"Damn second act," I murmured, my heart racing as I approached the library entrance. Partly due to the two flights of stairs I'd just climbed, but mostly because of Mr. Scott.
I paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, before pressing my sweaty hand on the glass doors.
"Alright, Wendy, keep it together," I silently coached myself. "Don't embarrass yourself. Just play it cool."
With cautious steps, I entered the library.
Inside felt cramped with its shelves and walls of books and desks, and it was eerily quiet. Glancing around, I noticed the absence of Mr. Scott, or anyone else for that matter, save for Mr. Shaw stationed at the front desk.
Taking another breath, I approached the oldest faculty member at Pinecrest High. "Um, excuse me, Mr. Shaw?" I asked softly.
Nothing. Not even a grunt. He was so engrossed in "Legends and Crooks," an novel by C.R. Christopher–evidently a riveting read, as I had to feign a cough to capture his attention.
"Mr. Shaw?" I tried again, prompting him to finally acknowledge my presence, staring at me as if I'd just interrupted a prayer.
"Is Mr. Scott here?" I asked.
Mr. Shaw slammed the book shut and put it face down out of my sight. "You come here to find and read books, not to track down people," he stated firmly.
"I just thought you might have seen or noticed him come in and—"
"What is your business with the young teacher, student?" he asked, scanning me up and down like he sensed some impending scandal.
Attempting to remain composed, I explained, "My name is Wendy, and Mr. Scott and I are supposed to meet here to work on this year's annual play, which I happen to have written." My prideful smile faltered as Mr. Shaw failed to reciprocate the sentiment.
"I haven't seen him come in yet, student," Mr. Shaw replied curtly, referring to me as 'student' in a manner that struck me as peculiar.
Alright. He's weird.
"Oh, okay, Mr. Shaw. I'm just going to go ahead and wait for him then."
"You can wait for him over there." He pointed a finger to one of the desks near a cluster of shelves.
Children's section. Ages 10 to 14, I mentally read.
I smiled and gave him a nod. As his eyes glued back to "Legends and Crooks," I navigated my way through the maze of books, all the while internally lamenting the perspiration that had begun to coat my skin despite the library's pleasant temperature.
The school's budget issues didn't impact the library's air conditioning, but my body didn't seem to care. I sweat because I was nervous about working on my play with my H&M catalog cut-out teacher.
May the force be with me!
When I rounded the corner, I spotted a nice desk in a quiet corner. I couldn't care less about what Mr. Shaw might think, so I decided to sit there. Without wasting any more time, I pulled out my notes, a copy of "All's Fair In Love," a couple of pens, and markers, ready to get a head start.
But first things first ― Browns!
I quickly dialed the familiar landline number of the store. After a few rings, someone finally answered.
"Brown's." I immediately recognized Audrey's tired voice.
"Audrey, something came up. I'm still at the library..."
"Mom figured that already. She will be here any minute."
"Sorry," I offered sheepishly, hesitating momentarily before broaching the subject of her brother. "How's Adam? Penny mentioned he's under the weather."
"Yeah. He's fine. Just resting and being such a big baby."
I let out a smile.
"Anything else?"
"Um―that's it. I just called to say I can't make it later."
"Okay. Are you going to see him later?"
"I―I really don't know. I'm not sure," I admitted, sensing her amusement from the other end.
She laughed briefly from the other end. "Are you guys fighting?"
If only I could tell her what had happened between Adam and me was actually quite the contrary.
"No, no fights. Okay, I have to go." I hit cancel before she could even pester me and before I could say something stupid.
"Our lips fought, all right." I muttered mindlessly, my mind swirling with thoughts as I scribbled the word why alongside other incoherent notes on my notebook.
"Say what?"
I paused, about to write another why on the blank page, and then felt my blood run cold at the sound of Mr. Scott's voice.
I looked up and immediately regretted doing so when I saw Mr. Scott smiling at me.
"Mr. Scott!" I squeaked like an idiot.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," Mr. Scott casually apologized and leaned down to read my notes. "Why," he read.
I mustered a weak laugh.
"Well, I hope your day isn't so bad that it's making you start to question the whys in life," he said with such thoughtfulness in his voice.
I laughed again before shaking my head and running a clammy hand through my hair. Then I heard a chair scrape ever so lightly across the carpet of the library.
"So, Wendy, Second Act?"
"Um..." With just one chair between us, I stiffened in my chair, suddenly a hell of a lot aware and very much self-conscious about how close we were. My heart was significantly beating a mile a minute.
"You mentioned some changes?" Mr. Scott calmly reached for the script, his forearm brushing against my knuckles. He might not have noticed it, but I certainly did.
Sighing, I resigned myself to the fact that I had already made a few blunders in his presence. "Yes. I realized Thomas isn't exactly Eminem, but his dialogue in this scene is quite lengthy and, frankly, a bit of a mouthful."
I sighed, resigning myself to the fact that I had already made a fool of myself in his presence a few times, so he should really be used to it by now.
"Yes. I just realized that Thomas is no Eminem, but his dialogues in this scene are quite long and, not to mention, a mouthful."
"Eminem, huh," Mr. Scott laughed. "Well, agreed that he's nowhere near Eminem. You could, perhaps, remove this..." He underlined a couple of lines with his pen. "And maybe rephrase this..."
Watching him work on my script was definitely a highlight that day. His suggestions were just too brilliant to pass up, and the way he explained front-loaded plots felt like he was born to teach and explain stuff. I wasn't even embarrassed at the flawed parallelisms we encountered throughout the Second Act – and there were more than a couple.
"Have you ever been to New York?" he suddenly asked, launching into a discussion about the Broadway shows he'd seen while living there.
"You must have had an incredible life back then," I remarked, impressed by his experiences, especially when he shared stories of writing and starring in plays during his time in London.
"You must have had a really amazing life back then," I remarked, impressed by his experiences, especially when he shared stories of writing and starring in some plays while in London.
"So, you're originally from New York, and then you moved to London? Was it for better opportunities? But you were already doing well in New York..." I voiced my confusion, seeking clarification. Did London hold greater promise for him?
Unexpectedly, Mr. Scott's expression softened, as though reminiscing about a memory he was hesitant to share. His expression hinted at a story, but he stopped himself, ultimately shrugging and shifting his gaze to one of my notebooks.
Sensing his uncertainty about continuing the topic, I quickly said, "Well, you don't really have to answer that, Mr. Scott."
For the next half-hour, we got busy working on the Second Act.
Afterward, Mr. Scott glanced up from my notebook, his seductive blue eyes and warm smile once again causing my heart to flutter. "You continue to impress me, Ms. Greene. Your characters have such depth, and you have good taste in books."
My cheeks flushed at the compliment. "Thank you, Mr. Scott."
"Regardless of how you tend to overthink or overanalyze things―remember Daisy?"
"Can't forget, no matter how hard I try," I replied with a sheepish smile, embarrassed by my irrational assumption that Mr. Scott was a murderer.
He chuckled softly. "Perhaps the cat incident was a one-off. You're actually quite sensible."
"And you're cute."
What?!
I froze, mortified at my unintentional admission. But Mr. Scott simply smiled and scratched the back of his neck, averting his gaze.
"Did you just call me cute, Ms. Greene?" he asked, his cheeks tinted with a slight blush, his expression a mix of confusion and embarrassment.
Panic surged through me. What was I doing? First, I kissed my best friend, and now I was flirting shamelessly with my freaking teacher like a stupid teenager.
"I-uh-I meant...what you said was...cute," I stammered, trying to backtrack.
"Well, don't worry, Ms. Greene. I think you're cute too," he whispered, his words sending a wave of heat rushing to my cheeks.
Seriously, what do you say to that? Is there a handbook for responding to unexpected compliments?
I wished fervently for the floor to open up and swallow me whole, but it remained stubbornly solid beneath me. So, instead, I bit my lip and clasped my hands together tightly, trying to mask my embarrassment.
"Shall we continue, Ms. Greene?"
"Ah-huh?" I blinked at him, my brain momentarily blank.
"The Second Act?"
"Oh, yes! Of course! Yes, the Second Act," I mumbled, feeling the weight of embarrassment settling over me as I rested my chin in my palm, watching Mr. Scott reading the script. "Sorry. I'm not usually such a nervous wreck."
He smirked, a playful glint in his eyes. "Cute."
Once again, I found myself frozen in place.
"Are you alright, Ms. Greene?" he asked, seemingly oblivious to the effect his words had on me.
"Yes, of course. Just...thinking about the Second Act," I managed to reply.
"We did get sidetracked, didn't we?" Mr. Scott smiled. "Let's refocus and continue."
"Yeah. Sure." And may the force be with me.