Hetty encountered Ryan Monday morning in the staff lounge, this time making tea. When their eyes met, they both paused and looked softly at one another, as if together exhaling all the tension of Saturday night.

"No coffee today?"

"No, the caffeine might give me a heart attack." He gave her a little flirtatious smile. Hetty dropped her gaze, holding in a smile as her stomach danced. His hair looked like silky, windswept beach sand.

After he had all but given her an ultimatum on Saturday night, Hetty assumed Ryan might be upset with her. But his demeanor proved otherwise.

She got out a mug.

"Coffee or tea?" Ryan asked, as if they were a couple. His natural inclination in every moment was to attend to her.

"I'll have tea with you." She immediately felt embarrassed at having said "with you," as if they were on a date drinking tea together.

He poured the scalding water into her mug and held out a wicker basket of tea bags for her to make a selection. Every interaction between them felt natural, as if they had been together for years.

Waiting for his tea to steep, Ryan tapped his foot and fidgeted his body in an exaggerated manner that was so adorable Hetty could just die. He seemed ramped up - excited, nervous and preoccupied. She wasn't so egotistical as to assume this was purely due to her presence.

"What's going on?" She asked him, amused, leaning in ever so slightly in a gesture of gentle complicity.

"I've been working on a music project with a producer, and I'm supposed to hear back today on whether they are going to move forward with it or not."

"Oh my gosh, Ryan!" she exclaimed, touching his arm with feathery fingertips. He broke into a giant teasing grin, and she immediately perceived that he was laughing at her.

"What?" she demanded.

"Gosh, it's nothing," he responded, involuntarily moving his body into her zone.

Hetty caught his meaning, rolling her eyes as her cheeks turned pink. She recalled how he used to jest her in film class for her innocent word choice of "gosh" instead of "God." The fact that he still remembered such tiny details caused a sensation of pins and needles to prickle her stomach. These moments of connection over memories from their time as a couple felt so intimate, charged with so many nostalgic emotions. As Ryan's body neared hers, she wanted so badly to simply melt into him.

"Let me know when you hear back. I hope it works out." Hetty's voice was caught in her throat, her nerves paralyzed by Ryan's close presence.

After his speech on Saturday night outside the restrooms, she was so nervous he would be angry and distant from her this week. But he was back to his sweet, flirty self. She knew that didn't mean she was off the hook, however.

* * *

Kiara, the student Hetty had been supporting quite a bit this year, was waiting for Hetty outside her office when she returned holding her cup of boiling tea in a shaky hand.

"Hi, Kiara!"

"Can I talk to you?" the eighth grader asked, her eyes wide and alarmed.

"Of course, come on in."

Ryan appeared around the corner holding an envelope. He caught Hetty's eye, jogged down the hall and handed it to her with a sly smile.

"Hey, Kiara." Ryan greeted Hetty's student in a friendly tone, then departed with a bounce in his step.

Hetty was always happy to see Kiara, even though their conversations together were often heavy. Before beginning at Walnut Grove, Hetty had struggled with self-doubt, wondering if she would be able to connect with students effectively having such an introverted personality. Kiara, who battled depression and was facing incredibly difficult situations at home, seemed to trust her completely.

"I'm supposed to sing in the talent show this afternoon," Kiara said in a dejected tone, her shoulders tense and brittle.

"I know. I've been really excited to hear you sing. I heard you were outstanding last year," responded Hetty gently. "How are you feeling about it?"

"Who told you I was outstanding?" asked Kiara, almost accusatorily.

"Mr. McAlister, the school psychologist. The one who just gave me this," she clarified, raising the envelope up. "And that's high praise, as he's a spectacular musician himself."

Kiara smirked. "What, do you like him or something?"

Hetty mustered all the composure that existed inside of her in the next breath in order not to blush in front of her student. She opted not to answer the question, going with a skeptical raise of the eyebrow instead. Kiara didn't buy it.

"Okay, then," she teased. "Well, I'm not sure if I'm gonna sing, anyway. I'm probably gonna have a panic attack or something before going on stage."

"It takes a lot of courage to sing in front of other people. Even if you are outstandingly talented, it still takes courage. If you decide not to sing, though, that's brave too."

Kiara glared at her, unconvinced.

"How is that brave?" she demanded.

"It's brave to listen to your instincts and do what's right for you, regardless of who else you might disappoint."

"Oh," breathed Kiara, relaxing her shoulders for the first time since she had entered Hetty's office. "I never really thought of it like that."

* * *

Over the seal of the envelope he had drawn an intricate heart, and her name  was written in swirly letters across the front. Ryan was a true artist and diehard romantic to his very core. Hetty's heart was pounding so hard she could hear a literal thumping sound reverberate through her head.

She ripped open the envelop to discover a poem, copied by hand in Ryan's careful, curvy script. It was accompanied by a note from him.

H,

I kept thinking about our conversation at lunch a few weeks back. I love talking with you like that. I found this poem, which I think applies to writing, music or any other creative endeavor. Thought you might like it.

R

PS: Can we talk later?

And the poem:

so you want to be a writer?

By Charles Bukowski

if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

Hetty sat at her desk, transfixed, reading and re-reading the poem and his note.

* * *

The gym rumbled with student chatter as Hetty attempted to help Mariana direct students into the bleachers. She swore it was louder than a professional basketball arena.

She found herself scanning the space for Ryan, hoping he would sit with her and Mariana, but she couldn't locate him. Hetty was restless throughout the talent show, worrying about Kiara's fragile emotional state.

Forty-five minutes in, Hetty saw Kiara's long, sleek black hair from a distance and realized she had decided to take the stage. She looked gorgeous, wearing a multi-colored dress and matching headband. Kiara's voice shook some in the opening lines of the song, but she quickly found her flow as the song grew.

The crowd gave her a roaring applause as she finished, and she left the stage beaming. Hetty's chest ballooned with pride.

"Last up," boomed the voice of Jason Benson on the microphone, "we have one of our Walnut Grove staff members performing as a special treat. Everyone give it up for our school psychologist, Ryan McAlister!"

Hetty felt blindsided, despite how obvious it might have been that Ryan would perform at the talent show. She had listened to him sing for hours just two nights ago, but so much had happened between them in that short interim of time. Hetty was violently transported to her first high school assembly, at which Ryan sang a Dave Matthews song - for her. The first time she ever heard him sing.

As he now strummed the introductory chords, Hetty felt a feverish nausea churning in her stomach, bubbling through her chest and overflowing into the back of her throat. With the first lyric, her head detached from her body, floating dizzy and disconnected high above.

Whispering dumb jokes in your ear,

Hoping that you'll smile when you hear,

Brushing our fingertips underneath the desk,

Realizing I'm feeling like a big mess,

Standing closer than I should.

Studying more than I would,

for you.

I'm thinking of you in everything that I do,

I'm doing things differently everyday for you,

I'm trying to hold it all inside,

But with each passing moment it's harder to hide,

This all-consuming crush,

Giving me such a rush.

I find myself bringing you paper cutout flowers,

I find myself thinking about you for hours,

I go around writing singing songs about love,

Riding my bike through the walnut grove,

Sketching your face from a hundred different angles,

I think that you're my guardian angel.

I'm thinking of you in everything that I do,

I'm doing things differently everyday for you,

I'm trying to hold it all inside,

But with each passing moment it's harder to hide,

This all-consuming crush,

Giving me such a rush.

And I have to admit,

it's not just a crush,

Just a crush doesn't give such a rush,

as this...

I'm overcome, I'm in love.

I've fallen so deeply for you,

Not really sure what I'm gonna do,

I'm overcome, I'm in love with you.

As the song progressed, Hetty held both hands clasped tight over her mouth. Her hands contained the sobs, the screams, the smiles, the vomit. She didn't notice the tears spilling down her cheeks until Mariana leaned into her and put a warm hand around her upper arm.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Hetty quickly swiped away the tears, willing herself to gain control of her emotions immediately.

"Yes," she replied quickly. "I'm just so proud of Kiara for getting up there." Wow, that lie spilled out of her effortlessly. She had really become quite expert at lying over the past weeks, especially to herself.

Mariana nodded in agreement, smiling knowingly.

"Wow, he is so amazing!" Mariana added, referring to Ryan, clapping loudly as he finished playing. Hetty had always marveled at the way people could throw out the word "amazing" in such a light, carefree manner to sum up Ryan's singing. Hearing him play shook up her entire world.

As the assembly came to a close, Hetty skipped down the bleacher steps on sweaty, rubbery legs to find Kiara. When they spotted each other, Kiara threw her arms around Hetty.

"I'm so proud of you!" Hetty asserted genuinely.

"I did it!" was all Kiara had to say on the matter. Then she greeted her friends, who were all shrieking animatedly and hugging her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hetty caught Ryan standing a few feet away with his hands shoved into his pockets, staring at her. She wasn't ready to make eye contact with him yet, but she couldn't resist her impulses. Turning her head a few degrees, their gazes met as a feverish energy enveloped both of them. His smoldering eyes burned into her.

* * *

Ryan couldn't possibly make out her facial expression, but it certainly wasn't unaffected. His need for contact with her was like an intense itch on a body part that can't be reached.

Hetty turned to walk back to the office, Ryan following her. As they made their way into the hall, which was deserted, Ryan walked quickly to catch up to her. She turned abruptly, her eye contact digging into him intensely.

"That's... that's not fair," she accused softly, her eyes still glittering with residual tears.

"Wh-what?" he stammered, feeling suddenly nervous. Body trembling kind of nervous.

"Singing that song. What are you trying to do to me?" They were standing close, too close.

"What do you think you're doing to me?" he countered, his voice low and unsteady. Hetty started walking again, swiftly entering one of the main office doors. Ryan thought she wanted to escape him, but at the door she turned back around as if to make sure he was still following her. She passed her office, continued down the hall and ducked into his. He followed and shut the door.

"That's the song you wrote and sent to me in the mail," Hetty said, stating what they both already knew. "I still have that letter."

Ryan felt he might vomit. "I have all your letters."

"I have all yours, too." There was a long pause. The room felt hot and electric.

"Thank you for the poem," Hetty finally broke the silence, the words flowing as liquid gold. "It's really... meaningful."

"I got the contract, for the music project," Ryan told her, his expression still serious.

"Oh my God! That's amazing!" They both moved to meet each other; Ryan picked her up and twirled her around in an inexplicable gesture of excitement and overwhelm. Hetty kissed him on the cheek, causing him to go paralyzed in a stupor of excitation. Their bodies were just inches apart, and neither one made the move to step back.

"Jesus, Hetty," Ryan breathed, feeling completely out of control. "I want you so bad, you have no idea what you're doing to me, every second of every day." They just stood close and breathed together for several seconds.

"Hmh," Hetty laughed softly. "Do you remember our first kiss, in the field in Orange Grove?"

"Mhm," Ryan sighed. "We were going out of our minds. We had postponed it so long. I thought I would..." he stopped.

"Keep going," she urged.

"Every time I kissed you, it was always so intense... I always felt like I was gonna come any second." His voice was a hoarse whisper.

Hetty swallowed and grinned ever so slightly. Ryan was so desperate for contact - emotional and physical - he could barely take it.

"Remember when I made you - the first time, in your boxers, just circling my hips over you on the couch?" Her voice was barely perceptible, like invisible shards of glass.

Ryan exhaled, his breath sputtering out in uneven spasms. "Remember when..." he began, only to be interrupted by a soft knock on his office door.

The sound snapped them both back to reality, panicked as they realized what they were doing.