The mid-morning light filtering through the blinds, and the aroma of old paper from the bulletin board were a subtle backdrop for Cal and John as they chatted over coffee in the teacher's lounge. "I've never seen the kids this hyped about the musical," exclaimed John, eyes twinkling.

  "Yeah, I just pinned up the cast list," he said, leaning back in his chair with a hint of pride.

  "Look at you, Cal," he began, his giggle bubbling under the surface, "You're just as excited as they are. You love this!"

  "Come on now. I don't love 1t.," he said, trying to conceal his growing joy. "Just something I got sucked into. You know, I don't want to let James down."

  "James would be alright either way," John said, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. "But you, Cal—you're restless. And for some reason, I think you need this more than you're letting on. You can be honest with me. I'm just a blip on your radar, right? A character in this chapter of your life. So why not tell me the real story?"

  Cal began fiddling with the handle on his coffee mug then rubbing the back of his neck, telltale signs of his discomfort with the personal turn of the conversation. Working with others was always a means to an end, never about connection. But John's easy camaraderie was different; it was disarming. "To be honest? I don't really know. I worked so hard to build my opera career...I beat some serious odds getting where I am. It's like, don't I owe it to myself?"

  John's smile was gentle and understanding. "Cal, you don't owe yourself anything except what brings you joy. And from what I see, this teaching thing? It might just be your unexpected encore."

  #

  When Cal turned the corner leading to his classroom, there was a large crowd of students assembled. The hallway buzzed with the fervor that only a freshly posted cast list could incite. Students jostled for position, craning their necks to glimpse their fates pinned to the corkboard. Others huddled in animated debate, their voices a stream of excitement and disappointment.

  At the center, Jared stood with a posture of rigid indignation. “This is such bullshit,” he spat. “That boy, or whatever he is, shouldn’t be playing Prince Charming. Prince Charming should be played by a real man.”

  “Like who? Like you?” Cerise, her arms crossed, met his anger with a cool gaze. “As if!” she scoffed.

  Some of the kids laughed and guffawed.

  "Yeah like me. Plus, my audition was way better than that freak's"

  "Dude," said June, who rarely left Cerise's side. "James CRRRRushed it."

  Hunter nudge Jared. “You were robbed, bro.”

  Cal searched for James amid the swarm of faces, hoping he had not heard this exchange, but he was absent. He opened the classroom door, an invitation to leave the hallway’s tension behind. “Let’s take a seat inside,” he called out as calmly as he could muster given his concern for James.

  As the students filed in, Cerise brushed past, her confidence unshaken by the confrontation. Cal touched her arm gently. “Cerise,” he began, his tone low. “Cerise, can I see you in the hall for a sec?”

  "Sure, Mr. S."

  "Any chance you've seen James?"

  She looked down the hall and brushed her long brown hair from her face. "Well, he was in homeroom, but he was gone by the time I got here. He's been really quiet since the audition...like, quieter than usual."

  Cal nodded, his jaw tightening. “Ok, thanks.” He took a steadying breath. “You can go on in. Maybe he’s just in the bathroom or something.”

  He watched Cerise's retreating figure as he stepped back into the classroom, then closed the door with a definitive click, taking a moment to collect his thoughts, the worry for James still pressing at the edges of his mind. Pushing his feelings aside with another measured breath, he surveyed the class.

  All his career, he'd worked with top singing talent from around the world, but the first time he was experiencing the relativity of talent. Somehow, these untrained kids sounded wonderful to him, not because of their ability level, but because he had heard potential. Many of these kids were no worse or better than he was in middle school. In fact, he had not even thought of himself as a singer at that age. The possibilities excited him as he stepped to the director’s stand, the texture of industrial carpet under his shoes a stark contrast to the polished stages of his other life and raised his hands. "Good morning, class. Attention, please." The class settled into their chairs and stopped talking. "Before we get started, does anyone know where James is? I know he is in school today."

  Jared and Hunter both suppressed sniggers.

  "Boys? Care to share your little joke?"

  Jared straightened up with a hint of defiance. "Um... no joke," he replied, "You might want to check the boys' room by the auditorium."

  Hunter scoffed, "That's like his favorite spot…now that she's a boy."

  Fighting anger at the remark, he scanned the class for someone with a kind face, someone he might trust with the task. "You," he said, nodding at one of the younger boys, "Caleb, is it?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Please go see if James is in the boys' room. See if you can get him to join us."

  "Yes, sir." Caleb hopped up, apparently happy to be of service, or maybe just to be allowed to roam free for a few minutes..

  "Cerise, please pass out the books." He pointed to the stacks of used scores. "Jared. Hunter. I'd like to see you. They moved with reluctance as Cal ushered them both to a desk off to the side. "Sit," he said, gesturing to a couple of chairs, his feelings barely checked. "Ok then, what's going on? Why would James be in the boy's room?"

  Neither of them budged. Jared looked down, avoiding Cal's gaze, while Hunter glanced over his shoulder at their classmates.

  "Hunter?" Cal prompted. Hunter snapped his head back to Cal.

  "Well, I um….I think he was just kind of upset."

  "Upset about what? I want some answers."

  Then Jared came to life: "You know she's... I mean, he's just different. I just think he should not have been given the part. Everyone knows he only got the part because he's your nephew or whatever."

  "I see. So it couldn't have anything to do with the fact that he gave the best audition?

  "Ok, yeah, he was pretty good, but you know what I'm saying, right?

  "No, Jared, I'm not sure I do."

  He looked back at the class, then turned back and leaned in. Voice lowere, he said, "Come on, Mr. S. He was a girl like a minute ago, and now he gets to be Prince Charming in the school musical? Don't you think that's gonna be weird? I mean, if this musical is such an important fundraiser, or whatever, is this really the kind of image you want to have? No one's gonna want to see some trans kid when you have other options."

  "Other options? Like?"

  "Like me, for one.. I've got experience. And you know I'm a real–"

  "Man? First off, you're like…fourteen… I'm the only man in this room." He was revving up with fury. "Second. James is a boy, end of story. Why is this so hard to for you? This is not just about some role in a musical for James; this is his life. This is who he is; you have no place in this production if you can't deal with that. I will not tolerate bullying or bigotry, and it sounds like we've got a heavy dose of both." He turned to Hunter. "What about you, Hunter? Do you have anything to say for yourself about this?"

  Hunter looked back at the class. They were all listening now, then back at Jared, who was staring hard at him. "I just want to get on with this. Can we just start rehearsal?"

  At that moment, the door opened and Caleb entered with James. The class turned their full attention from Jared to James whose face flushed. He started to turn to leave.

  "James!" called Cerise.

  He stopped and looked at her. She grabbed a copy of the musical and ran up to him.

  "You're not going anywhere, Prince Charming."

  He took it from her, examined the cover, thumbed through the pages, and stared pensively at it.

  Cerise nudged him on the shoulder. "Come on, dude. Let's do this thing. Let's give them a little–" She clicked her tongue to her cheek twice. "Giddyup...a lil' romance! You game?" She offered her fist.

  He glanced quickly around, then at the book, and then looked boldly in her fervent brown eyes. Pounding her fist, he said, "Let's give 'em something to talk about, Cinderella."

  ##

  "Please, have a seat, Ms. Samone," Dot said, eyes locked on her computer screen, fingers hovering above the keyboard, as if one more keystroke might make this conversation unnecessary.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  She hadn't looked up—not yet. But she knew Janelle was standing there, poised, confident, just as she had been the day Dot hired her fresh out of college. Dot, trying not to let appearances influence her new hiring responsibilities, couldn't help but admire Janelle's undeniable sense of style—a sort of teacher chic. It was something Dot felt she lacked and had never allowed herself to explore, despite spending late nights on Pinterest trying to decode Janelle's fashion formula.

  She took a breath, her posture stiff. "Ms. Samone, as you know, our music teacher, Mr. Harmon, has left us. He was also serving as this year's chair of the Parent Teacher Association."

  Janelle nodded, her expression sympathetic but measured, her hands resting neatly in her lap. Dot noticed this—how composed she always was.

  "The reason I have asked to speak with you is that I have noticed that you seem to have a very positive rapport with our parents, and well, I wonder," Dot removed her reading glasses, set them on her desk, and finally gave her full attention to Janelle. "If you would consider taking his place. It's only once a month, and Mrs. Conner, our PTA president, handles just about everything." She sniffed at the thought of Mrs. Conner, whose wealth and influence often contradicted her authority over the school.

  Janelle smiled, her confidence steady. "Certainly, Ms. Frazier. I would be delighted. I appreciate your confidence in me."

  "Excellent." She put no energy into thank yous or pleasantries. "The first order of business is the school musical. The PTA handles fundraising, and the music teacher directs the production."

  "Ah, Mr. Stevens," Janelle mused, one eyebrow raised slightly, her tone laced with something Dot couldn't quite name—amusement? Interest?

  Dot narrowed her eyes, caught off guard. "Yes. Mr. Stevens. He's held auditions and posted the cast. Although he's an accomplished performer, he has no experience directing a middle school musical. I'll be supervising him very carefully."

  Janelle pulled back a knowing smile into a mock pout. "Oh, of course. Sounds like a tough job."

  "I'm sorry, Ms. Samone, but is there something amusing?"

  Janelle chuckled lightly, shaking her head. "Not amusing, no. Just—well, you know."

  Dot's brow creased. "I certainly do not know, and I wish you'd get to the point."

  Janelle leaned in slightly, as if letting Dot in on some unspoken secret. "Maybe it's unprofessional to say, but Mr. Stevens… well, I'm sure some of the female teachers wouldn't mind supervising him."

  "What exactly are you suggesting?"

  "Nothing at all." Janelle lifted her hands in mock surrender. "He just seems very… nice."

  Dot wasn't sure how to respond to that, so she didn't.

  Janelle took the silence as permission to move forward. "Yes, I'd be happy to serve as PTA chair. Could you walk me through it? I'm about to leave. Hey, would you like to continue over dinner?"

  If Janelle's suggestive remarks about Mr. Stevens had caught her off guard, this had floored her. She blurted out, "I'm sorry, but I am quite busy this evening."

  Janelle tilted her head, considering her. "Come on, I need to know what I'm getting into with the PTA."

  This was unprecedented. No one on her staff had ever invited her to an after-hours event. Dot felt that accepting Janelle's invitation would blur the professional and social lines. She began to sift through a list of possible excuses, but none came to mind.

  Janelle smiled and tilted her head. "I'll take silence as a yes! I'll meet you there!"

  She left the office quickly, leaving Dot alone with her flurry of emotions. She looked around the room frantically until she spotted her purse and coat, then stopped, pursed her lips, placed one hand on her hip, bowed her head, and whispered to herself, "You can do this," three times. Then she grabbed her coat and purse.

  Josie had already left for the day, so Dot hit the light switch and locked the door behind her. Janelle was headed for the main entrance. "As long as we can go to Applebee's!" shouted Dot.

  Janelle stopped and turned around, laughing. "To Applebee's and beyond!"

  By the time she reached the restaurant, her stomach was tight and nauseous. She felt anxious about entering a social situation with Janelle, not because she was a subordinate but because she felt that Janelle was so much more than she was. She was more beautiful and likable–more cool. She hated having such an immature thought.

  The aroma of sizzling steaks, fried onions, and the clatter of dishes greeted her as she pushed open the restaurant's door. Her nervous stomach immediately growled in hunger.

  "Welcome to Applebee's," said a young woman in a slim black dress shirt, pants, and dead eyes. "How many?"

  "How many?"

  "In your party."

  "Oh, yes, of course. Just two." She began scanning the bustling restaurant for Janelle. "Actually, I'm meeting a friend–uh, coworker. Maybe she's already here."

  Feel free to look around. Otherwise, it's about a fifteen-minute wait."

  "Dot!" she heard. "Dot!"

  She looked around until she saw Janelle waving her over to the bar. Somehow, she had become more stylish between leaving work and arriving at the restaurant. She was wearing an elegant scarf, hoop earrings, a fresh coat of lipstick and was more sparkly than everyone else at the workaday family eatery. Dot looked down at herself. There was nothing sparkly about her. She looked like a middle school principal, not anyone that a person like Janelle would want to hang out with. But this was business. Wasn't it? She couldn't possibly want to socialize.

  She took a seat, awkwardly, on the stool next to Janelle and tried a clever greeting, "Well, fancy meeting you here,” then knocked over the glass of ice water that was waiting for her. "Goodness-gracious-christ-on-a-cracker!" she yelled in one fluid curse as the ice water splashed off the bar and onto their laps.

  Wide-eyed, they stared at each other for two seconds before bursting into laughter until they were all cackling, gasping, and squealing. Each time one of them would try to speak or point to the mess, they could not get more out than "you…" or "it just…" or "what a…"

  When the bartender, a fit twenty-something guy with long shiny, blond hair and a strong jaw, stopped in front of them, grinned at each of them. They tried to straighten up, but lost it again, and he joined in.

  "Lemme take care of that for you, ladies. And I'll bring some towels for you to dry off a little bit."

  "You know?" said Dot. "I was really nervous about meeting you here. I wasn't sure just how to break the ice." She swept a few ice cubes off her skirt onto the floor and grinned.

  Janelle, smiling, laughed and shook her head. "Ms. Frasier made a joke? Is that what just happened here?"

  "Yeah, well, I used to be funny. Then I turned into…" She opened her arms, dropping her hands, palms up, in quiet emphasis. “this.”

  "Dedicated administrator?"

  She scoffed, "No…I was going for…"

  "Boss bitch?"

  "No! That's not what–ok…yeah, that's the word."

  Jannelle smiled and patted Dot's knee. "Girl, you gotta own that. Yeah…you gotta be Ms. Principal Bitch sometimes. That comes with the job. But it doesn't have to be who you are, Dot. I see you! This? " she gestured to her lips and pursed them aggressively, "This is not you. Your smile has been shining through tonight. You are gorgeous! Come on now!"

  After the bartender cleaned up and they were as dry as possible, he asked for their drink order.

  "Oh, we're not drinking," said Dot. "This is business."

  He nodded and said, "Alright, alright. We'll keep it business. How about two business coffees and some business desserts?" He winked at Janelle to let her in on his jest.

  "We are going to mix business with pleasure tonight…" She looked at his name tag, "Avery." Then she gave Dot a come-on look and poked her knee playfully. "Two martinis and make them dirty," she said, scrunching her nose suggestively at Avery.

  "Dirty it is!" He whipped into action.

  "So…" began Dot. "PTA. Would you be willing to–"

  "I got you. If I can handle five days a week of middle school kids, I can handle once a month with their parents. Besides, I know most of them already. Dot, look, everyone can see you are under so much pressure. You just need a night out where you don't think about work. First on our agenda: Mr. Stevens."

  "Two martinis, extra dirty!" said Avery, sliding two cocktail glasses in front of them. "Enjoy!"

  "Yes. Mr. Stevens. He will be subbing for the duration of his stay. He–" began Dot

  "Oh, I know that. Is he single?"

  "I don't see how that is relevant. He–"

  "Not relevant? Girl, he is all we can talk about. We even have a nickname for him: Pretty Smile Cal." Janelle's words drawled out with a Southern twang, stretching the vowels in a playful tease.

  "Ms. Samone, this borders on sexual harassment!" Dot's voice was sharp, a clear note of warning in her tone.

  "Come on, no one's harassing anyone. Are you telling me you haven't noticed? Tall, muscular, lean…that silver hair starting to peek through?" Janelle paused, her hand fluttering to her neck as if the mere thought sent a wave of heat through her.

  Dot capitulated, just a fraction. "Ok, between you and me, he is somewhat good looking…maybe in an obvious sort of way."

  "Oh, you prefer someone you have to work to find attractive?" Janelle's eyebrow arched.

  A tide of red crept up Dot’s neck, and she stumbled over her words. She did not—would not—think of Cal that way. He was an employee at Benville Middle School, and she had boundaries. Besides, he was an insufferable lout—a term he couldn't even define. Just a big, dumb, pretty songbird who, given any other choice, she would steer clear of.

  "Mr. Stevens is one thing and one thing only to me—a means to an end," Dot declared, her tone firm, trying to convince herself as much as Janelle.

  Janelle's eyebrows shot up, her hand lifting in surrender. "Ok, ok. We don't need to talk about Mr. Stevens. Let's just—"

  "And you know? From the moment we met, he has been nothing but a pain in the pituty to me! So self-righteous and arrogant. Thoughtless! Inconsiderate!" Dot's frustration bubbled over and her hands gesturing wildly as she spoke.

  "Oh, well, that's obvious. Especially the way he just waltzed in here and saved the school musical, as if he's some kind of knight in shining armor for our kids and this community. The nerve of this guy, right?"

  "That's just what he wants you to think, like he's some sort of hunky hero. And you know what?" Dot leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, even as her rant continued. "I couldn't care less. When this musical is over and he leaves, no one will even remember him, and I won't give him a second thought."

  Janelle nodded, her expression overly solemn. "Oh, clearly you have no feelings about him whatsoever."

  "Not one bit." She took a hard swig of the martini, then dabbed the corner of her mouth with a cocktail napkin. "Janelle, this has been... enlightening. It was very kind of you to ask me out, but I need to get home...to feed my cat and get to bed." Her words were clipped, her need for escape evident.

  "Oh, no…come on, I'm just playing with you, Dot. Stay. Besides, we need to talk about the PTA and strategize for the year ahead." Janelle's plea was earnest, a hint of desperation coloring her voice.

  "I think you'll do just fine." Dot's hand mimicked the motion of signing a check, her eyes scanning the room for the bartender. He caught her gaze and nodded, approaching with a tray bearing the receipt.

  "So soon?" His smile was bright, and his white teeth were in stark contrast to the bar's dim lighting.

  "I have an early morning," Dot replied, her tone final.

  She settled the bill. Her goodbye to Janelle was formal and distant, then she drove home to her sanctuary—her quiet house filled with the comfort of tea, her cat's purring, and memories of her grandfather.