Page 8 of Left on Read
The kids were rightfully upset about the state of the world. I loved their passion and how they were working together to try and fix the wrongs around them, but my ears were still ringing from having a room of nearly forty middle schoolers shouting protest slogans and hyping each other up as they discussed which part of end-stage capitalism they were going to take down next.
Tiredly, I tossed my tie on my bed. My slacks and dress shirt joined them, and I let out a sigh of relief as I pulled on a pair of tattered sweats and an old hoodie.
I should take the rest of the night off and relax since I’d been going full speed for the past twelve hours, but I had a mountain of papers to grade. I had the entire weekend to get them done, but I might as well start now. It wasn’t like I had any plans. Not unless scrolling my phone and disassociating for hours was considered plans.
I was just pulling one of my meal prep containers out of the fridge when my phone rang.
“Hey,” I answered, putting the phone on speaker.
“Please tell me you’re getting ready to go out and enjoy your youth?” Ryan, my best friend, said loudly.
“Hell yeah. I just put on my metallic jock and mesh crop top. You know, the one that matches my dancing shoes. I’m ready to tear it up tonight!”
“You’re in sweats and mismatched socks, aren’t you?” he asked flatly.
“No comment.” I slipped the container with my dinner into the oven and set the timer.
“We’re going to the bar tonight to watch the game. Want to come?”
“Who’s we and which bar?”
“Some guys from work and Celtic Cross. Johnny will be there,” he added slyly.
“Yeah, hard pass.” I took the phone off speaker and slid into one of the chairs at my small kitchen table.
“Why? Is it the bar, or Johnny?”
“Both, but mostly the second one. He’s not my type.”
“How do you know? You’ve only met him a few times.”
“The first time I met him, he dared me to smash a beer can on my head, then an hour later, he set his sleeve on fire trying to prove it wasn’t flammable.”
“He was having some fun.”
“How about the second night when he told me he was hung like a bull, asked if I was into rodeo, then yelled ‘yeehaw’ at the top of his lungs?”
“Can’t blame a guy for shooting his shot.”
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it’s not going to happen. I don’t need you to play matchmaker with your queer friends. Just because we both like dick doesn’t mean we’ll be compatible in any other way.”
“But you’ve been saying how you just want some dick and don’t care who it’s attached to. Why not Johnny?”
“Because I watched Johnny slide down a banister and crash into the wall like a cartoon, then jump up and proceed to do it again. I teach tweens all day. I don’t want to deal with adult versions in my off time.”
“Message received.” He chuckled. “No more talking up Johnny.”
“Thank you. I’m sure he’s a great guy. He’s just not my type.”
“Do you want to at least come out and have a few beers with us?”
“I have grading to do.”
“Hay-den.” He split my name up so it came out as a whine. “You’re young and single and living through the end of days. Forget about grading and live a little.”
“Unless the end of days is happening on Monday, I still have to grade these,” I deadpanned.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, all signs of teasing gone. “You’ve been extra hermity lately.”