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Maddie Vega swears she’s not a gossip. She’s not a busybody or a meddler or an idle twerp up to no good who spends her days sticking her nose in other people’s business.
One thing she is positively, absolutely sure of, though: for the sake of everyone’s sanity at Beacon Hills High, Mr. Dunbar and Mr. Raeken simply have to get together.
She hasn’t brought up her plan yet to Lavender, since they do have other more important and interesting things to talk about these days (or not talk about…Lavender recently getting her driver’s license means that they can take their getting to know each other without talking sessions beyond the school parking lot for more privacy). Still, the two girls have discussed in passing the absolute riot that is the relationship between Mr. Dunbar and Mr. Raeken over the past few years.
The two men both work in the social studies department under the supervision of Mr. McCall, the chair. They also teach in classrooms side by side, separated only by a thin layer of sheetrock, screeching chalkboards, and a tenuous line of tension between them that’s viable to snap any second.
Part one of the problem is that they alternate teaching class years. Mr. Dunbar gets ninth and eleventh; Mr. Raeken gets tenth and twelfth.
Part two of the problem—and honestly, it’s not so much a part as it is the whole fucking dilemma—is that Mr. Dunbar and Mr. Raeken somehow manage to teach the same subject with wildly different methods and even more wildly different sets of information.
“Day one is for setting expectations of respect, achievement, and learning objectives,” was the first thing out of Mr. Raeken’s mouth on syllabus day to his tenth-graders. He had proceeded to produce from his briefcase a stack of course syllabi that was rubber-banded lengthwise and crosswise at exact right angles. Methodically, he had then had Mimi Roberts start off the chain of passing back the documents, then gone down the columns of the students’ seats to hand out similar stacks to pass along.
Maddie had quite liked him, actually. A bit stiff around the edges, hair slicked back in a decidedly calculated style that he would not waver from for the remainder of the school year. Tie and jacket always in place and his chalk ledge clear save for the fresh box sitting on the corner every morning. The blinds always had to be half-drawn for the morning sections and shut in the afternoon to slant away the sun.
As for Mr. Dunbar?
On day one, he plodded in with his sleeves rolled up, tie hanging loose as if he’d given up on the notion of professionalism halfway through dressing, a pencil stuck jauntily behind his ear, and a chipper half-smile on his face. He’d taken one look at all the ninth-graders in various states of ennui around the room, noted the open textbook on his desk, and then flipped it shut with a snap that made everyone jump.
“Good morning, everybody,” he’d said. “Everything you’ll learn in this book? Is bullshit.”
—
On day five of tenth grade, Lavender makes the fateful mistake of raising her hand and calling out, “Mr. Raeken?” in the middle of their teacher meticulously recreating a chart for the causes and effects of the Spanish-American War on their board.
“Yes, Ms. Hyun.”
“Mr. Dunbar said everything in the book is bullshit.”
Mr. Raeken stiffens. He finishes up filling out the y-axis of his chart as he says mildly, “Mr. Dunbar said that, did he?”
Lavender hums in the affirmative.
Mr. Raeken turns. “So what did he say was the cause of the Spanish-American War?”
Lavender bites her lip. “Something about the pig-headedness of imperial leaders trying to carve up the lucrative islands under the guise of modern independence.”
At that, the corner of Mr. Raeken’s mouth infinitesimally twitches. “Thank you for sharing. Now, who would actually like to tell me the event that triggered the Spanish-American War?”
Maddie’s hand shoots up into the air, at the same moment that Lavender glances at her from across the room and mouths, suck-up. Maddie grins and winks at her girlfriend, then wiggles her hand to get Mr. Raeken’s attention.
“Yes, Ms. Vega.”
“According to page 17, it was the explosion of the U.S.S. Maine on February 15, 1898.”
Lavender folds her arms and rolls her eyes, though there’s no denying the twinkle in them as she shakes her head. Maddie blows a kiss in her direction the moment Mr. Raeken’s back is turned to fill in the chart on the board with her answer.
—
“It’s so hot inside,” Jordan complains. He’s Maddie’s fraternal twin, but given how much he moved around with his dad when their parents separated, he falls in the grade below her. Thus, he gets the absolute privilege of knowing from Maddie exactly what cards can be played with Mr. Dunbar and how to play them.
“Already tried the thermostat and it’s bust. Also, the only other thermostat in the room is in the teachers’ lounge and I’m not going over there during class time to poke at it when Principal Deaton could see me.” Liam shoots the class a genuinely apologetic grimace. “Lacey, you think you can hike the windows up any further?”
Lacey happily complies. She huffs when the window groans, evidently stuck.
Mr. Dunbar mutters something definitely less than professional about the state of educational funding and budget cuts.
Jordan tries his hand again. “Mr. Dunbar, my sister Maddie always said this classroom was super hot because it faces the afternoon sun. She told me about the time she got a nosebleed during a test.”
Something mildly traumatized flashes across Mr. Dunbar’s eyes. “You’re absolutely right. This isn’t healthy. Hm. Gimme a moment to think.” Comically timed, a sharp breeze snaps through the room from the nearest window, upending the stack of papers on his desk with a gust of hot air. Mr. Dunbar slams a palm down on top of them, scrambling to collect them all, while Brendan manages to shoot out a foot and trap a couple that were coasting across the floor. He seems unconcerned that now there is a sneaker-shaped imprint over Patty Usman’s loopy script on the last quiz.
“That’s it,” Mr. Dunbar decides. “Everyone, pack up your bags but keep your notebooks and pens out. We’re heading out the south entrance to the courtyard. What does everybody say to having some real-life social studies outside today, huh?”
The class erupts in whoops and cheers and a smattering of applause before he’s even finished speaking. Jordan scrambles to his feet so hastily that he knocks over his chair, has to swoop to catch it, then skids against his desk.
The clamor evidently catches Mr. Raeken’s attention next door. Maddie is first out the door with a bathroom pass in her hand, just at the same second that Jordan traipses out of Mr. Dunbar’s room with his fists raised high.
“Um,” says Maddie. “Where are you guys going?”
“Out,” Mr. Dunbar answers her easily as he shuts the door behind him and juggles his lesson plan book in the other hand. He waves awkwardly at her. “Nice to see you, Maddie.”
“Out?” That’s Mr. Raeken’s sharp voice from right behind Maddie’s shoulder. Behind them both, it’s not difficult to discern the hunched figures of his students filling out ditto sheets but sneaking glances at the commotion in the hallway. “Out where?”
Mr. Dunbar rolls his eyes at Mr. Raeken as if it isn’t one of the most insulting gestures in their professional setting. “Out to the courtyard to have a life, Mr. Raeken. Have fun with…uh…” He leans up on his toes to glance inside. “Have fun with your seatwork?”
Mr. Raeken hisses something at him with a shake of his head. Jordan and Maddie exchange glances of equal parts mirth and confusion.
Sure enough, by the time Maddie gets back inside from her bathroom run, Mr. Raeken’s room is aflurry with whispers and discontented gestures.
“Why don’t we get to go outside?” asks Nick. “It’s hot in here, Mr. Raeken.”
“Not a compelling enough reason to take our work outside when it could be done just as well inside,” notes Mr. Raeken.
“Let me rephrase,” says Nick, because he’s an adorable pest like Lavender. “It’s sweltering, Mr. Raeken.”
Theo leans across the desk with his hands gripping its sides, and he says with deceptive calm, chalk clutched between his fingers: “Let me rephrase as well, Mr. Hadzima: I’m not taking you outside where all these papers are going to get blown across campus and we can barely hear each other over the weedwacker going around the courtyard.”
The room erupts in another wave of sighs and grumbles. From its convenient vantage point tucked halfway into her open tote, Maddie’s phone screen brightens with a notification. She reads it from the corner of her eye. Of course, it’s a series of gloating emojis from her brother and a Snap from him—presumably of the paradise outdoors where the entire ninth grade class is enjoying the weather and Mr. Dunbar’s sunny disposition.
Truth be told, Maddie quite adores Mr. Raeken. Sure, he’s a bit uptight and he definitely acts like he has a million things to prove, but he’s clear in his directions and his expectations, he’s more than willing to give examples of best practices in writing, and he doesn’t stand for clowning around when it’s starting to interfere with the lesson.
She knows Lavender is decidedly more of a Mr. Dunbar fan. Well, to each their own.
—
Maddie doesn’t think much more of it aside from an amusing workplace rivalry. She doesn’t think much of it at all, even through the quips thrown each other’s way or the half-snide remarks ping-ponging between the men in the hallway.
But weeks later, Mr. Dunbar falls into step with Maddie to catch up with her on her way to her locker at dismissal time, and she enthusiastically informs him about the helpful writing workshops that Mr. Raeken is hosting in their class this week and how she hopes to glean useful tips come time for applying to colleges.
Mr. Dunbar’s eyes are sparkling with glee. “Is he making you sit alphabetized by last name and using the stopwatch to time all the groups in the peer review before telling you to get up and move on to the next task?”
“Yes!” Maddie says enthusiastically. It’s one of her favorite parts of the workshop, in fact. “Why do you ask?”
Her former teacher’s face is overcome by a full-blown grin now. “Nothing, just that I’m a bit familiar with his anal ways.”
Maddie is stumped on how to respond to that. On one hand, she doesn’t find it particularly kind of Mr. Dunbar to trash talk a fellow teacher like that to a student. On the other hand, it’s highly uncharacteristic of him, and his easy smile leads her to believe that there must be something more complex going on between the two teachers than she previously assumed.
What exactly it is, is what has her stymied.
—
She shouldn’t have told Lavender.
Seriously.
She shouldn't.
She loves the girl to death, but right now she’s also going to wring said girl to death for blabbing to Mr. Raeken what Mr. Dunbar said out in the hallway to Maddie the other day.
“Anal,” Mr. Raeken repeats tonelessly, as if he’s testing out a new vocabulary word. His lips thin into a line. “Interesting.”
Lavender is vibrating with gleeful energy, while Maddie from across the room is making frantic slicing gestures across her neck that her girlfriend cheerfully ignores. Maddie switches to miming strangling Lavender. Predictably, Lavender ignores that too.
Mr. Raeken squares his shoulders and tips his head toward the other students. “What do you think? Am I anal?”
Half of the class mumbles some bastardization of no and eh, not really while the other half confidently and vociferously choruses, “Yes.”
“No,” Maddie says.
“Yes,” says Lavender.
Maddie thinks to herself they’re going to need some serious couples counseling at the tender age of sixteen.
“Well, joke’s on Mr. Dunbar, because he’s going to discover that the rest of the world goes round by being anal and not a raging dumpster fire,” Mr. Raeken observes. He starts unclipping a new stack of handouts. “Now, who’s excited to learn more about our upcoming debate?”
—
“Raging dumpster fire,” Mr. Dunbar repeats. Jordan doesn’t think he’s ever seen his teacher quite this dumbfounded. It’s TikTok worthy, really. G-d, he really wishes he had his phone right now and didn’t get it confiscated for the afternoon by Ms. Martin during lab.
“That’s what Maddie told me.”
“Raging dumpster fires are cool,” Lacey proffers supportively.
“It’s relatable. We’re all raging dumpster fires,” is Colin’s enthusiastic commentary.
Mr. Dunbar’s facial expression crosses over from constipated to downright regretful. He blows out a sigh. “Well,” he says gustily. “Speaking of dumpster fires, let’s talk about World War I.” He shakes his head at the front row. “No pouting, Brendan. It’s all about human nature and ulterior motives. You’re into conspiracy theories, right? You’ll love this one.”
—
Mr. Raeken’s famously tight grasp on his control begins to slip one fine Tuesday morning. He’s been trying and failing to provoke a more enthusiastic response from the class about the upcoming debate on the Union and the Confederacy. Maddie’s frankly a tad annoyed at her classmates; they could try to be a bit more appreciative of the structure he brings to their education.
“C’mon, Mr. Raeken. Real-life debates don’t happen like that. All stiff and unnatural and puffed-up.”
Mr. Raeken lifts a single eyebrow. “Mr. Bettencourt, if you think the presidential debate was won by tomfoolery and tomato-throwing, I think you’ve found yourself in the wrong century.”
“They could benefit from a little more tomato-throwing, though,” Alec Gonzalez mutters from the far corner of the room.
Maddie wants to faceplant on her desk.
“Wait till next year and Mr. Dunbar will tell you all about the wonderful medieval practices of stockades and vegetable projectiles,” Mr. Raeken says, dry as the Sahara.
“Speaking of Mr. Dunbar,” says Maddie’s devil of a girlfriend.
“Lavender, for the love of G-d,” says Maddie.
“What? You love him too,” Lavender retorts with a shrug.
“I don’t,” Maddie protests desperately.
Lavender turns back to Mr. Raeken, unperturbed. “He taught us how to have a debate last year, too. He had us sit on top of our desks in a circle and then tossed a piece of chalk to a random person, and that person got to talk for one minute. Then when the one minute was done, everybody had to slap the desks until the person shut up and picked another person to throw the piece of chalk to.”
Throughout Lavender’s little explanation, Mr. Raeken’s face has grown a concerning shade of crimson.
A beat of silence befalls the room.
“That,” Mr. Raeken says at last, slapping his papers down on the desk with a thud and his voice sounding seven ways to strangled, “is because Mr. Dunbar is a godless heathen.”
—
“A godless heathen,” says Mr. Dunbar. The information comes from Lori this time, who got it from her brother Brett in Mr. Raeken’s class. By this time Maddie knows better than to go gossiping to Jordan knowing it will light another bunsen burner under the peculiar tug-of-war relationship going on between the two social studies teachers.
Ten minutes later, the walls of their classroom vibrate with the speakers of the projector blasting a YouTube video of a Bavarian Schuhplattler dance.
The giddy beat of the accordion onscreen nearly drowns out the pounding of Mr. Raeken’s feet and the bellow of his voice as he sticks his head through the open classroom door.
“What,” he demands, “the hell is going on here?”
Mr. Dunbar turns and smiles beatifically at him, hands tucked into his pockets in the picture of innocence. “An object lesson,” he replies. “On how to actually be a godless heathen.”
“Mr. Dunbar, I swear to f—”
"Oh, and also we're exploring European cultural diversity. Care to join us?"
—
Maddie doesn’t normally roam this side of the school during lunch period, but she’d forgotten her soccer play notebook in her car and she’d had to retrieve it and double back through the east door so she could go over some ideas with her co-captain over lunch before this weekend’s final practice.
Thus for the first time she finds herself passing by Mr. Raeken’s classroom door, left slightly ajar. The fact that it isn’t locked up safely isn’t what surprises her most. What really seizes her attention is that the man himself is inside, elbows on his knees and folded hands tucked up under his chin in the picture of pensiveness, as he stares sightlessly at the top of his desk instead of laughing somewhere over lunch with his coworkers like he should be.
Again, Maddie prides herself on keeping her business out of everybody else’s business. But something about her teacher’s posture draws her to step closer and drop a soft, tentative knock on the door.
Mr. Raeken jolts at the sound. “Ms. Vega,” he says, pleasantly surprised. “Did you need something…?”
She’s quick to shake her head. “Don’t mean to overstep, Mr. Raeken, but…it looks like you’re in a state.”
He grins, charming as ever, but Maddie’s starting to rearrange some of her previous assumptions about him in her head. She wonders how much of it is a mask.
“Just thinking of something that’s been on my mind lately,” he explains vaguely.
“Looks like it’s been bothering you,” says Maddie.
He fixes her with a look, then releases a subtle sigh with a droop of his shoulders. He gestures with his head for her to step in and lean back against one of the student desks in front of him.
“You shouldn’t worry about it,” he says. “It’s just that I’ve been…wondering how to tell somebody about, well. How I feel about him. Specifically about how things have been going between us.”
Maddie gapes at him, uncomprehending at first.
She studies him: the flush in his cheeks, the uncharacteristically rumpled state of his shirt, the glisten of sincerity in his eyes.
Then something shifts, and it’s like the missing piece of the puzzle that she never knew was even missing has fallen from the heavens smack dab in the middle of her brain.
G-d damn it, Maddie! Why didn’t she put two and two together?
A sly smile overtakes her features now. “I think you should just be real with him. Let him know how you really feel, no filters this time. Oh, and no pretending or deflecting, either,” she tacks on.
To think, all this time, through all the insults and jabs and dissembled rage…and the truth is Mr. Raeken is in love with Mr. Dunbar.
Time to reconvene with Lavender and Jordan and hatch a plan.
—
“We need to get Mr. Dunbar and Mr. Raeken together.”
“What?”
Maddie frowns. “They’re in love. Clearly.”
“And I’m in love with you, as attested by the fact that I was in the middle of ripping your clothes off,” Lavender says. “Should I be offended that your head is elsewhere?”
Maddie cackles. “I love it when you rip my clothes off. Careful with the buttons, though. Those were custom bought.”
Lavender makes a scrunched-up face at her and squishes Maddie’s cheeks in one hand, but gentles her touch anyway in compliance. “Seriously, Mads. Why are you thinking about our boring social studies teachers when we’re about to make love.”
“Because.” Maddie swats away Lavender’s tickling hands. “They are pining and in love.”
“Wait, for real?”
Maddie nods, breathless and a little cherry red in the cheeks from Lavender’s continued ministrations, but Lavender finally, mercifully, ceases to tickle her and sits back on her haunches on the bed instead.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me sooner, then?” Lavender demands. “We need a plan to make this happen.”
“Exactly, thank you,” Maddie sighs dramatically. “We need to rope Jordan in on this.”
“Your brother has all the sensitivity of a cracked quail egg.”
“He’s also in Mr. Dunbar’s class and easiest to communicate with. Take him or leave him, cracked quail egg and all.”
The front door slams downstairs, followed by the unmistakable thump of Jordan’s backpack on the floor and the rattle of the fridge door swinging open.
“Speak of the devil,” Maddie grins, blithely ignoring Lavender as she groans and flops back in a sexy starfish on the bed.
—
Liam doesn’t quite trust the vibe he’s getting from Jordan Vega this morning, but he’s made it a point not to base all his teaching decisions on vibes alone (as much as Theo may accuse him of doing so), so he thinks nothing of it. Not even when Jordan sidles up to him after class and says, “Mr. Dunbar, could I ask you a favor?”
“Yeah, shoot.”
“I have a friend who’s doing a photography thing for her class and she wants to capture influential people in her life and, like. We thought of you because you’re one of everybody’s favorite teachers in the school. And she was, uh…she was wondering if you’d be willing to come down to the football field to pose for some candids over lunch today? If it’s not too much of a bother?”
“Not at all.” Liam snaps his work bag shut and shoves the rest of his paperwork into the cabinet behind his desk. “Do I know her? Was she a student of mine?”
“Yes. I mean, no!” Jordan says. “I mean. She knows you through me, basically?”
Liam hums, deciding not to call out the kid on his obvious fumbling for now. “Lead the way,” he proclaims instead with a flourish at the open door.
—
“Where is your stupid brother?” Lavender hisses from her roost next to Maddie under the bleachers.
“Hey.” Maddie slaps her girlfriend’s arm. “He’s not stupid. He’s…” She peers through the nearest slit of light and catches sight of Jordan just then with a confused-looking Mr. Dunbar in tow. “Okay, yeah. He’s stupid. I told him to wait for my signal.”
“Ugh,” Lavender groans. She bangs her head back on the bottom of one of the bleacher seats. “Did he come with Mr. Dunbar alone? Do I have to improvise?”
Maddie doesn’t answer in favor of craning her neck to hear her brother’s exchange with Mr. Dunbar. Just as she predicted, Jordan is bumbling through some bullshit excuse that he needs to call his ‘friend’ for the ‘photoshoot thingy.’
“Maybe get ready to improvise any minute now,” Maddie concedes.
But just then, Alec finally, blessedly comes through. He’s half leading, half manhandling Mr. Raeken toward the spot on the edge of the football field where Mr. Dunbar and Jordan are standing. This was part of the plan, of course. Jordan’s best friend, Alec, would claim he needs another tutoring session from Mr. Raeken, and would insist at all costs that they conduct it outside during Mr. Raeken’s lunch break in exchange for a bribe of one of his famous spiced egg salad sandwiches.
“Mr. Raeken,” says Mr. Dunbar with a high-pitched note of surprise.
Under the bleachers, both girls tense as they listen, not daring to breathe.
“Mr. Dunbar,” says the other man, just as bewildered. “Didn’t know you were gonna participate in this little outdoor tutoring session, too.”
“Jordan,” says Mr. Dunbar, “I thought you said it was a photoshoot for your friend’s project?”
“I lied,” says Jordan with a wince.
“I also lied,” says Alec, much less repentantly.
“Boys,” Mr. Raeken sighs. He looks halfway to pinching the bridge of his nose. “What’s really going on?”
“You need to talk about your feelings,” Alec is quick to say.
“Feelings? We have plenty of feelings,” says Mr. Dunbar.
“Yeah, negative ones,” Jordan points out. “You gotta. I don’t know. Elaborate on your positive feelings for each other.”
“Wonderful,” says Mr. Raeken. “Open-air therapy from the munchkins.”
“Stop calling them munchkins,” Mr. Dunbar chastises him.
Mr. Raeken points an accusatory finger at Jordan. “He’s a munchkin.”
(To be fair, Jordan kind of does need a few more years to catch up with Maddie’s height.)
Mr. Raeken then turns to point at Alec. “And he’s a ragamuffin.”
“Always a pleasure doing business with you,” says Alec, practically batting his lashes.
“Guys,” says Mr. Dunbar. “I appreciate your effort to…uh…intervene, but I’m not sure what you hoped to accomplish here.”
That’s it, Maddie thinks. Time to bring out the big guns. She scrambles to her feet and hauls Lavender out behind her with a hand clutched around her wrist. She stomps up to Mr. Raeken, tamping down whatever social anxiety normally bars her from participating in such confrontational situations, and she says, “I know you like each other, Mr. Raeken. All the fighting and insulting each other? C’mon. It’s a classic case of pining. You gotta just own up to it and spit out how you feel, or else you’ll both be in limbo forever and everybody in school will be dying from the tension!”
Lavender’s eyes go comically wide next to her.
Okay, so maybe Maddie didn’t mean to let slip that last part and make it all about her and the other kids. Still. A guy’s gotta fess up sometime.
The air feels as though it’s been sucked from everybody’s lungs as Mr. Raeken does nothing but stare, slack-jawed, at his insolent and conniving little students.
Then, just as Maddie’s about to squeeze her eyes shut in embarrassment and blurt out a stammering apology, Mr. Dunbar doubles over laughing.
“Oh my G-d,” he chokes. He slaps his knee, close to wheezing. “Oh my freaking G-d.”
“Babe?” Mr. Raeken says mildly, unfolding his arms.
Maddie whips her head around to exchange a look of consternation with Lavender. Babe? What the hell?
“Oh, baby,” Mr. Dunbar crows, positively near tears. “I told you it’d get out sooner or later.”
“Yeah, huge thanks to you for being a smug and obvious asshole about it,” Mr. Raeken gripes. “The Schuhplattler video? Really?”
“You called me a godless heathen first.”
“I call you that all the time.”
“And I love all your pet names, but that one really took the cake,” Mr. Dunbar gasps, wiping at the corners of his eyes. Maddie wonders if he needs an inhaler or something.
Mr. Raeken moves forward to grip the other man by the shoulders and shake him bracingly. “Why do I love you. You’re such an idiot.”
“And you’re such a worrywart.”
“Bonehead.”
“Asshole.”
Oh, Jesus, Maddie thinks as it all clicks in her head.
“Tell me how you really feel,” Mr. Raeken grumbles at another creative insult from the other man’s lips.
Mr. Dunbar looks nothing short of smug. “Yeah, tell me how you really feel. Isn’t that what Maddie here was saying you had to do? Something you need to disclose to me, huh?”
“Ugh.” Mr. Raeken pulls away briefly to pull a hand over his face and then shove it into his pocket. “High school football field at high noon when everything smells like teenage sweat and fertilizer wasn’t how I pictured this going, but…guess there’s no time like the present.”
“Uh…what?” There’s apprehension in Mr. Dunbar’s voice at that. A tension that instantly turns into a squeak of “Theo, what the hell are you doing?” as Mr. Raeken steps back and falls on one knee.
Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Maddie thinks she’s gonna swoon. She’s pretty positive Lavender has already metaphorically swooned, if the death grip on her hand is anything to go by.
“Mr. Dunbar,” says the man, grinning cockily up at his apparently-boyfriend with a fucking ring box open in his hand. “You’ve been the most amazing and constantly loving and…constantly annoying presence in my life for the last five years. Would you do me the honor of officially annoying me to death and becoming Mr. Dunbar-Raeken?”
“Holy shit. Holy—ohmygodohmygodmygod!” Alec squeals behind his hand. Jordan slaps an extra hand over his best friend’s mouth to keep the peanut gallery commentary to a minimum.
“What the fuck,” Mr. Dunbar whimpers. “What the actual fuck. Theo. I don't know what to say."
The way his voice crests and breaks with nothing but heartfelt emotion makes Maddie feel suddenly and intensely like a third wheel. Hell, they’re all third wheels. But it’s like the most fascinating soap opera ever. None of them can tear their greedy little eyes away.
“An answer any time now would be a great place to start,” Theo teases him between gritted teeth.
“Yes, you idiot. Of course I’ll fucking marry you.” And Liam launches himself to his knees to throw his body into Theo’s arms.
“Minors present,” Theo mutters in his ear.
“Shut the fuck up,” Liam hisses back, and plants a gigantic smacking kiss on Theo’s mouth.
When Liam finally pulls back and buries his tearful face in his now fiancé’s shoulder, Theo rolls his eyes in Maddie’s direction.
Thank you, but I’m gonna get your ass for this, they clearly say.
At her side, Lavender bursts into a quiet laugh and squeezes Maddie’s hand. As much as she blames Lavender for starting shit in Mr. Raeken’s class, she’s nothing short of glad now that it let them all here to this glorious sight today.
And if both teachers show up the next day with matching engagement rings and Maddie joins in with every single student who won’t shut up about it, well.
Maybe she is a little bit of a busybody.