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Time After Time .✦ ݁˖

The new reading teacher arrives across the hall, and Steve discovers that sometimes the hardest part of middle school isn’t the students— it’s admitting he wants to be around someone more than he expected. | MASTERLIST

⤷ Parent Pick Up Duty ›› Where Steve declares friendship in the carline 1k

It’s your first week on carline duty, and it’s absolutely pouring. Typical. At least Steve’s there to walk you through it. He’s even letting you hang back under the awning while he walks the students to their cars.

He drops the Satler siblings off at their mom’s minivan, rushing through small talk and a goodbye, before skipping back to you and the last few stragglers criss-crossed on the concrete.

“Mr. Harrington,” one of the girls croons, “do you have a wife?”

The other scoffs. “Obviously not, airhead. He doesn’t have a ring.”

“You’re the airhead! Rings aren’t permanent, you moron.”

“Ladies! Language, please.” Steve shoots them a look that’s all patience spent. It had been the kind of day where you were both hoarse before lunch. “And that’s not really any of your business, is it?”

Girl number one— Becky, you’re pretty sure— shrugs emphatically. “I’m just curious,” she groans. “I need some advice about my boyfriend.”

“I don’t know, kid. That sounds like a conversation for your sister— or, uh— what’s her name?” He snaps his fingers. “Dana? Diana. Yeah, ask Diana. You two are, like, inseparable, aren’t you?”

“Diana? Are you kidding me? We haven’t been friends since the sixth grade. She told the whole class that I kissed her cousin when I would never do that. He smelled like dirty socks.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to head off the tension before it settles. “Well, you’re asking the wrong guy for boyfriend advice.”

“But you’re a boy. You would know what to do.”

“Just because he’s a boy doesn’t mean—“

“Will you shut up, Kate! I literally wasn’t even talking to you.”

Steve sends you a dead stare. You’re itching to smile back at him as you tell the girls to knock it off. But despite your best efforts at professionalism, they carry on arguing.

“Alright, Alright!” Steve claps. “Discussion closed. Talk about something else— literally anything else, please. Joey, let’s go. Mom’s here.”

Kate crosses her arms with a big huff, and Becky shrinks into her bent knees. Today, they’d rather crawl under a rock than sit together, but tomorrow, you guarantee everybody will be best friends again. The drama is endless in middle school.

But you’re still fixated on the question at hand: Steve and his relationship status. No ring, no pictures, no mentions of anyone— but you can’t completely rule out the possibility that there’s someone special in his life. He’s right, though. It’s not really anybody else's business anyway.

“But Mr. Harringtonnn,” Becky whines as soon as his foot returns to the sidewalk. “Jordan still hasn’t held my hand, and we’ve been together for three weeks. Three!”

“Sounds like torture,” Steve replies, monotone.

“Did you tell him?” you chime in. “You know, that you want to hold hands?”

She pouts up at you with hooded eyes. “Well, no.”

“Then how’s he supposed to know?”

“I dunno, he’s just supposed to. He’s my boyfriend.”

“If I had a boyfriend, I would ask him.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend?” She gawks at you like you’ve said something illegal. “But you’re so pretty, Miss, why not!”

A bubbly laugh escapes you. “Haven’t found the right one, I guess.”

“Well, aren’t you going to start looking? Before you get too old?”

“Hey— watch it. She’s not old, okay? And she doesn’t need a boyfriend. Nobody needs one. You’re way too young for a boyfriend, anyway. Why are we still talking about this?”

You and Becky giggle about it as Steve escorts another kid to their car. He opens the passenger door and waves to the parent in one practiced motion. It’s the car in front of theirs where Peter W. climbs into the front seat, all the papers in his folder sliding out onto the wet asphalt behind him.

“Petey, wait!” you shout as he slams the door shut. You hustle out into the rain, sweeping up the soggy confetti of homework assignments into the crook of your elbow. Your clothes are just starting to stick when the rain suddenly stops. Steve’s umbrella rattles over your head, his arm hanging out between you.

You edge closer to him until your shoes bump the side of his. “Thanks,” you puff.

His eyes flick past you, water beading on his dark lashes. You hear the Wentworth station wagon pull away, but all you’re focused on is Steve’s drooping hair. So much for keeping it dry the last forty-five minutes.

“I’m not married, by the way,” he says abruptly.

You blink, heat creeping up behind the chill of rain on the back of your neck.

“Or, like, seeing anyone, I mean,” he rambles on.

“Oh, cool— I mean, yeah, I guess.” You clear your throat, but your voice betrays you, climbing anyway. “Sorry, why are you telling me this?”

“‘Cause I… thought you might wanna know— you know, after— I don’t know. We’re like, kinda friends now, aren’t we?”

“Oh, yeah— yeah, of course. I just… I dunno, I’d kinda prefer if we just stayed coworkers. You know, just work friends.”

There’s a beat of hesitation on his face before he nods. “Yeah, ‘course.”

You can’t bear to crush the poor man’s heart for a second longer than that. It was much funnier in your head. “I’m messing with you. I’m so sorry.” You break out into a regretful smile and treat his shoulder to a big squeeze.

The realization hits him gradually, his lips parting in a slow-motion grin. “Oh.”

“Sorry, I’ve been told I need to work on my sarcasm.”

“Yeah, no, that was good. You got me, I—”

The next parent in the carline lays on their horn until you and Steve jump apart. You scramble back to the students, who thankfully have not killed each other in your absence.

And from there, from under the awning, you watch Steve jog Kate to her dad’s truck, thinking, friends has quite a nice ring to it.

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