a clear, neat check in the YES box, and then attempted to recreate her folds to close the note.

  Nope. Not even if he had a year.

  He brought out the department stapler and made certain no one else could see the note’s contents, unless they wanted to rip the edges of the paper to shreds or spend a lot of quality time with a staple remover.

  His hand shook as he deposited his answer in her box.

  The rest of his planning period, he spent trying not to look at that box. Trying not to think about the implications of that note. Trying not to hope.

  He failed miserably.

  By the end of the school day, Martin was beginning to wonder if he’d hallucinated the whole note incident. Since then, he hadn’t received another message, either via college-rule paper or e-mail. She hadn’t stopped by the office to talk to him, although his stapled response in her box had disappeared before lunch. She hadn’t even waited around for him between sixth and seventh periods, when he’d arrived to take over her classroom.

  He’d spotted her at the end of the hallway right after lunch, talking with Candy Albright and Principal Dunn.

  But that was it. Otherwise, she’d become a ghost.

  At the after-school faculty meeting, he kept sneaking glances toward the back of the cafeteria, where she was sitting beside Candy. Which seemed like a dangerous choice of company, to be honest. But both of the women appeared absorbed by the various end-of-year announcements and updates, and he didn’t detect Rose’s eyes on him. Not even once.

  She wouldn’t fuck with you, he reminded himself. For all her queenly demeanor, she was a marshmallow over a campfire with those she cared about. Covered with black and slightly bitter on the outside, sweetly gooey within.

  So what was she doing? His heart couldn’t handle much more suspense.

  Then, halfway through the meeting, he looked behind himself for the umpteenth time, and she was gone. Nowhere to be found.

  When she failed to return within several minutes, his fevered brain started spitting out various theories. Maybe she was terribly ill and had written his note in a hallucinatory stupor? Maybe she planned to quit because of Dale’s machinations, and the message was a sort of weird goodbye?

  “That’s everything for today, but keep checking your e-mail for any further instructions. We’re in the home stretch now, everyone.” Tess smiled out at the crowd. “This meeting is officially over, but if you have time, you might want to stay a minute longer. I believe we have a bit of entertainment planned.”

  Martin barely heard her. Instead, he stared blankly down at his untouched legal pad.

  Rose hadn’t come back, which was very unlike her. Should he call to check that everything was okay? Maybe Annette or Alfred had injured themselves, and she needed—

  A whiffle ball smacked him directly in the chest, its impact slight but shocking.

  What. The. Actual. Fuck.

  Instinctively, he jerked to his feet. Scanned his surroundings for the source of the ball. Only to see—

  No. That made no sense. Maybe he was the one hallucinating.

  For some unknown, unholy reason, Bianca appeared to be strolling toward him, black feathered wings fluttering behind her, a plastic bow-and-arrow set slung over her shoulder, more whiffle balls at the ready. And before he could do more than blink in confusion, she promptly nailed him again.

  “Hey!” He ducked a third ball, which bounced off a nearby cafeteria table. “Stop that!”

  “Consider this payback for the Tim Burton comments.” Her evil grin stretched her elfin face. “FYI, I got permission from my mom and Principal Dunn to throw stuff at you, so anytime Ms. Owens wants me to play Goth Cupid, I’m here for it.”

  He took a breath. “Bianca, what in the world are—”

  The next ball bounced off his shoulder, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

  “Bullseye.” Bianca blew on her hand, as if it were smoking-hot from her pitches. “I’m out of arrow balls, so quit giving me the stink-eye and look at them already.”

  Wait. Goth Cupid? Arrow balls?

  Keeping one cautious eye on Bianca at all times, he picked up the nearest ball.

  Someone had used Sharpies to draw little black arrows on it. And red hearts.

  “My work as Goth Cupid is done,” Bianca announced, and then glided serenely out of the cafeteria, her black wings—attached via some sort of harness, he thought he saw—bobbing above either shoulder.

  His colleagues had stopped shuffling toward the exits. Instead, they were jostling each other and whispering and getting out their cell phones. Within a minute, he’d be on YouTube, and he still had no idea why.

  Rose had to be involved, but what was all this? Punishment for loving her?

  As soon as Bianca disappeared, Candy Albright marched toward him with martial intensity, her horn-rimmed glasses gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

  “I’m coming for you, Martin Krause,” she boomed.

  Yes, Rose clearly did want him dead, although he wasn’t entirely sure why.

  Candy’s echoing pronouncement had prompted the appearance of yet more teacher cell phones, all aimed in his direction.

  She paused for effect, then roared, “I’m putting a hit on your heart!”

  Wait. Was Candy saying—

  Her nose wrinkled, and her voice lowered. “Or, rather, Ms. Owens is. I told her she needed to work on her phrasing, but she insisted the original iteration would have more impact. This is why I teach English, while she languishes in the gutters of history.”

  Candy Albright flounced away, but Martin knew better than to relax.

  His coworkers’ whispers came to a halt, and their cell phones reemerged when—

  Jesus Christ. There was his daughter, clutching two signs with a huge grin on her face. But she didn’t say anything, just entered the cafeteria and stood to the side.

  Then, at last, Rose appeared, serene as ever, gliding into the room with her chin high and her heels higher, as if nothing had just occurred.

  Only…

  Only…

  Only she appeared to be wearing a puff-sleeved monstrosity of a gown, black and impeccably fitted but shiny and adorned with a huge bow across her ass. As far as he knew, dresses like that hadn’t been sold in at least twenty years. For good reason.

  Her gorgeous hair rippled over her shoulders in odd, sharp angles.

  Crimped. She’d crimped it.

  From somewhere, she produced a hand-lettered sign, her Sharpied scrawl unmistakable. She held the sign high and let him read it. Let their colleagues record it for posterity with their cell phone cameras. Let potentially everyone in
the world with internet access know what question she was asking him.

  Will You Make Prom a Night to Remember? In a Non-Titanic Sort of Way?

  Arrow-riddled hearts bordered the sign, as well as other doodled hearts with—

  Yes, that was RO + MK written inside each of them.

  He swallowed back his emotion.

  At that point, Bea moved closer and brandished her own signs, one in each fist. “Pick your answer, Dad.”

  The first sign featured an image of Jack and Rose—oh, his beloved was so clever—dancing happily down in steerage. The second showed another iconic image from the movie, this one of the famous ship broken in two, vertical and sinking.

  Love and dancing or disaster and heartbreak.

  His choice.

  There was no question. Absolutely no question.

  He snatched the appropriate sign from his daughter and held it high.

  “Yes.” He held Rose’s gaze and spoke clearly. Proudly. “Yes, I’ll go to prom with you.”

  She let out an audible breath, those strong shoulders lowering a fraction beneath her puffy sleeves. Then she opened one hand to reveal a flower. A black calla lily, elegant and gorgeous. Just like her.

  Her fingers trembling, she put down her sign and pinned the boutonniere to the pocket of his button-down.

  When she’d finished, he covered her hand with his. Moved it until her palm lay flat against his heart. “Rose. All this was for me?”

  Her amber eyes turned glassy, to his horror. “You deserve a woman who’s proud to be at your side, in private or in public. I’m sorry, Martin. More sorry than I can say.”

  “Shhhh.” He brushed away her tears with his free hand. “I’m sorry I demanded so much, so soon. Especially since I know all this”—he tilted his head to acknowledge the roomful of teachers watching them, as well as Bea and various staff clustered in the cafeteria doorway—“is hard for you.”

  “But you’ll help me through it.” Her smile was shaky but genuine. “Right?”

  Be damned with professionalism. He had to kiss the quivering curve of her lush mouth. Once. Again. “Every second. I’ll have your back every second for the rest of your life, Rose. And if anyone tries to make you feel small, go subarctic and hand them their asses. But do it in front of me, because I want to watch.”

  A small gasp and titters, as several teachers repeated asses to one another.

  He supposed he could always find a new line of work.

  “Annette’s tailor made me this replica of a vintage nineties prom dress in black.” She glanced down at herself. “Do you like it?”

  Another kiss on her temple, and he rested his lips there, where the skin was thin and soft, and the smell of her shampoo surrounded him like a nimbus.

  “Like isn’t, uh…quite the word. I love it.” Or at least what it represented, so it wasn’t really a lie. “I love you, Rose. I’ll always love you.”

  A vein beneath his lips was throbbing, throbbing, throbbing. But she didn’t hesitate.

  “I love you too,” she said, loud enough for everyone in the cafeteria to hear.

  He wanted to memorize those words, the certainty in them. Bask in the sound of his Rose setting aside her protective armor and announcing their relationship to the world, because she knew he needed the public declaration.

  Because she loved him.

  She loved him.

  If he wanted to experience this moment again, he supposed he could download the YouTube clip. Problem solved.

  A gentle hand landed on his shoulder. “Congratulations, Dad. I have to go, but I’m so happy for you both, and I love you. More than you know. I’ll call tonight.”

  His daughter’s eyes were bright with tears, but her smile seemed sincerely happy. Proud.

  “I love you too.” His voice was a choked rasp. “Talk to you tonight, sweet Bea.”

  With a little wave, Bea edged out the door and vanished.

  He squeezed his eyes closed, doing his best not to cry in front of his coworkers.

  “If this promposal doesn’t go viral, I’m going to be pissed,” Rose whispered. “Do you know how much Annette’s tailor charges per hour? We need a new profession, Martin.”

  He huffed out a laugh. “I imagine we will, after Keisha hands us our asses for making a spectacle of her department.”

  “Thank you for the reminder,” Keisha called from a nearby table. “Please see me in my classroom in ten minutes, Mr. Krause and Ms. Owens.”

  “Detention?” Rose murmured.

  He nodded. “We’ll pass notes.”

  She snorted, and everything in his life turned bright.

  Epilogue

  Rose surveyed her prom date with satisfaction.

  Martin’s black tuxedo looked damn fine on him. Which it should, given the amount of money Alfred had no doubt spent to purchase and custom-tailor it overnight.

  Because of Martin’s eagerness to wear a well-fitted tux to prom, he hadn’t even tried to resist Annette’s Decrepit Hunch of Doom, not to mention Alfred’s repeated demands for his nonexistent cane. Her former in-laws had been delighted by his acquiescence, bordering on smug.

  Eventually, Rose figured Martin would get quite a few uses out of that tux. Her man wouldn’t prefer a casual wedding. Instead, he’d want the world to witness their formal commitment to one another, and he’d dress accordingly. Besides, all the future proms they’d chaperone together should bring the cost-per-wear down a notch, from Heart Attack to merely Eye-Popping.

  After prom ended, Martin and Rose were meeting the older couple—at Rose’s invitation—at Milano for a late dinner. The bill there would also no doubt be Eye-Popping, and Martin would insist on paying for himself and probably for her too, so Alfred and Annette’s smugness was doomed to be short-lived.

  But before then, Rose fully intended to make Martin’s first prom date amazing.

  For the moment, she was sharing him with another, younger woman. Bea had dragged her father out on the floor for a slow song. And as he carefully held his daughter for their dance, her right hand clasped in his left, he was quite simply the most handsome man Rose had ever witnessed. Because of his ass in those tuxedo pants, sure, but also because of the expression on his face as he regarded Bea.

  Soft. Loving. Proud. Grief-stricken.

  His girl was leaving in less than three months. But at least she was giving him this moment to cherish first.

  Rose wasn’t quite certain whether he’d realized his daughter’s intent yet.

  Bea was claiming him in public, showing how proud she was to be his daughter, and she was doing it in front of her friends and teachers and everyone else. So now he had two women in his life who loved him like he deserved.

  It was enough to make an Ice Queen melt.

  Especially since Bea was wearing that beautiful washed-silk dress from her shopping trip with Rose and Annette, its jet beads reflecting the light from the mirror ball overhead. Her back was straight, her pride evident in that tipped chin.

  Annette was going to be a formidable grandmother to that girl.

  Rose’s mother would have been the same.

  She wished to God her mom could have lived to see all this. To be proud of how Rose had taken Margie’s legacy of hard work and pride and used it to find a profession she loved. A man she loved. A family who loved her as much as she did them.

  She had a family again. Her. Brandi Rose Owens.

  Her mother wouldn’t have wanted Rose to be alone. Had never wanted Rose to be alone, even when she’d been forced from her daughter’s side by work or death.

  Her mom wasn’t around the corner or in the kitchen, just out of sight. But Rose didn’t need a high fever and hallucinations to talk to her.

  Thank you, she silently told her mother. Thank you for working so hard. For loving me so hard for as long as you could.

  “Ms. Owens?” A tentative voice interrupted Rose’s reverie. “You look nice.”

  “Thank you,” she automatically responded.
Then she blinked and truly saw the couple in front of her. “Oh, how lovely you both are.”

  Sam, one of her favorite students from Martin’s classes this year, stood by their date. A young woman named Carla, if Rose remembered correctly.

  Their dresses shone in the light, each perfectly suited to its wearer. Sam’s flattered the slim lines of their body, while Carla’s emphasized the nip of her waist and flare of her hip. The two were holding hands, and Sam looked as happy as Rose had ever seen them.

  After introducing herself, Carla headed for the restroom, and Sam looked up at Rose.

  “When I saw your promposal on YouTube, I finally got up the nerve to ask her. Finding dresses at the last minute was a b—” Sam paused. “I mean, a pain.”

  Wait. Hadn’t she seen Carla in each of the school’s major drama club productions that year?

  “Is she the reason you stayed late at school all the time? Because you wanted to see her after play rehearsals ended?” At Sam’s nod, Rose leaned down to admire their corsage. “Mr. Krause and I were a little worried about that.”

  Sam’s brow wrinkled. “Why?”

  “Not every kid has supportive parents.” Rose kept her tone gentle. “And Mr. Krause wasn’t able to get in touch with your father. You also seemed unhappy a lot of the time.”

  Understanding dawned on Sam’s face. “My dad is great, but he works two jobs and doesn’t check his voicemail much.” They shrugged. “Since I was doing fine in school, I told him not to worry about contacting teachers.”

  That shouldn’t have been Sam’s choice to make, but at least Rose and Martin finally had an explanation. “And all that unhappiness?”

  “I’m sixteen, Ms. Owens.” Sam suddenly grinned. “Dad says being mopey and whiny is kinda my job. Besides, I was pining but too scared to do anything about it.”

  Rose returned their smile. “Fair enough.”

  When Carla emerged from the bathroom and waved from across the room, Sam straightened from leaning against the wall. “Gotta go. But I’ll see you next year in AP U.S. History.”