Suddenly, they are kissing—not just a first kiss, but a dozen. If it was night, you’d see the fireworks painting the room, and even in the sunlight, I swear I can see the colors. They’re holding each other so tightly. It’s everything a first kiss should be. I feel bad for spying and yet so happy like I’m the mother of the bride or something.

They keep the embrace until the song ends, and Chaz unrolls the parchment, facing Ernie. It reads:

You’re a work of art, Ernie. BE MINE?

“Your what, work of art?” Oh, Ernie. Gale warnings apply to sentiment too.

Chaz’s laugh booms across the empty surfaces. “MY BOYFRIEND!”

And then, they’re kissing again. Really kissing. Like, I bet he’s glad his hands are free now. It’s getting a little, um, grindy, and I feel bad for spying.

I should go. It’s not my story. It’s theirs.

Get Used to It

Get Used to It

I head to Ms. Silverthorn’s house because there’s no point in going to the field; the time of day I first arrived is well past, so it’s too late to recreate the exact conditions that brought me here. I’ll try again next week or hope we discover the time slip is imprecise, and any day will do.

I speed past Mrs. Buckman’s minivan, now so thoroughly loaded, it’ll be impossible for her to see out the windows if she actually tries to drive away. She’s not in sight, and I count my blessings.

Ms. Silverthorn is sitting in her mother’s rocking chair when I open the door. The lights are off, and the house feels gloomy.

“What … what are you doing?”

“Just sitting. Gathering strength.”

“For what?” I already know the answer.

“Elder Frohmeyer pretty much said he thinks I knew about you boys and that I sanctioned it because of my ‘liberal tendencies.’ ” She lets out a soft laugh. “He all but fired me. He suggested I might want to find a school ‘where anything goes’ if I don’t want to honor this one’s values.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Do? Cross my fingers. And hope to outlast him. That man was a baby in the Great Depression. He may not like what I believe, but the world is not his for much longer. Today, I’m sitting with my feelings about his world and gathering the strength for mine.”

“You do, you know … outlast him. By decades! In my day, you define the school.”

“And you’re welcome there, yes?”

I want to say yes. But I think about how my week started. “Um, like eighty percent? It’s still working out a few things …”

With a sigh, she rises and goes to the window. I feel like I’m supposed to follow, so I do.