Love of Learning 8
"Mr. Miller, Mr. Miller," a voice called out as William stepped from the faculty parking lot onto the campus footpath.
William shifted the stack of articles in his arms and took a wary look around. But it was only Andrew, one of the boys in his second–period class. He tried not to react with too much relief as the young man rushed over to him; for a moment, he had assumed Xander was the one calling his name and running to catch up to him.
"Good morning," he said with forced cheer when the boy drew closer. When Andrew immediately started chattering about the argument and shape of his next essay, he even managed a smile in response.
When William had left very early for work, he had tried not to imagine it was because he wished to get to his office before he ran into Xander. But one thing was certain: in the morning´s light, he felt unprepared to make the firm stand he´d imagined he would embrace upon awaking. In the shower, he had remembered with sudden and overwhelming vividness how Xander had mouthed against his cock through his trousers just after the movie finished, and he was filled with a desire to see Xander, the power of which was so strong that he´d had to lean against the tiled wall, momentarily dizzied by the sensation.
Even now, he didn´t feel he could easily act as though nothing had happened or interact with his students the way he was used to doing. Fortunately, Andrew had a great deal to say, more than enough for two of them. In preparation for his essay, he had apparently already composed two outlines ("one in bullet point, the other in paragraph form with all of my topic sentences in bold," Andrew explained), an annotated bibliography with eighteen sources (twelve over the required amount) and a Power Point presentation set to music appropriate to the historical period of Andrew´s main text.
Andrew´s questions about the essay, ideas about his analysis, and eager mentions of how much he loved Mr. Miller´s class brought them past the gymnasium, through the quad, and all the way into the Humanities building to the doorway to William´s office.
William found himself asking questions as prompted, extending Andrew´s detailed elaborations of his thesis instead of gently moving Andrew along as he might typically have done. Other times, he would have told Andrew to return to speak to him when he had a draft, but today the stream of talk was a welcome distraction from more serious matters.
"Mr. Miller, you´re having extra office hours?" another student poked his head in to ask just as Andrew departed with three new articles on literary theory that William had given him.
He hesitated for a moment. During the mornings, he usually liked to review his notes, and consider how he could shape upcoming classes to account for writing issues cropping up in student papers. But the thought of being alone, free only to reflect too closely on his situation and perhaps drive himself half mad with nervousness, didn´t seem at all appealing.
"Just this once," he replied, ushering the young man in.
* * *
The day sped by until it was sixth period. At that point, William knew he would have to face Xander whether he was ready or no, even if the structure of class time prevented any overly awkward interactions. In anticipation of the difficult meeting, William had brought materials and notes to occupy that class of students not only for the duration of an entire lesson plan but with several alternate activities ready should they be needed. He didn´t wish to encounter awkward silences or strange lulls that he might find more distressing than usual because of what had happened the night before.
And yet as the period began, and moments went by, he kept his eyes down on his desk, on the pile of paper proposals from his seniors. The idea of meeting Xander´s eyes as he entered the room, maybe searching for some sort of signal from a young man who was only supposed to be thinking of bringing his grades up, was too discouraging even to contemplate.
"Mr. Miller?" one of the students asked at last. The others, who had been talking to each other about other assignments or more pressing matters like what was to be served for dinner that night, also fell silent and turned to look at him.
"Yes, well." William cleared his throat and raised his gaze. But Xander was not among the students in the room.
He must have stared, because a few of the students stirred in their seats, as though uncomfortable.
"Today we´re going to have a writing workshop," he announced. That was a marked shift from his plan to discuss a set of poems with them, but somehow he didn´t think he could sustain a discussion for the whole of the class period. Spending so much of his energy in avoiding thoughts of Xander, only to have Xander avoid class entirely, had made him feel unsettled.
A beat passed, and the young men in the class slowly began to change seats, rearranging themselves into their already determined writing groups and moving desks to accommodate their discussions.
"Mr. Miller? Did you already mention, um . . . what are we supposed to be discussing?" David, one of his best students, inquired.
"Er . . . you should . . . use the period to talk about the next essay, and come up with detailed outlines for your papers with input from your writing partners," William said slowly.
Soon the room was filled with conversation and the sounds of paper crinkling, pens scratching, and zippers being yanked back and forth as students took out various texts to look at while they spoke to one another.
William was about to start walking about the classroom, checking on the various groups, when one of the boys spoke up.
"Mr. Miller, neither of my writing partners are here," Daniel, commonly called Oz by his peers, pointed out. "But I´m cool with outlining solo."
"No, no. If your partners aren´t in class, you´ll have to work with one of the other groups," William answered.
"Come hang out with us, Oz," one of the boys crowed immediately, patting the chair near him.
"Ah, I think not. No, since David´s group only has two, you should join them instead," William interceded.
The boy who had entreated Oz rolled his eyes, but Oz shrugged acquiescence and began to move towards the group William had pointed to.
"I´m here, I´m here, don´t start without me," Xander exclaimed as he slammed into the room.
"We already have started without you, Harris," one of the students said good–naturedly.
"Come on, the party never starts until I get here," Xander said, putting his hands on his hips in mock dismay. "What, you guys forgot about me already?"
A few of the boys laughed or teased him as he grinned and teased back. But William heard none of the specific words as he took one step, then another, towards Xander.
"Xander´s part of my group," Daniel said mildly. "So do you still want me with David, or . . . ?"
"Oh, yes, of course," William responded in confusion as he came to a stop. "I mean, you and Xander should form your group. Do get to work then, and . . . everyone else, don´t let Xander´s late arrival disrupt your discussions."
There was some amused murmuring at that, and Xander took a small bow to a nearby group that thanked him for interrupting them by offering him a box of sour candies.
Xander ambled over to Oz, and the two of them set up camp at some of the still–empty desks at the edge of the classroom.
William finally began to visit each of the groups in turn, but his attention was constantly drawn away to see how Xander and Oz were doing. It wasn´t that he was anxious to see Xander right away, he told himself, because having more time before speaking to him would only allow William to refine what he wanted to say. Further, he certainly wasn´t trying to extend any sort of favoritism by putting more energy into Xander´s participation in the class than any of the other students; no, he really was attempting to stay on track and keep the boys exchanging ideas that would help them for their papers.
Yet he couldn´t stop himself from tuning in to Xander´s voice as he cracked a joke or laughed at something Oz said. When he glanced at the two of them surreptitiously, he couldn´t help but notice how they leaned together as though intimates already, how Oz´s deadpan remarks seemed to play off well against Xander´s frenetic energy.
He told himself it was ridiculous to speculate on Xander´s friendship with other students. Perhaps they were friends from their dorm, or had gotten into a particularly involving discussion about their papers only just now which made them seem closer than they were. Besides, wasn´t it in his best interest that Xander turn to the ties he had with peers, rather than continuing a confusing relationship with his instructor?
But his throat went dry as he saw Xander flop onto the desktop in a dramatic pose, and Oz respond by scratching Xander´s head as though he was a puppy, his fingers first mussing and then combing through Xander´s hair.
It was one of those gestures he was used to seeing with these students, those affectionate, absent–minded displays of interest or friendship that would have been treated with suspicion anywhere but at an all boys´ school. It meant nothing. And it made William´s heart feel like it was about to beat right out of his chest.
"Doing all right?" William asked the two of them as he approached their desks.
"Yeah, we´re good," Oz answered. "We´ve got some notes already."
"Sorry I was late," Xander apologized. "It definitely won´t happen again."
William rested his fingertips on the desk at which Xander sat. "Yes, well. You understand that being on time is part of your participation grade."
Xander nodded vigorously. "Absolutely. From now on, I´ll be your on–time guy."
"Good," William said in a weak voice. "Now, if you´ll excuse me . . ."
He moved on to speak with other students, deliberately not watching Xander for the rest of the class period. He told himself it was inappropriate to keep glancing Xander's way. But another part of him whispered that if he didn't watch Xander, he wouldn't have to see that Xander might not be bothering to look at him.
