• • •

Tuesdays were supposed to be easier.

Mondays carried attitude. Wednesdays dragged. Thursdays felt like a setup for disappointment.

But Tuesdays?

Tuesdays usually cooperated.

Today didn't.

The hallway outside Laken's classroom buzzed louder than usual, the energy off by just enough that she noticed it before first period even started.

Kids moved faster. Voices sat a little higher. A fight had either already happened or was about to.

Teachers developed that instinct after a while—the ability to walk into a building and know whether the day was going to behave.

Today was not.

"Walk," Laken called, pushing her classroom door open with her hip as a group of boys nearly clipped her shoulder running past.

They slowed just enough to avoid getting yelled at, then picked up speed the second her back turned.

Flicking on the lights in the classroom, she watched a mouse scurry across the room, squeezing into a hole in the wall.

She set her bag down, exhaled, and let herself have five seconds of quiet before her first period came in.

• • •

"I was watching this show." A student began, "I think we needa' class pet."

Laken sighed, "It was a mouse in here this morning. Go pull it out of the wall."

The class laughed, their responses overlapping each other as they asserted a class pet was mandatory. Everything from a snake to a rabbit was mentioned until Laken interrupted.

"What does a pet have to do with math?" She questioned, "Give me a solid answer, and we can talk about it."

Hands went up immediately.

"A fish," Malik said, already halfway out of his seat. "We can measure how fast it swim."

She tilted her head. "So you wanna do rate problems with a stressed-out goldfish."

"It wouldn't be stressed," he argued. "We'd take care of it."

"Y'all can't take care of a pencil."

Ava raised her hand next. "A bunny. We can count how much food it eats."

"That's just counting," Laken said, "ABC, 123– Y'all aren't making me want to do this."

A few more ideas flew out, hamsters, turtles, something called a "bearded dragon" that half the class clearly did not know how to care for.

"Get a snake, we can measure the length."

"New plan!" Laken asserted, standing up and moving toward the board, "Pick somebody to do this problem. If they get it right, you can get a class pet."

Chatter began loudly, everyone voicing their nominations:

"Don't pick Malik he don't know what one plus one is."

"Your mama don't either."

"Tell Ava to do it, she got the highest grade in here."

"Ava is not doing it." Laken turned, "Pick somebody else."

"Look like we ain't gettin' a pet." A boy slouched in his seat.

They watched her draw a triangle on the board, talking amongst themselves for a nominee.

With her back to them, Laken fought a smile at the way they were so easily distracted. Jumping to volunteer to do the same math they claimed to hate.

When she was done, Laken waited patiently, until they broke apart.

Malik, apparently the newly appointed spokesperson pointed. "We picked Samira."

She approached the board like she was scared of it, "My nerves too bad for this."

"Take your time."

After a second of staring, she took the marker and began working it out.

"Don't forget to-"

"Aht!" Laken interrupted, "No help."

She saw how unconfident she looked in her steps, even if every one of them were right. Samira would write, erase, then write the same thing.

At best, it proved she knew the Pythagorean theorem. At worst, it proved there was a gap somewhere that Laken needed to close.

When she finally finished, she looked at Laken expectantly, "Is it right?"

Laken turned towards the class, "Is it?"

They'd been working it out on their papers— a chorus of 'yes' rang throughout the class.

"No."

Silence.

They looked back at their work, at the board, looking for where they went wrong.

Malik frowned, "I got the same thing she did."

"Well, that's two people wrong. Anybody get something different?"

Not one student raised their hand, all of them looking around, none of them certain.

"It's right." Brielle insisted, "Four times four is sixteen, three times three is nine. Sixteen plus nine is twenty-five, and the square root of twenty-five is five."

"I lied. It's right." Laken shrugged lightly.

The room exploded.

"Yooooo-"

"That's crazy-"

"But!" Laken held a hand up to get them to quiet down, "The real problem is that none of you were confident that it was right. Why is that?"

Malik scoffed, "You the teacher. How we 'posed to argue with you about it?"

"Math doesn't lie. If you do it right, there's no argument in it."

She let that sit for a second.

Not long enough to embarrass them.

Just long enough to make it stick.

"You don't argue with me," Laken continued, tapping the board lightly. "You argue with your work. You check it. You defend it."

Ava nodded slowly. "So if we know it's right, we say it's right."

"Exactly."

Malik leaned back in his chair. "But what if we think it's right and it's not?"

"Then we fix it," Laken said simply. "That's the whole point."

She turned back to the board, circling the final answer Samira had gotten.

"Samira did every step correctly," she said. "Even when she didn't trust it."

Samira shifted slightly, half-proud, half-embarrassed.

"That hesitation?" Laken added, glancing at her, "that's where the learning is."

A couple students looked down at their papers again.

Laken clapped once. "Alright. Everybody rewrite the problem—clean. No erasing every five seconds. Trust your steps."

Groans.

But pencils moved.

This time with a little more purpose.

She walked between the desks again, slower now.

"You had it," she said quietly to one student. "Stop second-guessing."

"I thought I did it wrong."

"You thought too much."

She stopped at Malik's desk, glancing down.

He had the right answer.

Circled three times.

"Why you didn't say something?" she asked.

He shrugged. "You said no. I thought I messed up."

Laken tilted her head. "Or... you were right."

By the time she made it back to the front, the room felt different.

Still loud.

Still them.

But steadier.

"Now," she said, picking up the marker again, "since y'all technically got it right..."

Heads popped up immediately.

"Ohhh—"

"Say less—"

"We get the pet—"

"Relax," Laken cut in, though there was a hint of a smile now. "You passed one test. Now you earned the next step."

That shut them up.

Quick.

She wrote on the board:

2 Weeks.
Daily Work Completed
No Missing Assignments
Show Your Steps
Be Able to Explain Your Answer

"And," she underlined the last part, "confidence."

Ava read it out loud. "So if we do all this, we get the pet?"

"If you do all of this," Laken said, turning back to them, "then we talk about the pet."

The room buzzed again—but it wasn't chaotic now.

It was focused.

Competitive.

Different.

Laken leaned back against her desk, watching them pick their pencils back up without being told this time.

Tuesdays weren't cooperating.

But this?

This she could work with.

• • •

Lunch came quickly when her class cooperated, and soon she was dismissing them, telling them she'd see them tomorrow.

Laken noticed Brielle reaching for her things slower than everyone else, but didn't stare— simply waited on it to play out.

Once the last student exited, Laken took the initiative in closing the door, standing with her back against it, "Are you good?"

"I just don't wanna go in the cafeteria." Her fingers trailed along the desks, "But I can if you want me to."

Laken rolled her eyes, "Pull up a chair. I only have chips in my desk— get some if you want."

She did that, plopping in the seat and digging through the desk until she found a bag she wanted.

It wasn't awkward, but it was quiet. Laken didn't want to break the silence, reaching for a stack of papers she needed to grade.

Bri lasted a few minutes before she spoke, "I think you should get us a rabbit."

"I'll get y'all a dinosaur if you make it through two weeks of doing what you're supposed to."

She snickered, "I'ma tell them what you said."

"Great." Laken didn't look up, "I know my students— It'll be a miracle if it lasts a day."

"I'll give you two weeks."

Laken paused, debating, "What about the rest of the year?"

"I'll try." Brielle emphasized, "I have a lot of stuff going on."

It was an opening.

Laken wasn't sure how much time passed before she took it, "Like what?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, it didn't sound casual as she hoped. It sounded like prying, fishing.

Brielle's shoulders shifted.

Not a full shift, just enough for Laken to notice.

"Just... stuff." Her eyes dropped to the desk, "I'm good though."

The line was drawn, and Laken didn't cross it.

Instead, she put her focus back on the papers, "Would you tell me if you weren't?"

Bri didn't say another word until the bell rang. 

She stood up, grabbing her book bag and halting by the door, "No, but thanks for asking."

• • •

Laken eyed the free weights lining the mirror, debating between her normal weight, and a new personal record of one pound.

"You had a long day," she mumbled. "It's a blessing you showed up."

Her pride wouldn't let her seriously consider it, so she reached for the same set she always grabbed. Today, however, they seemed heavier.

The curls weren't as easy, the pulldowns didn't want to move—Laken was stuck in her head.

"No. But thanks for asking."

Plates clanked around her. Someone dropped a weight a little too hard. Music low, not quite loud enough to drown anything out.

Halfway through the rows, her eyes flicked up to the mirror without thinking. The TVs mounted above it were always on. Same rotation. Highlights, talking heads, something she never paid attention to.

Until she read the sliding headline, saw Noah sitting there with the fakest smile she'd ever seen:

Noah Walker Speaks about Trade

The sound was always muted, and her workout was forgotten as she tried to keep up with the captions.

"—Adjusting still, but it's good to be near family—"

Laken squinted slightly, like that would make it easier.

"—learning the system... getting reps—"

She snorted.

"—Organization been good to me—"

"Okay, Mr. Media Training," she muttered before taking a sip from her water bottle.

His answers were detailed and his posture was supposed to be inviting, friendly even.

Laken knew him, though.

She saw the tension in Noah's shoulder, observed the subtle shift of his jaw with every answer.

He hated being there.

Her eyes stayed on the screen longer than she meant them to.

"—just taking it day by day—"

"Liar," she said under her breath.

Because that wasn't him. Noah didn't do "day by day."

He did decisions. Fast ones. Ones that didn't leave room for questions.

Her grip tightened slightly around the bottle.

"—coaching staff's been great—"

"Okay," she muttered, shaking her head once. "Wrap it up."

Like he could hear her.

Like it mattered.

Laken dropped her gaze back to herself in the mirror, picking the weights back up like she was about to get back into it.

"—just focused on football—"

That part sounded real.

Laken exhaled quietly, lowering the weights again. There wasn't a point in finishing this. She came, tried, and now she accepted defeat.

"It counts," she muttered, justifying it to herself.

She set the weights back in their place, not quite where she got them from, but close enough. Close enough always worked.

A guy stepped in right after, grabbing them like he'd been waiting.

"Appreciate it," he said.

"Yeah," Laken replied automatically, already turning away.

Another glance up. Quick. Unnecessary.

Laken shook her head once, more to herself this time, and grabbed her bag from where she'd left it by the wall.

She smiled politely at the front desk on her way out, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she pushed the door open.

It was a hard pill to swallow.

She hadn't talked to Noah in days.

A purposeful step Laken had taken.

And now... Once again.

Once she settled in her car, Laken didn't pretend like she was reaching to call Wes.

She just searched for the name.

"What's up, Lake?"

"Give your PR person a raise."

Noah laughed, "I told them to shoot the interview from my good side."

"That jaw a motherfucker, ain't it?"

His laugh filled her car, and she smiled before she could stop herself.

A second passed. Easy. Neither of them rushing it.

"Nah, Kyser said I need a rebrand. The football player who show up just to play football not working for me."

"You almost convinced me you wanted to be there. I had to look real close."

"Most people don't know me like you." Noah pointed out, "So, I'll take that."

Laken thought over that statement, "What's the rebrand?"

"I guess a family man. She telling me to go to charity events and shit, just be seen."

A lightbulb went off in her head, "There's a fundraiser on Friday for a program that gives kids lunch on the weekends— You should come to that."

"You just now mentioning it?"

"Well..." Laken trailed off, "I've been trying to distance myself from you."

"Damn."

It didn't sound harsh until she said it out loud, but it didn't negate the fact that it was true.

There wasn't a need to smooth it over, yet she tried, "Not like that, but you know."

"I don't. You scared of me, now?"

Laken rolled her eyes as if he could see, "You're not scary."

"I can't tell," Noah's voice dipped, amused. "Sound like I got you acting different."

"Or maybe I'm just acting right."

He let that sit for a second. "Since when you start doing that?"

"Since I remembered how this goes."

"And how it go?" he asked, softer now. Not pushing. Pulling.

Laken stared through her windshield, watching nothing. Feeling everything. "You say something... and I forget I'm supposed to be somewhere else."

Silence stretched, but it wasn't empty. It was loaded. Familiar in a way that made her chest feel tight.

Noah broke it first, "So you inviting me," he said, tone shifting just enough, "or you warning me?"

Laken smiled, biting down on it like it might give her away. "Depends."

"On what?"

"On if you planning on acting like you have sense."

Noah let out a low laugh. "You the one said you can't be around me 'cause you scared you gon'-."

"I never said that!" Laken yelled over him, "You making shit up."

"Am I? That ain't true?"

Push.

Laken's breath caught, just slightly.

Pull.

"I'll see you at the fundraiser."

"Yeah," Noah said quietly, "That's what I thought."

• • •