Archive of Our Own

AAA Week Day Four: Teachers

The Teacher Trap

“I think I might be allergic to Agatha,” Rio says, without preamble, as she enters her colleague’s office during lunch.

Lilia Calderu is halfway through a bowl of spaghetti bolognese she’d brought from home, her fork just centimeters from her mouth, when she sighs, puts the bowl down, and folds her hands on her desk, giving Rio her full attention.

“Why?” she asks, and what she means is ‘why are you bothering me with this incredibly random and out there piece of news?’ but Rio interprets it as ‘why do you think this?’

“Well, every time I’m around her,” Rio says, closing the door behind her and sitting down at one of the desks nearest Lilia’s, “my heart rate increases and I start to feel really sweaty, and it’s usually hard to speak, which means my throat is starting to close up, I think.”

“Mhmm,” Lilia replies, nodding. Her lips are pressed together as she sits there, staring at Rio as she goes down her mental checklist of symptoms. 

“My face also seems to get all flushed whenever Agatha is in my immediate vicinity,” Rio continues, “though I haven’t noticed the presence of hives or any lasting rash, so that’s good at least. Also, I tend to feel light-headed around her. Not really like I might pass out, but it still makes me nervous.”

“I see,” Lilia hummed. “Do you think, maybe, that it’s not so much that you’re allergic to Agatha, but more so that you…maybe have a…I don’t know… crush on her?”

“A crush ?” Rio scoffs. “Lilia, I am a grown woman. I don’t have crushes like a schoolchild. I teach schoolchildren.”

“I’m twice your age,” Lilia points out, “and I still have crushes. I have a crush right now, actually.”

“On whom ?” Rio asks, tilting her head like a curious puppy.

“That’s none of your business,” Lilia huffs. “And it’s very much not the point I’m trying to make. The fact is, you can have a crush at any age, doll. And it sounds like what you have is a crush on Agatha.”

Rio considers her for a moment, her lips pressed together in an increasingly thin line until they disappear altogether. Her brows are furrowed in concentration as the cogs in her brain grind against each other. Lilia can practically see smoke billowing from her ears. She watches with interest as she takes another bite from her lunch.

“No,” Rio says, finally, “I don’t think so.”

“Is it really that much more plausible that you’re allergic to a specific human being?” Lilia huffs, putting down her fork. “Have you never had a crush before?”

“I know that’s not what this is.”

“Then maybe you’re just in love with her,” Lilia tutted. “Have you thought of that?”

Rio’s face flushes at the suggestion and Lilia points in her face.

“Look at that!” she says. “A flush ! You must be allergic to me, as well. You can leave.”

Rio frowns almost cartoonishly deep. Then she stands and walks out of the classroom without another word, leaving Lilia to finish her lunch in peace.

Agatha Harkness had started working at Westview High over three years ago and had quickly become one of the student body’s favorite teachers. 

She’s witty, funny, pretty, and she speaks to students like they’re her peers rather than just stupid children. Well, she also speaks to them like they’re stupid children sometimes, because sometimes they act like stupid children.

But it’s all in good fun.

She’s Billy Kaplan’s favorite teacher – and it’s not only because she teaches Drama, his favorite subject.

She lets him hang out in the auditorium at lunch (him and a few other drama nerds that he’s friends with) while she lounges on the stage, planning out all of her lessons for the week and grading papers. Sometimes, she takes a break to talk to the kids about their other classes, their families, their friends, their crushes…

Agatha had never been shy about her sexuality with her students. She’d been out as a lesbian since day one. Being openly gay made her one of the ‘safe’ adults to go to when a student was having issues at home or with a bully at school. She was proof that it does get better. 

Billy had come out to Agatha before his own friends and families when he was fourteen, tears in his eyes as he sat on the stage two feet away from her, tears streaming down his face as he stared at his hands and feet, folded in on himself.

Agatha had reached for him first, tugging him into a hug. It had surprised him because Ms. Harkness doesn’t hug had been one of the rules Agatha had written and posted at the front of her classroom on the first day of school, using a ruler to point them out, one by one. She even had the class read them aloud several times.

“No hugs!” she’d said, glaring at them all. “Anybody who touches me without my express permission will get their fingers cut off and I’ll make it look like an accident.”

She was so serious that nobody had even so much as snorted out a laugh.

But then she hugged Billy, rubbed his back, and whispered soothing words into his ear as he cried, and cemented her place as his very favorite teacher. 

He ate lunch with her every single day after that.

Now, he’s sixteen and he’s never told anybody Agatha’s reaction to his initial coming out (he’s still certain that she would cut off his fingers for that), but he still clings to her like a puppy. He volunteers to hand out worksheets in class, to go first during monologue presentations, and asks the clarifying questions that Agatha is always attempting to hint toward but nobody else ever takes her up on.

Her reaction to his coming out even spurred him into telling his parents two days later (they were incredibly supportive and nearly threw him a rainbow-themed coming out party that could have rivaled his Bar Mitzvah) and then his friends a few days after that. He was embraced by everybody, and he attributed it to Agatha.

So, yes, she is his favorite teacher, and he doesn’t care if it’s made him a teacher’s pet in the eyes of his classmates. He’ll gladly be the teacher’s pet for her.

“Pet!” Agatha calls out from her place on the stage, where she’s laying on her stomach, grading some papers on the history of theatre and whatever-the-fuck (in her own words). She was forced to add it to the curriculum because apparently her students can’t just rely on their ability to act out plays and dialogues for full credit; they need to actually write a paper or two throughout the semester. Ugh. 

Billy pops up from his seat in the audience. He’s a tad bit ganglier than he was two years prior and only slightly more coordinated. He runs down the aisle at once, stopping right at the edge of the stage.

“And I didn’t even have to say heel,” Agatha teases as she pushes herself up and turns until she’s sitting, cross-legged, on the stage in front of him. “I need you to run to my classroom for me and get me a fresh red pen. This one’s out of ink from all the–” she raises her voice, “–misspelled words and ChatGPT your classmates are using!” She rolls her eyes. “How hard is it to tell the difference between ‘you’re’ and ‘your’ anyway?” she huffs. “Is Mrs. Wu-Kale not doing her job? Maybe she should stick to being an influencer .” She wrinkles her nose.

“I see the long-running feud is still going,” Billy snorts, taking the dry red pen with him to Agatha’s adjacent classroom. “Can’t you be friends with any of the teachers?”

“Probably not,” Agatha calls after him. “But who needs ‘em?”

Billy snorts, shaking his head as he turns the knob for Agatha’s classroom and steps inside. He knows that Agatha is just putting on an act. He knows that she actually does care what the other teachers think of her and even if they like her. He finds her talking to Mrs. Wu-Kale (not the English teacher that Agatha does seem to have a long-standing feud with, but the music teacher whose classroom is right across the hall from Agatha’s and whom Agatha needs to actually get along with for the sake of the school performances, which rely heavily on the teacher’s expertise) in between classes. They even laugh sometimes.

It’s nice.

And then there’s Ms. Calderu, the history department chair, who is quirky and sassy, and tiny but unfuckwithable to the max. Ms. C helps Agatha with the plays, as well. She has a true stage presence, Agatha says, and her singing voice is out of this world. Sometimes, if need be, Agatha casts her in an older part just to round out the production.

She played the Witch in last Spring’s Into the Woods and absolutely slayed .

And then there’s Miss Vidal, Billy thinks, as he steps inside Agatha’s classroom and sees said woman standing at the front of the room, her back to him as she swabs Agatha’s abandoned tea mug. 

Billy just stares at her for a long moment.

Miss Vidal is…strange, to say the least. 

She’s stiff and a little bit funny (like good sense of humor funny) and she treats her class pet, Queen Victoria the tarantula, like the cutest, fuzziest little bean there ever was. 

She just looks like a pair of fuzzy fangs to Billy. He refuses to go anywhere near that thing. Thankfully, he doesn’t have Biology this year. But last year , he had to psych himself up every time he went up to hand in an assignment or give her his finished test.

But, for some odd reason, Agatha really seems to like her. Like really like her. Like Billy is certain he’s seen Agatha swooning over Miss Vidal in the hallways between classes when the other woman wasn’t looking.

She always brought Miss Vidal coffee (to her exact, very specific tastes) and flirted with her, shamelessly, whenever she possibly could. It was very overt and obvious and every synonym thereof, but…Miss Vidal never seemed to really notice.

Or she did notice and she was too awkward to let Agatha down gently. That seemed just as plausible, honestly. 

But she always accepted the coffee Agatha brought her with a shy little smile and a soft ‘thank you’ and she always flushed when their fingers brushed over the outside of the cup. Agatha always gave her a flirty wink and a grin, which then made Miss Vidal redden even more and clear her throat as she excused herself back into the safety of her classroom.

But she always accepted the coffee, even though Agatha’s presence obviously made her uncomfortable.

Which, to Billy, clearly meant that Agatha’s attraction was reciprocated.

Not that Miss Vidal’s sexuality was any kind of secret: she had a lesbian pride flag sitting in a cup on her desk and a collection of binders (in rainbow order) on one of her counters. During June, she added more rainbows and taught lessons on gender and sexuality in plants and animals, emphasizing how normal it was for other animals to completely change their sex and even how some species had an untold number of different genders. 

Billy wonders if she ever got complaints from parents. If she had, they still hadn’t cost her her job at least. 

He shuts the door behind him, causing a loud thump and Miss Vidal practically jumps out of her skin, spinning around with wide brown eyes as if caught. 

Despite not being even remotely interested in the opposite sex, Billy can kind of see Miss Vidal’s appeal. She wears almost the same thing every day, with little variation: a polo in some shade of green, black or dark gray pants, sometimes a cardigan if it’s a little colder in the school, her hair up in a loose bun, light makeup (probably just the eyeliner and lipstick that matches her skin tone, but he swears that he’s see her freshen up the mascara on her long lashes), and a pair of dark green Converse with black laces. 

And her lanyard with her ID, of course. Her lanyard is green and covered in leaves, just like her classroom. There are plants on every available surface that isn’t used for study and experiments. Billy can’t even name all the plants, but he did take the snake plant cutting she’d given him at the end of the previous school year to give to his mother (it had thrived under Rebecca Kaplan’s care). 

Today, Miss Vidal’s polo is a deep forest green and she’s wearing black slacks. Her green Converse are the same as always. Her hair is in its usual loose bun with some strands of hair framing her face. She’s wearing her glasses – the ones she reserves for when she’s really concentrating on something.

“Hello,” Billy says, casually, approaching Agatha’s desk. He tosses her old used-up red pen in the trash can on the floor and reaches for a new one from the cup on her desk. Then he just stares at Miss Vidal, expectantly.

“I was just…” Miss Vidal looks at the swab in her hand, then the test tube in the other. She puts the swab into the test tube and pulls out a plastic baggie from her pants pocket, carefully placing the tube in there, sealing the bag, and placing it into her pocket. “I’m doing an experiment,” she says, straightening her spine a little bit as she pushes her glasses up her nose. Her voice is noticeably deeper, but forced, like she’s trying to appear normal.

It is not working.

“With Miss Harkness’s DNA?” Billy asks, furrowing his brow as he looks from the mug (which is purple with white hearts all over it – Agatha’s favorite) to Miss Vidal’s face, which is pink, her eyes wild with panic.

Miss Vidal is usually very poised and professional and well-spoken (unless Agatha is around) but now she just lets out a very intelligent “Um.”

“Actually, you know what?” Billy says, lifting one hand. “Never mind. I probably don’t want to know.”

“I’m just testing surfaces for germs,” Rio insists. “It’s for our next experiment in bio.” 

He knows that’s a lie. He took her class last year. They did no such experiment. It’s not even the type of experiment that would fit into the curriculum, not this late in the year. Single-celled organisms and germs/bacteria were first quarter lessons. They’re in the third quarter.

Still. He’s not going to question it. He’ll just leave her be.

He wonders if this is enough confirmation that Miss Vidal reciprocates Agatha’s feelings. 

“Okay,” he says, simply. 

Then he turns and walks out of the classroom to deliver Agatha her fresh red pen.

“Fuck,” Miss Vidal huffs as the door closes behind him.

Billy hands the pen to Agatha and debates telling her about Miss Vidal’s strange presence in her classroom, but then he decides against it. Agatha probably wouldn’t even be as disturbed by it as she would be tickled by Miss Vidal’s obvious interest in her. She’d likely even use it as more ammo with which to tease the other woman.

Miss Vidal is strange, but he doesn’t want Agatha to make her uncomfortable.

Agatha takes the pen with a soft thanks and gets back to grading papers as Billy walks back to his little group of friends sitting in the aisle with their lunches. The period is almost over.

He plops down in his boyfriend’s lap, and Eddie barely even looks up from his phone, his arm immediately winding around Billy’s waist. He presses a kiss to Billy’s temple, though, which immediately gives Billy butterflies in his gay little stomach.

He loves having this – a boyfriend, somebody to love and get butterflies from.

He wishes Agatha had this. He knows she’s single. He knows she’s never been married before. He knows she’s not even dating anybody. She jokingly complains about the ‘Her’ app being useless sometimes in class. She flirts shamelessly with Miss Vidal, who only blushes and retreats while Agatha smiles after her like a woman in love.

He can’t imagine she’d do that if she had any semblance of a partner at home.

Even now, with her students surrounding her as they all eat lunch, she looks… isolated . He wonders if he could change that.

“Do you think,” he says, causing Eddie to finally look up from his phone, “that Miss Vidal and Miss Harkness would make a cute couple?”

“An odd couple, more like,” Eddie retorts. “Though Miss H seems into it. She does not leave that poor woman alone.”

“I think Miss Vidal secretly likes the attention,” Billy says. “She always smiles when Miss Harkness gives her coffee in the morning.”

“Maybe it’s out of politeness,” Eddie suggests. “Miss Vidal is super polite.”

“That’s not the kind of smile you give somebody just to be polite ,” Billy says. “Unless you think that my smile is polite.” He bats his eyelashes at his boyfriend.

“Your parents raised a very polite boy,” Eddie teases, pressing a kiss to his lips. Billy smiles happily against them before he pulls away and cuddles up against Eddie’s shoulder, content to just sit there in silence for a long moment. 

Then…

“I think we should get them together.”

Eddie groans. “Why do you always have to meddle?” he says, looking down at his boyfriend. “Just leave them be. If it’s meant to be, they’ll figure it out.”

“I dunno,” Billy says, looking towards Agatha, who is once again splayed out on the stage, grading papers, making a lot of marks with that fresh red pen he’d just given her. She’s muttering to herself like a mad woman, too, huffing and puffing and shaking her head. “Agatha has been flirting with Miss Vidal pretty much since she got here, but she doesn’t seem to have gotten the hint.”

“Maybe she’s not interested then,” Eddie suggests. “And you should really stop calling our teacher by her first name. She’s going to hear you one day.”

Agatha knows that some of her more affectionate students call her by her first name, and she usually doesn’t seem to mind it (with the gentle reminders that she is a teacher and should be known by her professional title and yadda yadda), but Billy just can’t help but call her Agatha.

It fits her way better than Miss Harkness . 

Still, he tries not to call her Agatha when she’s in earshot because she says she’s supposed to scold him for that (even though they all know she doesn’t really care that much). 

“Miss Vidal totally likes her back,” Billy says, ignoring Eddie’s admonishment. “That smile and the way she flushes and the fact that I just found her in Agatha’s classroom, swabbing her tea mug…”

“You what ?” Eddie hisses, glancing over his shoulder at Agatha, who hasn’t even looked up. In fact, her face is practically touching the ground, her hair fanned all around her as her body goes dramatically limp.

She’s fine. 

“Yeah,” Billy says. “It was totally weird. She said she was doing an experiment on germs for her class.”

“We’re not studying germs right now,” Eddie says, frowning. He’s in her AP Bio class. “We’re working on gene expression, or whatever.”

“I knew it!” Billy says, with a fist pump.

“Okay,” Eddie replies, “but how does that equate to Miss Vidal liking Miss Harkness back? For all we know, she could be collecting samples from all the teachers.”

“She put the swab in a little baggie,” Billy says, “then put the little baggie into her pants pocket. Her pockets are not deep enough to hold a bunch of those baggies. Not enough for all the teachers, anyway.”

“Still,” Eddie says. “How does this prove that she likes Miss Harkness?”

“I dunno,” Billy replies, shrugging his shoulders. “I haven’t gotten that far, but I just know she does. Trust me.”

“You’re insane,” Eddie snorts, “but okay. So, what are you planning to do?”

“Have you ever been tested?” Lilia asks Rio as she watches the woman create her own “allergy” test, which more or less is just her using the swabs she’d taken (yes, there were more than one) of Agatha’s personal items – the rim of her coffee mug, the tiny bottle of perfume she kept in her desk drawer, a hair that she’d found on her desk, and a swab off her desk in the hopes that she’d catch some skin molecules – and diluting them with some kind of solution and putting them onto different bandages, laid out on her desk.

“No,” Rio says, “I’ve never had any reactions to anything extreme enough to consider an allergy test. But I don’t like ketchup to a probably alarming degree. I’ve had nightmares about it.”

“While that is new and interesting information,” Lilia says, “it’s not quite what I meant.” She watches as Rio places two bandages on each of her arms. “Are you sure that’s going to work?”

“It should,” Rio says. “What kind of test would I get?” she asks, looking at Lilia owlishly.

“Well, it’s more of a diagnosis, actually,” Lilia replies, crossing her arms over her chest as she considers the woman in front of her. 

Rio furrows her brow. “You mean like an autism diagnosis?” she asks. “I got that when I was fourteen, actually.”

“Really?” Lilia asks, eyes widening. “You’ve never said anything.”

“You’ve never asked,” Rio retorts. 

“Well, it’s rude to ask,” Lilia points out.

“Is it?” Rio asks. “I’ve just always figured that it was obvious.” She sets a timer for 24 hours.

“It’s also rude to assume things,” Lilia says. “Like the fact that your colleague is an allergen.”

“I don’t think she’s an allergen ,” Rio scoffs. “I just think that…maybe I’m having an adverse reaction to her. It could just be her perfume or the shampoo she uses that’s affecting me – not necessarily her .”

“And what are you going to do if it turns out your hypothesis is incorrect?” She wants to say ‘ when ’, not ‘ if ’ but she’ll give Rio a little bit of credit here. She is a scientist, after all.

“Well, I’ll have to consider different avenues, then,” Rio says. “Different explanations.”

“Will you consider that you just have a crush on the woman?” Lilia huffs.

Rio frowns at her, nose wrinkled, brows furrowed, for a long moment.

“I’ve never had a crush on anybody ,” she says, finally. “But I truly don’t think that’s what this is.”

“Wait,” Lilia says, “how could you have never had a crush on anybody before? I thought you were a lesbian.”

“I am a lesbian,” Rio huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve just never been one to… fawn over pretty girls. Of course I’m attracted to them, but I usually just tell them so – once I know that they are also attracted to women; I learned that lesson the hard way – and we either start a relationship or we don’t.” She shrugs, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“It’s as simple as that, huh?” Lilia asks with a tiny grin.

“Yes,” Rio says. “I know that I’m good-looking, especially when I wear a dress.”

“I’ve never seen you in a dress,” Lilia gasps. “Do you have pictures?”

“Yes, I do,” Rio says, pulling out her phone. “I don’t wear them at work because I don’t find them professional for the labs I do with my students.” 

She walks over to Lilia, showing her a picture of her out at a bar with a friend from college, Wanda, who is also wearing a dress, her arm slung around Rio’s waist. Rio’s dress is dark green and velvety-looking. Her hair is shorter in the picture, a little mussed, and she isn’t wearing her glasses. 

She is smiling and leaning into her friend, though, a drink in her hand.

“I thought you didn’t drink,” Lilia says. “You look cute, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Rio replies. “I don’t drink. That is a virgin piña colada. I’m very partial to them. The color of the umbrella is meant to indicate that it was non-alcoholic.”

“You are a barrel of laughs, you know that?” Lilia teases, poking her in the side. 

Rio slaps her hand away, but Lilia doesn’t miss her tiny smile at being ribbed. She likes Lilia. She has become one of her closest friends in this school. 

“Who’s the girl? An old flame?” Lilia asks.

“An old colleague,” Rio corrects. “Sort of. We did research together during our Masters’ studies. She’s married. To a man.”

“But you never had a crush on her?” Lilia asks, her voice taking on a teasing tone.

Rio shakes her head. “I found her attractive,” she says, “but the fact that she was married wasn’t conducive for romantic feelings at all.”

“You ain’t no homewrecker,” Lilia muses.

“That is a double-negative,” Rio says, frowning, “but I understand the reference. I do not flirt with married women. Which is also why I couldn’t possibly be attracted to Agatha.”

“What?” Lilia askes, wrinkling her nose. “Agatha isn’t married.”

It’s Rio’s turn to wrinkle her nose now. “What?” she asks. “Yes she is.”

“Darling, I’ve known that lady for three years now. Not once has she mentioned a wife and she hits on you like there’s no tomorrow. Why would you think she’s married?”

“She wears a ring on her left ring finger,” Rio says, simply, pointing to her own left ring finger as if to demonstrate.

“She wears a lot of rings on her fingers,” Lilia says. “She likes gemstones. None of them is a wedding ring.”

“Are you sure?” Rio asks, blinking at her.

“Of course I’m sure,” Lilia snorts. “Agatha has been talking to her kids about how horrible dating apps are and how there aren’t enough hot lesbians in her area anymore.” She rolls her eyes. “Way too much to be saying to teenagers, if you ask me, but that’s just Agatha. She doesn’t give a fuck.”

“Yeah…” Rio says, looking off in the distance for a second, her eyes completely unfocused. 

“Does this change things for you then?” Lilia asks. “Knowing that she’s unattached. Can you admit that you have feelings for her now?”

“It won’t matter if I’m allergic to her,” Rio huffs. Lilia groans.

“You are so stubborn ,” she exclaims. “Just admit that you like her and all your ‘adverse reactions’ are just that – a crush!”

“I don’t do crushes!” Rio insists. “Never have! Never will! I just…I dunno what this is, but I’m going to figure it out.” She held up her bandaged arms. “One way or another.”

“Well, I tried,” Lilia sighs, turning to walk out the door. “Let me know what you find out, asino testardo. ”

“Italian is pretty close to Spanish, you know!” Rio calls out after her. “I know what you just called me!”

“Good for you,” Lilia calls back, over her shoulder, with a cackle.

“ Vieja bruja loca ,” Rio grumbles to herself as the bell rings and students begin to file in for their next class. Rio gives them a polite smile as she takes her spot at her desk. “Good afternoon, everybody,” she greets. “Who’s ready for some learning?” She claps her hands together. 

“Why do you have bandaids on your arms?” one student asks, raising his hand. “Did you get hurt?”

“Oh,” Rio replies, looking down at her arms. She presses her lips together as she considers her response. “I’m just testing something,” she says. “No need to worry about it.”

Suddenly, she wishes she wore long sleeves to work.

Agatha Harkness prides herself on being unattached. 

None of her relationships ever really lasted past a year – if any had made it a full year to begin with – and she moved from school to school like there was a swift wind pushing her around. 

Westview is the first high school where she’s even begun to see herself as a semi-permanent fixture. The pay is good and her colleagues are not as annoying as they certainly could be (she’s worked with some real busybodies in her day) and the kids are decent.

Billy Kaplan is her current favorite, though she would never admit that to him or anybody who knew him lest it fill that gay little head of his with delusions of grandeur. She also likes a lot of the other theater kids. They’re talented and passionate and so many of them cling to her like her word is gospel.

There’s a gaggle of queer teen girls who hang out in the auditorium during their free periods, just talking freely about the girls they like and which celebrities were their ‘gay awakening’ and they ask Agatha the same questions, hanging on her every word.

Agatha isn’t used to hero worship from anybody . She grew up with the notion that she was born wrong , that she was evil in some way. Her mother told her this every single day since practically the moment she was born. She would talk about how it would have been a kindness if she’d just ended Agatha’s life the moment she was born instead of letting her grow up into this sinful creature of a child she had.

It made Agatha quiet in her teen years, sullen and moody and standoffish. She didn’t have a lot of friends except for the others that were like her. 

Like Carol.

Carol was like her.

Carol’s father was an asshole. Her mother was gone. She lived through a very similar hell to Agatha. They understood each other. 

They had worked well together, she and Carol. Carol was her first everything .

And then she was gone.

Not dead. 

She enlisted immediately after graduation. She went to the Air Force Academy. She promised to call and write and come back when she could…but Agatha never actually saw her again.

And then she got a Save-the-Date in the mail during her senior year of college. Carol was getting married to a woman she met while in the Air Force Academy. They already had a child together. She had moved on from Agatha.

So Agatha moved on from her.

She tore up the Save-the-Date and finished working on her degree. She got her Masters in Theater and Education and got her teaching degree and started working, getting as far away from her mother as possible.

She grew up in Salem, but she took the first teaching opportunity that would put her in a different state: Virginia.

She hated Virginia. She was heavily encouraged not to talk about her sexuality in Virginia. The kids were more or less good kids, but one year teaching there was enough.

Her next opportunity was in a private school in Upstate New York – Stark Academy. The kids there didn’t put as much stock into theater as they did their coding and science classes, but she had a handful of kids who were passionate about the arts, too. They put on a few good shows and followed her around like ducklings. 

She stayed a second year to see a couple of her favorites graduate before she left.

Then came Greenwich, CT, where her salary barely covered rent in a studio apartment (not that her salary was particularly low, but the rent was astronomical), then Trenton, NJ, where she made a little more money but didn’t really like the school district. 

Finally, just after her thirtieth birthday, she ended up in Westview. 

It’s a quaint little town – the kind you see in old fifties’ sitcoms – but it’s not horrible to live in. There’s a farmer’s market on Saturdays in the town square and plenty of town events held at the library or the community center. And the school is decent.

It pays decently, too. Enough for her to save up for three years while living alone in a studio above a flower shop so that she could get herself a mortgage on a condo in a building on the edge of town.

It was the first root she ever put down, and she told herself she could just sell it if things went south.

For the first time, however, she hoped that things wouldn’t go south.

It’s been four years since Agatha moved to Westview, New Jersey, for her job as a high school theater teacher and she’s honestly never been happier anywhere in the world.

It doesn’t hurt that Rio Vidal is one of her co-workers.

Agatha doesn’t know what it is about the science teacher, but she finds her absolutely irresistible. She’s quirky and awkward and she makes bad science puns that cause her students to groan loudly (Agatha has heard this as she walked past Rio’s classroom during her free periods) and it makes Agatha smile. Her chest flutters every time she brings Rio a coffee in the morning and she gets to see that shy smile of hers and the way her olive-toned skin turns an attractive shade of pink. She has to suppress a shiver when Rio’s fingers brush hers when she hands off the cup.

She wishes that Rio would flirt back with Agatha sometimes, but she kind of likes the shy stuttering and flustered blushes and the way she uses her middle finger to push her glasses up her nose. She finds it adorable how Rio’s little gap only shows when she’s truly happy about something, when her smile is too big to hide it. She loves it when Rio’s brows are twisted in focus, her tongue pressing into her cheek. 

Agatha has found herself doing the same with her tongue now. When she catches herself, she tends to laugh until she snorts, then groans. She hates her snorty laugh.

She doesn’t quite know why Rio Vidal has this effect on her. She’s never had this reaction to any other women she’s known and slept with in the past. 

And she hasn’t even slept with her! Rio must be a witch or something. That’s the only explanation. She put some kind of spell on Agatha.

It’s kind of hot, actually.

“Aga–ahem, Miss Harkness ?” 

Agatha’s eyes snap up to see that she has a whole classroom full of teenagers just staring at her. She blinks at them. 

“What are you all doing here?” she asks.

“It’s fifth period?” Billy says, pointing at the clock on the wall.

“What? Since when?” Agatha huffs. Had she been spacing out the entirety of her free period? She didn’t even get to casually walk past Rio’s classroom. She would have had Biology 1 with the halfwit sophomores. They were doing something with punnett squares, if she recalled correctly.

“Since fourth period ended,” an eleventh grader named Quinn answers, smartly, with a lopsided grin.

“Detention,” Agatha retorts, pointing at her. Quinn pouts at her and Agatha relents. “Fine,” she sighs. “No detention. But you’re on thin fucking ice.”

“Jar!” another student shouts from the back.

Agatha groans and pulls a dollar bill from her pocket, placing it in a packed jar of money labelled ‘Period 5’. A few kids exchange high-fives.

“Don’t make me put money in Period 3 and Period 8,” Agatha threatens. They are their biggest rivals for the end of year party that Agatha intends to throw with her ‘swear jar’ money. “They’ll get lobster and you’ll be stuck with Costco hotdogs. Don’t play with me.”

There’s a murmur that runs through the class, but then everything is quiet.

“That’s what I thought,” Agatha says. “Now, who is ready to discuss Othello ?” She plucks her copy of the classic play from the desk. “And why he was kind of a little bitch.”

“Jar!” three voices ring out at her.

She tosses another crumpled dollar bill into the jar.

“So,” Billy asks as students file out of the classroom for lunch, “when are you going to actually ask Miss Vidal out on a date?”

“After I fuck your mom,” Agatha retorts, automatically, not looking up from her paper. Then she curses under her breath and pulls some loose coins from her pocket, completely out of one-dollar bills. She should probably make a bank run.

Or go steal some more from Jen’s purse. 

She drops the handful of coins into the Period 5 jar.

“You have threatened that every single day since I was a freshman,” Billy points out, “and yet my mom remains unfucked.”

“Period 8,” Agatha says, pointing to the jar with the big ‘8’ on it. “And I think that’s more of an issue with your dad than anything else. Maybe they need counseling.”

Billy wrinkles his nose and drops a dollar into Period 8’s jar.

“Don’t change the subject,” he says. “When are you going to ask Miss Vidal out?”

“When she stops avoiding me,” Agatha retorts. “Maybe.”

Because Rio does avoid her. Even though Agatha brings her coffee every morning. She gives Agatha that shy little smile, thanks her in that sweet, slightly raspy voice of hers, and then she practically bolts back to her own classroom, face adorably pink and hands noticeably sweaty.

She is an enigma, and Agatha is stupidly charmed by it. 

It’s why she’s constantly flirting with and teasing the other woman whenever they see each other in the hallway or lunchroom. Which reminds her…

“I’d love to stay and chat with you, Bobby–”

“Billy.”

“–but I really need to get going. Lunch and all that. You should eat something, too. You’re practically see-through.”

“Ah, yes,” Billy deadpans, as Agatha makes her way out of the classroom, shutting the light off despite him still standing there, “just what I needed: more body image issues.”

“Glad I could help!” Agatha calls over her shoulder as she leaves.

Billy rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone as he makes his way out of the classroom.

Billy: Agatha is heading your way

Boyf: Stop using her first name, weirdo

Boyf: MISS VIDAL is here already.

Boyf: See how easy that is?

Boyf: She’s wearing bandaids on her arms.

Billy: oh no! 

Billy: Did she get hurt or something?

Boyf: no apparently it’s an experiment or smth

Boyf: idk she’s kinda weird

Billy: don’t act like she’s not your favorite teacher

Boyf: I didn’t say being weird was a bad thing

Boyf: I have nothing against weirdos

Boyf: i’m dating one in fact 😘

Billy: 😒

Experiment…

The word lodges in Billy’s head as he makes his way to the cafeteria. Miss Vidal had said something about an experiment the day before when he’d caught her swabbing Agatha’s mug. But what did that have to do with bandaids on her arms?

Eddie is leaning against the wall adjacent to the cafeteria entrance when Billy arrives. He accepts Billy’s peck hello with a smile.

“So, what’s happening?” Billy asks, glancing in the direction of their favorite teachers. “Did Agatha finally grow some balls?”

“That’s offensive,” Eddie snorts. “Balls are week and ugly as fuck. Miss Harkness is above balls.”

“Did she finally grow some ovaries , then?” Billy huffs, nudging Eddie with his elbow. His eyes find the theater teacher at the salad bar, where she’s standing just a couple feet away from where Miss Vidal is carefully constructing her own salad, seemingly unaware of Agatha’s presence.

Billy sees the square bandages on her arms and furrows his brow.

Huh. Weird.

Agatha is staring at Miss Vidal, a soft smile on her lips that he’s never really seen her give anybody before – not that she would ever admit to it, anyway. She plucks seemingly random items from the salad bar, making a very strange salad. 

Is that goat cheese ? And who puts olives in a salad? Gross. 

He wrinkles his nose.

“You’re going to give yourself weird lines on your face if you keep doing that,” Eddie teases, poking Billy’s nose. Billy swats his hand away, but he can’t help but chuckle. 

He keeps watching the two women. Agatha pours dressing on her weird amalgamation of various items, closes her container, and shakes it as she moves forward in the line, toward Miss Vidal, who seems to be counting out the number of tomatoes and cucumbers she’s adding to a bed of carefully laid lettuce and spinach. Agatha reaches out and plucks a slice of avocado from the bar with a set of tongs and says something that makes Miss Vidal turn toward her at an almost neck-snapping velocity. 

Even though she’s now facing away from him, Billy knows that Miss Vidal’s entire face has gone red just from the rosy hue at the tips of her ears. She nods and Agatha places the first slice of avocado into her salad, then three more slices. Miss Vidal just holds the container as Agatha smiles and says something to her that – he can tell, just from the look on her face – is very flirty. 

Agatha has game, Billy thinks as he leans against his boyfriend, watching their teachers flirt.

Well, watching Agatha flirt. Miss Vidal looks more like she’s stuck in quicksand, unable to escape. But then he hears her actually let out a loud laugh at something Agatha says and he could swear Agatha’s entire being lights up at the sound as Miss Vidal’s shoulders shake with mirth.

“They’re so cute ,” Eddie groans. “I just wanna smush their faces together and make them kiss already.”

“Same,” Billy sighs dreamily. 

Then he watches as Miss Vidal closes her salad container and turns away from Agatha, her face indeed red (and a little sweaty) as she speedwalks away from the other woman to the cashier. Agatha’s smile flickers a bit, but then she shrugs and gives Miss Vidal enough space to pay and get away before she moves up to pay for her own strange salad.

Miss Vidal offers both boys a polite smile as she rushes out of the cafeteria, her eyes mostly on the toes of her own shoes, cheeks still pink.

“I still think she likes her,” Billy whispers to Eddie once she’s disappeared around the corner.

“Honestly,” Eddie replies, “I do, too. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more genuine laugh come out of Miss Vidal’s mouth before. And that look on her face reminds me of the first time I asked you out.”

“What?” Billy huffs. “No way! I didn’t look like that !” He furrows his brow. “Did I?”

“You were even more adorable,” Eddie coos, stroking Billy’s cheek. 

Billy rolls his eyes, but he leans into Eddie’s embrace, sighing as he watches Agatha pay for her ‘salad’ and a bottle of iced tea before making her way toward the door, toward them. She looks a little forlorn, in Billy’s opinion, so he attempts to cheer her up.

“What the heck is that?” he says, pointing to her salad container.

“A Greek salad,” Agatha retorts, holding it up like a prize. Billy wrinkles his nose. “You’ve never had a Greek salad before? Honey !” 

She is adorably excited as she lists the ingredients of a Greek salad and how it’s so good and he needs to try it someday.

Also he learns the difference between feta and goat cheese.

The more you know.

“I’m the dumbest motherfucker on the planet,” Rio groans, laying her head down on her folded arms.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” Lilia tuts across from her, patting her head. “Look at who our president is.” She takes a bite of her lasagna.

Rio sighs, peeking up at her. “That actually does make me feel a little bit better,” she says. “Thank you.” 

She pushes herself back up to sit straight in her chair, opening up her salad container and plucks up her fork to spear into one of the avocado slices that Agatha had placed in there, along with a tomato, cucumber slice, and a leaf each of lettuce and spinach – a perfect bite.

She can’t believe that Agatha knows exactly how many avocado slices she likes in her salad, nor that she was bold enough to put them in there herself at lunch today. She can’t believe that Agatha watches her enough to know that she is very particular about the composition of her lunches nor that she wouldn’t actually tease her about it.

And she really can’t believe that Agatha knew plant jokes like the one she’d told in the cafeteria that made Rio let out a laugh so loud and obnoxious that you could probably hear it from across the cafeteria over the din. 

It was so embarrassing.

And yet…

Agatha had laughed, too, obviously delighted at Rio’s mirth. Her smile was so big and then Rio’s throat started to feel like it was closing again, and her heart rate started going wild and she could feel sweat dotting her brow and making her hands clammy and…she just needed to go .

She of course said goodbye to Agatha before she bolted. It was only polite.

She had paid for her salad like a toddler who needed to use the potty, bouncing from foot to foot as the cashier took her sweet time counting out her change (she really needs to learn how the student lunch money account thing works) and then practically sprinted toward the exit, offering a polite nod to two of her students on the way out.

Now, she’s sitting at her desk, feeling utterly ridiculous.

Because Agatha Harkness had been flirting with her.

This is nothing new, of course. Agatha Harkness flirts with her and teases her every single day, as she had since they began working together, but today Rio realized that Agatha had been standing nearby, in Rio’s vicinity, almost the entire time she’d been painstakingly constructing her salad, and Rio didn’t have a reaction until she’d tapped on her shoulder.

So what does this mean?

“It means,” Lilia says, pointing her fork at her, “that you’re not allergic to Agatha.”

Rio didn’t even realize she had asked that question aloud.

“You speak a lot when you think you’re not,” Lilia says. “You might want to work on that.”

Rio groans and lays her head back on her folded arms. 

“If I’m not allergic to her,” Rio huffs, “then why do I feel like this?”

Her hands are still clammy and her face still feels warm and the thought of Agatha makes it all feel a lot stronger.

“Because,” Lilia says, placing her fork down, “you. Have. A. Crush.” She clapped her hands with each word.

“But I–”

“There’s a first time for everyone,” Lilia says. “Just because you’ve never had a crush before, doesn’t mean you can’t have one now.”

“But why now?” Rio asks. “It doesn’t make sense. What is it about Agatha Harkness that makes me…” She tries to find the words, flapping her hands a little, “ this ?”

“Love is funny sometimes,” Lilia says.

“Who said anything about love ?” Rio exclaims, her face blanching.

“Calm down,” Lilia huffs. “It’s an expression.”

“I’ve never heard that expression before,” Rio says, shoveling another bite of salad into her mouth.

“That’s because you live under a rock,” Lilia teases, taking another bite of her lasagna. “Calm down.”

Rio takes a long, deep breath. “Okay,” she says, “so I have a crush on Agatha. So what?” She takes another bite of her food. It doesn’t go down very easily, so she reaches for her water.

“You could…ask her out,” Lilia suggests.

Rio immediately chokes. “ What ?!” She coughs a little and takes another sip of water as Lilia watches, amused. “Why on earth would I do that ?”

“Because you like her?” Lilia snorts, pointing her fork again.

“ And??!?!” Rio huffs. “So what?”

“I thought you always told the women you were attracted to that you were attracted to them,” Lilia says.

Rio presses her lips into a thin line.

“This is different,” she grumbles.

“How so?” Lilia asks.

“This isn’t simply attraction, anymore. This is… feelings . I’m not good with feelings. It’s why I’ve never had a crush.”

“I’m certain that’s not why,” Lilia says, “just as I’m certain that you’ve had a crush before. You just couldn’t recognize it as such.”

“I really can’t even think of a time where I’ve actually liked another person…romantically.”

“Thanks for the clarification,” Lilia snorts. 

“Anytime,” Rio says, eating more of her salad. “Ugh, I hate having feelings. Why couldn’t I have been made in a lab?”

“I’m not so certain you weren’t,” Lilia teases. Rio flips her off and she lets out a cackle. “Your programming must be malfunctioning,” she says.

Rio puts down her fork and raises her second middle finger with a smirk.

“I like our friendly lunches,” Lilia says, affectionately, as she takes another bite of her food.

Agatha hadn’t missed the bandages on Rio’s arms. She hopes that nothing serious happened during a class. She had meant to ask, but then Rio sprinted away like she was training for the Olympics and Agatha had stared a little too hard at her ass.

Rio has a really nice ass.

And she had made Rio laugh today. She’s still riding that high, to be honest. It’s not the first time she’d gotten a chuckle or a polite huff of a laugh from the other woman (Agatha was fucking funny , sue her) but it was the first time that it was an outright bark of laughter.

And it was because of a stupid plant joke. 

What did one hungry plant say to the other?

I could use a light snack .

Ba-dum tss!

Agatha didn’t even think it was that funny, but Rio must have thought it was the epitome of comedy to have gotten that reaction from her. Agatha’s heart had swelled and there were definitely butterflies floating around in her stomach. She had opened her mouth to ask about the bandages next, her eyes flicking to them, but then Rio’s eyes had gone wide and she had politely (if you could really call it that) excused herself and ran out of there like her ass was on fire.

It was a really hot ass.

Agatha snorts at her own internal joke, then shakes her head.

I am so lame , she thinks.

She places her forehead down on her desk and lets out a groan.

“Miss Harkness?”

Agatha pops back up, blinking at the figure in her doorway. It’s Billy, again.

“Don’t you have any other classes?” she huffs at him as he steps into the room.

“It’s 2:47,” Billy says, showing her his smartwatch (which he knows isn’t allowed at school, but Agatha has never said anything about it) where the time is indeed blinking ‘2:47’ over a picture of Kermit the Frog sitting underneath a rainbow with his banjo. “School is over.”

“Hmm,” Agatha says. “Then why are you still here? We don’t have rehearsal today.”

It’s Friday. Agatha made it a rule that there would be no rehearsals on Fridays until the last weeks before a show. They’re doing Footloose right now. Billy is playing Ren McCormack. Agatha thinks he may have been too flamboyant for the straight character, but he’s a decent actor, so she won’t recast him.

Also, there are very few straight boys in her club that could also do as good a job as Billy.

“I just wanted to check up on you,” Billy says, propping himself on the desk closest to hers. “I saw what happened with Miss Vidal earlier.”

“You did?” Agatha asks, raising an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

“You flirted with her,” Billy reminds her, “and she ran away.”

Agatha scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “I was not flirting,” she insists. “I just told her a joke, and then she…had to go.”

“Miss Harkness, I’m not blind,” Billy says. “I can tell that you like her. Hell, half the student body knows that you like her. We’re all rooting for you, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t,” Agatha grumbles, leaning back in her chair and frowning deeply. 

“Miss Vidal doesn’t seem to know, though,” Billy offers. 

“ That helps,” Agatha sighs, half-heartedly.

If Rio knows that Agatha likes her and never says anything about it, it probably means that she doesn’t feel the same way. If she doesn’t know that Agatha likes her and has been flirting with her for the better part of four years, well, is that actually better?

Rio’s meant to be smart. How could she be this oblivious? Agatha has done everything but publicly ask her to Prom (which Alice has already suckered her into chaperoning), but Rio didn’t even blink at her advances.

Well, okay, that’s not quite true.

Rio runs from her advances, and Agatha doesn’t really know what that’s all about, but she’s certain it doesn’t really have all that much to do with Agatha’s flirty behavior. After all, Rio always smiles that adorable little smile when Agatha is around. She doesn’t even think Rio is aware of that smile. It pairs well with her pink cheeks.

She takes the offered coffee every morning and their fingers brush and that slight touch makes Agatha feel as though there’s an electric current running straight through her body.

Agatha has seen the way Rio interacts with their colleagues (like Lilia, the history teacher who has become like something of a mentor to Rio, who has lunch with her in Rio’s classroom) and it’s different from how Rio interacts with Agatha. 

She isn’t prone to stuttering or flushing around them. She doesn’t typically avoid eye contact with them or make excuses for why she needs to go do something else right this second. She doesn’t sprint from them or clear her throat too much when they speak. She doesn’t run her hands through her hair or wring her wrists or any other number of nervous habits that Agatha finds so strangely charming.

So she must like Agatha, too, right?

Agatha had noticed that Rio was different the first week she met her. She noticed that she wore basically the same outfit every single day – green polo shirt, dark slacks, green converse, hair in a loose bun, adorably big glasses that were always sliding down her nose – and didn’t take to sarcasm very well. 

She was very literal in her language and interpretations. 

She had a self-imposed meal plan that Agatha had memorized within a month.

Fridays are salad days. Rio likes simple garden salads, which she constructs with the kind of care Agatha imagines one uses to construct a house. Exactly seven cherry tomatoes, ten cucumber slices (six if they’re particularly thick that day), three scoops of the chopped up lettuce (sometimes four), and a small helping of spinach leaves.

And four avocado slices.

Agatha had taken to constructing herself salads on Fridays, as well, if only to have an excuse to be in Rio’s vicinity. She doesn’t get too close, knowing how skittish Rio typically is, but she has watched this routine for the entire time she’s been at the school.

She finds it absolutely fascinating . And adorable.

And she’s actually quite happy that it’s become her routine as well. She’s not as strict about her salads as Rio (though she always makes a Greek salad since they’re her favorite), but it’s nice to have a regular meal plan.

“Agatha?” Billy asks, waving his hand in front of her face, breaking her from her thoughts.

Agatha blinks at him, then scowls. “Don’t call me that,” she huffs. “I’m your teacher.”

“I said ‘Miss Harkness’ three times!” Billy whines. 

“Oh, did you?” Agatha asks, casually. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“So, are you going to ask her out?” 

“Who?”

“You know who!”

“Ugh, stop whining, Twink,” Agatha huffs.

“Why can you call me Twink but I can’t call you by your actual name?” 

“Because,” Agatha says, with a wave of her hand. “Why would I ask her out?”

“Because you like her!” Billy says. “And she likes you!”

“What?” Agatha’s blue eyes widen and narrow in on him. “Says whom?”

“It’s kind of obvious, don’t you think?” Billy raises one of his bushy eyebrows. “I mean, she’s always blushing when you’re around, and she avoids eye contact and stutters a lot. But, like, only around you. I’ve been in her class: she never stutters that much during class.”

“That doesn’t mean…” Agatha looks away, thinking as a blush floods her own cheeks. “Why does she run away then? Can you tell me that, Wise Relationship Guru?” She looks him in the eye again. “Why have I never had a normal conversation with her?”

“Because you’re both dumbasses,” Billy says, boldly. He takes a five out of his pocket and places it into Period 8’s jar. “Respectfully, Ma’am,” he adds at the look Agatha gives him. “There’s a reason that the term ‘useless lesbian’ exists. One of you has to make the first move, and…I really don’t think Miss Vidal is going to be the one to do it. She seems kind of timid.”

Timid is putting it mildly. It’s why Agatha had approached her slowly with an avocado slice and a plant joke in hand at lunch. She had hoped that she could maybe invite Rio to sit with her (in the quiet of her classroom rather than the auditorium this time) and maybe actually get to know more than just the adorable little lunchtime quirks she’d been observing over the last four years, but…

Well, Rio bolted. Again.

Agatha tried not to take it personally, but of course she did.

“Maybe I’ll ask her to have lunch on Monday,” Agatha murmurs, half-heartedly. On Mondays, Rio brought in a sandwich from home (turkey, swiss, and pepperoni), sliced strawberries, blueberries, and a packet of goldfish crackers. She bought lemonade from the cafeteria. It was a cute little lunch. Agatha typically got a wrap from the sandwich line in the cafeteria. She always tried to catch Rio’s eye in the cashier line, but Rio typically avoided her gaze. 

Agatha frowns as the thought comes to her.

“Maybe not,” she says. “I really don’t think she likes me, Billy.”

“She does,” Billy insists. “And you don’t even have to wait until Monday to prove me right. She’s still in her classroom.”

“What?” Agatha asks, wrinkling her nose. “Why is she still here on a Friday afternoon?”

“Why are you still here on a Friday afternoon?” Billy retorts. “Go. Ask her out. Stop being a useless lesbian.”

“Don’t call me that, Twink ,” Agatha huffs. Then she frowns. “What if she says no?”

Billy shrugs. “You’ll never know the answer to a question you never ask,” he says.

Agatha frowns at him. “Get that Plato shit out of my classroom.”

“Jar,” he says. 

Agatha reaches into Period 8’s jar and moves a dollar to Period 5.

“Happy?” she huffs, grabbing her purse from her desk drawer. “Now get out. I have to lock up for the weekend.”

“See you Monday, Agatha!” Billy says with a grin as he rushes out of the room.

“Stop calling me that!” Agatha calls after him, but he’s already gone. “Fucking twink,” she huffs, but she’s grinning, butterflies in her stomach as she starts for the science wing.

Rio rued the day she ever became a teacher.

It’s not like she doesn’t like her job or her students, but some of them are just so…ugh! 

She’s not about to call teenagers dumb. She’s better than that.

But one kid actually wrote that a plant’s food was Sun Chips once and she’s half-certain that he wasn’t joking. 

Genetics isn’t faring any better if today’s test grades are any indication.

There’s a knock at her door and she sighs, shaking her head.

“No retakes,” she says, firmly. “All test grades are final. I’ll post the extra credit assignment for this quarter on Google Classroom on Monday.”

“Ooh,” a familiar voice says from the doorway. Rio’s head snaps up. “Extra credit?” Agatha Harkness coos, grinning at her. “What, pray tell, does that entail?”

Rio swallows thickly as Agatha steps into the room and perches herself on one of the student desks, tilting her head at Rio, waiting patiently for…something. Rio isn’t quite sure what. An answer to her question?

“Punnett squares,” Rio says, clearing her throat. “They have to calculate the probability of being born with their exact genetic traits using, ahem, Punnett squares.”

“Fascinating,” Agatha says, sounding genuinely interested in what Rio has just said. “And how do you do that?”

“It’s pretty easy,” Rio says. “You just make a square with four smaller squares inside, and you put each of your parent’s traits outside the boxes.” She stands and turns to the blackboard, drawing a Punnett square. “For example, my dad has brown eyes, like me, and my mom had green eyes, which are recessive, so I would use an uppercase ‘B’ for the dominant brown-eyed gene, and a lowercase ‘g’ for the recessive green-eyed gene…”

She writes two uppercase B’s on the top of the larger square, then two lowercase g’s on the left side.

“Then you just kind of…” she cross-matches the B’s and the g’s until all four squares are filled with ‘Bg’ and then turns around, motioning to her lesson.

“So then there’s no chance of your or any of your siblings having green eyes like your mother then?” Agatha asks. “Since the dominant brown is present in all four squares.”

“It’s not one hundred percent guaranteed,” Rio says, pushing her glasses up her nose, “but more than likely a parent with two dominant brown-eyed genes will not produce a child with recessive blue or green eyes. Hazel might be a possibility, though. It doesn’t matter because I don’t have siblings. Or hazel eyes.”

“Are you sure?” Agatha asks, pushing away from the desk and approaching her. Rio, for her part, just furrows her brow in confusion instead of moving away, her curiosity outweighing her panic for once while she’s none the wiser.

At least not until Agatha is right in front of her, looking directly into her eyes, face just inches away. Lips just inches away…

Rio had honestly never thought about kissing Agatha Harkness before in the four years she’d known her. She’d always been too panicked by her presence, flushed from her piercing blue gaze, too convinced that she was allergic to the other woman to think about the underlying reasons for any of it or the fact that she had very pouty lips.

Her eyes flicker down to Agatha’s lips a couple of times, which she knows Agatha sees because she’s looking directly into Rio’s eyes and now there’s that lopsided grin on her face, though she doesn’t comment on it as she backs away.

Finally.

Rio is somehow both happy and sad about it.

“There are flecks of green and gold in your eyes,” Agatha says, breaking Rio from her thoughts. “But they are still brown, I guess. A very beautiful brown.”

“Thank you,” Rio replies, clearing her throat, her cheeks warming up. She can feel the blush in her ears. It’s hot and uncomfortable. She tugs at the collar of her polo.

Agatha just smiles at her, looking down at the ground as if shy.

She’s never seen Agatha Harkness get shy before.

It’s endearing. It makes her heart do a stupid little flip in her chest.

The hypochondriac in her thinks she may be having a heart attack, but that’s ridiculous. She knows now that that’s ridiculous.

It’s just a crush.

A crush that she’s been staring at for a full twenty seconds without saying anything, she realizes as Agatha continues to stand there, wavy brown hair framing her beautiful face as she stares down at her own shoes. 

It’s not like Rio hadn’t ever noticed how beautiful Agatha is before, but it just feels… different now to notice now that she’s aware of her own feelings for the other woman.

She’s never had feelings like this for another woman. She never thought she was capable of feelings. 

She knew what sexual attraction was and that she only felt it for women. She didn’t think romantic attraction or feelings were something that she could experience. She had been in relationships and they had all ended because her partners knew that she wasn’t capable of emotions like that. 

But Rio tried . She tried so hard to love the women she was with. But none of them made her feel even a fraction of what Agatha is currently making her feel and she’s not even looking at her.

“Agatha?” she asks, her voice soft and choked. She clears her throat when Agatha doesn’t seem to hear her. “Agatha?” she says, a little bit louder.

Agatha looks up. “Yeah?” she asks. Her voice is quiet and soft and the look in her eyes…Rio doesn’t recognize it, but it makes the butterflies in her stomach multiply.

“Do you…have you been flirting with me?” Rio asks, blunt as she’s always been. She usually tries to filter it, learning early on that a lot of people don’t like it when she asks such straightforward questions. 

Her mother had said it was rude.

Agatha never seemed to mind it, though.

“For about four years,” Agatha responds with a grin. “Glad you finally noticed.”

“Lilia told me,” Rio says, and Agatha snorts.

“Well, it’s nice of her to finally share her observations,” Agatha says. “I haven’t been all that subtle about it.” She furrows her brow and twists her face a little. “Well, I thought I hadn’t, anyway. I figured subtlety might be lost on you.”

“It would be,” Rio confirms. “It was.” She clears her throat and scratches the back of her neck. “Sorry.”

“No problem,” Agatha says, with a smile. “At least you know now. How do you feel about it?” Her voice and face are both hopeful. That, at least, Rio can tell quite easily.

“I…” Rio clears her throat. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

Agatha’s eyes widen and her hands go up as if in surrender. “Oh,” she says. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea that I–”

“No!” Rio says, feeling her heart rate pick up. “No, no, no. That’s not what I–” She takes a deep breath. “Usually, I am better at speaking clearly,” she says. “I pride myself on it. I…I just meant that…” She swallows, thickly and closes her eyes, trying to find the words as she clenches her fists. 

Once. Twice. Three times.

She opens her eyes and Agatha looks very confused, but she is still standing there. That’s good.

“My heart races,” Rio says, “whenever you’re around. And my throat feels tight, like I can’t breathe or speak intelligibly when you’re in front of me. My entire body feels really hot, and I know that I’m blushing really bad because I can feel it in my ears.” She swallows thickly. “And Lilia tells me so all the time.”

Agatha chuckles at that, but not in a mean way. More like she’s…charmed? It’s a kind, understanding smile that she gives Rio. 

She nods for Rio to continue.

“It’s been happening on and off for four years now,” Rio says, “so, naturally, I thought I may have an undiagnosed allergy to something. I thought it was environmental, so I’ve been checking things like my soap, my cologne, my shampoo, my detergent, all of the plants and the chemicals in my office and home, and even some of the food I eat, but…nothing. Nothing really changed. So then I started trying to see if it was something else at the school. I read some studies about allergies in medical journals and found out that you can develop allergies to certain…people.”

Agatha’s eyebrows knit together at this. She tilts her head in confusion.

“So,” Rio says, “I started mentally cataloguing every time I would have these…flare ups to see what the common denominator was.” She takes a deep breath. “And it was you. The entire time, it was you. Every single adverse reaction I had happened when you were in my vicinity. So there was a clear correlation there, in my mind…” She swallows thickly.

She watches as Agatha’s brows furrow more deeply in confusion, then the realization of what Rio is saying slowly takes over her face, her crystal blue eyes widening, her lips changing from that little confused pout to a widening smile, though she can tell that Agatha is attempting to suppress it.

“Wait…” Agatha says. “Did you…did you think that you were allergic to me?”

“The article I read,” Rio replies, “said that allergies can develop against another person’s soap or shampoo or pheromones or–”

“My pheromones ?” Agatha lets out a cackle. “I’m sorry!” she says immediately. “I’m not laughing at you, but I just…really? You didn’t think it could be anything other than an allergy? To me .”

“It was the most logical explanation at the time,” Rio defends, flushing. Despite Agatha’s words, it very much feels like she’s laughing at her .

“How was that the logical conclusion?” Agatha asks, her laughter getting harder. “Sorry, sorry!” she says, holding her side with one hand and placing her hand over her mouth and nose with the other. “Did you not think it could simply be, I dunno, feelings ?” She lets out a snort that Rio finds both adorable and frustrating.

She does not like being laughed at.

“I don’t do feelings!” Rio blurts, then clamps her mouth shut.

Agatha’s laughter slows down and she wipes away a few mirthful tears as she takes a step toward Rio, furrowing her brow.

“What do you mean?” she asks. “I know you have feelings, Rio. I’ve seen that adorably happy smile whenever they have broccoli and cheddar soup on Wednesdays.”

“It’s the superior soup,” Rio grumbles, looking down at the toes of her Converse.

“Agreed,” Agatha chuckles. “And I know you get sad when they don’t have the clam crackers you like.”

“They go really well with the soup.”

“Again, agreed,” Agatha says, with a soft smile. “I know you have feelings.”

“That’s…not what I meant,” Rio says, blushing. “I meant…I’ve never had a crush before.”

“Really?” Agatha asks, her voice little more than a gasp. “Never?”

Rio shakes her head. “I’ve known sexual attraction, of course,” she says. “I’ve been with women. I was with one man – experimenting in college; it did not go well.”

“Gross,” Agatha says, nodding.

“Exactly,” Rio replies, feeling herself smile. “But relationships…crushes…feelings…I’ve never been good at them. Ever. I thought it was because of my autism.” She avoids Agatha’s gaze at the revelation, but after a moment of silence she looks back to see that Agatha’s gaze isn’t judgemental – or even really surprised. She’s just waiting for her to continue. “But I can feel love for my parents,” she says. “I can feel love for my friends and my cousins. I feel affection for my students. I just couldn’t feel love for a romantic partner, not in a way that felt…right.”

“You figured you were aromantic,” Agatha says. It’s a statement, not a question.

Rio nods. “You know what that is?” she asks.

“I thought I was aromantic when I was a teenager,” Agatha explains. “Well, first I thought that I was broken because I didn’t get crushes on the ‘cute’ boys in our school like my friends did. I tried really hard. I picked a ‘cute’ boy and pretended I had a crush on him and talked about why I liked him with my friends, wrote about him in my diary so that my mom would find out because I knew she read it, and she was really the one I wanted to convince, but…” She shrugs. “I couldn’t make myself like them. And I could not even entertain the fact that I could be a…lesbian. Not with how my mother was. So I started researching it on my own and found out about asexuality and aromanticism. I figured that was me and I was okay with it.”

“What changed?” Rio asks.

“Same as you,” Agatha says. “Experimenting. There was a girl in my senior year in high school. We were friends before that because I was…well, I was kind of emo, actually.” She snorts, shaking her head. “I liked doing theater, but I didn’t interact with a lot of my castmates. Except Carol.” She smiles wistfully at the memory of somebody long gone. “She was my first everything. First love and all that. Then she left and…well, she let me know I wasn’t fully aromantic. I figured I was demiromantic, but then I did some experimenting in college and well…” She blushes, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m also not very good at relationships, but I don’t think I’m aromantic.”

“What was that other one you said?” Rio asks. “Demiromantic? What does that mean?”

“That you have to have a close bond with somebody in order to feel romantic attraction to them,” Agatha says, as if reciting from a textbook. “I thought that was me for a long time. I never had particularly strong feelings for sexual partners, but I did get crushes on some friends in college. I flirted heavily a lot , but it never went anywhere. I didn’t want to ruin things because, like I said, I’m not great at romance.”

“I disagree,” Rio says, suddenly. 

Agatha blinks up at her. “Really?” she asks. “Why?”

“Because you’re very kind and caring,” Rio says. “And you’re good at romantic gestures.”

“Because I flirt with you all the time?” Agatha laughs, tilting her head. “Rio, that’s not really the entirety of a romantic relationship, you know that right?”

“The coffees,” Rio says, ignoring the hypothetical. “You give me one every morning.”

“So?” Agatha snorts, her cheeks turning pink. 

“So, you learned my coffee order,” Rio says. “I’ve never told you. And you drink tea, not coffee.”

“How did you know that?” 

“Because I watch you, Agatha,” Rio says. “Just as closely as you watch me. And I see the tea bag sticking out of your cup or mug when you walk by my classroom every single day.”

“You’ve seen me?” Agatha huffs. “Why haven’t you ever said anything?”

“I thought I was allergic to you,” Rio retorts. “I wasn’t going to get close and risk an attack.”

“Good Goddess,” Agatha giggles, covering her face with a hand. “Billy was right: we really are useless.”

“Okay, rude,” Rio huffs.

Agatha laughs and snorts, then covers her nose, blushing as she shakes her head. 

“That’s a cute laugh,” Rio comments, smiling softly at her.

“Ugh, no it is not,” Agatha groans. “I hate it.”

“I really like it,” Rio says, and her voice is so honest, so earnest. She wants Agatha to know that she’s being so genuine right now.

Agatha smiles shyly and looks down.

“Thank you,” she says, clearing her throat. “So, what else?”

“Hmm?” Rio asks.

“What other ‘romantic gestures’ have I apparently made over the last few years that you apparently didn’t notice until just recently? Enlighten me.”

“The avocado,” Rio says. “Today, at lunch. You knew that I liked exactly four in my salad, so you gave me four. And you did it so casually, like you’ve thought about doing it a lot.”

“I have,” Agatha confirms. “For nearly four years now.”

Rio smiles at that, swallows thickly. “And that doesn’t scream romantic to you? That’s the same thing my father would do for my mother every time we went to a potluck or a barbecue. He knew exactly what she liked and made her a plate or gave her something he knew she loved off of his own plate without even asking.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t even realize that I liked you until that exact moment, to be honest.”

“Because of an avocado slice?” Agatha chuckles. “ That’s what did it?”

“I don’t take social cues very well,” Rio reminds her. “I need things to be spelled out very plainly for me. I need logical explanations for things. I had already come to a conclusion about myself and I’m not great with change. So as far as I was concerned, all of these things added up to…allergy.”

“To me?” Agatha snorts again, but she doesn’t try to hide it.

“To your perfume, more likely,” Rio says. “Or your shampoo.” She holds up her arms, which still have the bandages on them. “I’m doing an allergy test.”

“Is that what that is?” Agatha asks, giving her a wide-eyed look. “Oh, thank god, I thought you got hurt or something.”

Rio feels her face flush at that, and she swallows thickly. “You were…worried for me?” she asks.

“Of course,” Agatha snorts. “You have bandages on your arms. Why would my immediate thought be ‘oh, she’s probably just doing an allergy test; nothing to worry about’?”

“It does seem kind of silly now that you’ve said it aloud,” Rio murmurs.

“It’s quirky and adorable,” Agatha says, taking another step forward, a wide smile on her lips. “But how…don’t you need samples of the thing you think you’re allergic to to do an allergy test?” Agatha asks.

“Oh,” Rio says, blushing more profusely now. “Um…about that.”

“Tell me later,” Agatha says, taking another step. She’s only about a foot away from Rio now. Rio wonders how she’s gotten so close without a spike in her heart rate or her throat closing. She doesn’t really care because that just confirms Lilia’s theory and completely debunks Rio’s.

And Rio is very okay with that.

“So,” Agatha says, “you like me.”

Not a question.

“I do,” Rio confirms, swallowing thickly.

Okay, there it is. But she’s certain it’s not truly a response to allergens this time. It’s just…Agatha. And feelings.

“And I like you,” Agatha says. “Very much.” 

That shy smile is back and Rio feels her knees go a little weak, which is new.

“And I came in here today…well, I wanted to know if you’d like…to grab coffee or something.”

“I can’t,” Rio says, shaking her head. Agatha’s face falls. “If I drink coffee now, then I will never get to sleep tonight.”

Agatha’s shoulders sag in relief and she laughs. “Get decaf,” she says.

“What’s the point of that?” Rio huffs.

“Hanging out with me?” Agatha huffs back, raising one eyebrow.

“Oh,” Rio says, eyes widening.

“ Oh ,” Agatha mocks playfully. “For such a smart person, you’re really slow on the uptake, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” Rio says, pushing her glasses up her nose. “A few times, actually.” She clears her throat. “I won’t have coffee,” she says, “but I would like to sit with you while you do, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it is,” Agatha chuckles, reaching out to play with the collar of Rio’s shirt. Her touch, even through a layer of clothing, makes Rio’s entire face go red.

This, in turn, makes Agatha give her a wide, toothy grin.

“Maybe,” she says, her voice a little softer, “we can get coffee tomorrow morning.”

“Sure,” Rio says, clearing her throat. “Do you know a good place?”

“Of course I do,” Agatha says. “It’s called ‘My Kitchen’.” She bites her lip.

Rio tilts her head like a confused puppy. “ My Kitchen ?” she echoes. “That’s an odd name for a… oh .” She blinks a couple of times while Agatha bites her lip. “I would have to get there pretty early if we’re going to have coffee.”

“Or,” Agatha says, “you could sleep over tonight.”

“Oh,” Rio says, clearing her throat, “do you have a spare bedroom? I can’t really sleep on a couch.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Agatha groans, placing her forehead on Rio’s shoulder, her hand still tugging on her collar. “Rio, please ,” she huffs, her hot breath against Rio’s neck making Rio shiver. “ Work with me. I am trying so hard to flirt with you right now.”

“By inviting me over for a sleepover?” Rio asks. “Just so we can have coffee in the morning? That just seems inconvenient.”

Agatha pulls back just in time to catch Rio’s smirk disappearing as she adopts a bland expression. “You’re fucking with me,” she accuses. 

“Not yet,” Rio retorts, then her entire face goes red. “Shit, sorry. That was crass.”

But Agatha is snort-laughing against her shoulder. “No,” she says. “That was great! ”

Then she does something that Rio hadn’t been expecting: she pulls Rio in by the collar and kisses her. Hard.

And Rio, for her part, doesn’t waste a second in kissing her back. She knows how to do this. She’s good at this – or so she’s been told. From the moans and sighs Agatha is letting out, she assumes that she hasn’t been lied to.

Agatha’s hands cup Rio’s jaw, softly placing pressure so that Rio tilts her head for a better angle and Rio’s hands wrap around Agatha’s wrists, like an anchor, as their lips move against each other. Agatha teases Rio’s bottom lip with her tongue and Rio immediately opens her mouth on instinct, moaning when Agatha’s tongue invades it.

When they pull back (after several long moments), they’re panting for breath. Agatha places her forehead against Rio’s, their noses brushing as they both attempt to catch their breath.

“So,” Rio says after a long moment of just holding Agatha’s wrists, her thumbs rubbing over her pulse, which is thrumming only a little quickly now, “about that sleepover…”

Agatha snorts and steps back, but only far enough to look Rio in the face with a big smile and a sultry lip bite. Her hands leave Rio’s cheeks, running down her arms until she can link their hands.

She turns, tugging Rio after her, barely giving Rio the chance to grab her messenger bag from the floor and shut off the lights on their way out.

On Monday morning, Billy and Eddie are sitting on one of the benches in the back of the school, between the field and the faculty parking lot, just relaxing before the school week begins. Billy’s head is on Eddie’s shoulder, his hands cupped around a steaming latte in the early morning chill.

“So,” Billy says, “we should probably go over the plan again.”

Eddie groans, his head rolling back. “Can’t you just leave those two poor women alone?” he says. “They don’t need us interfering in their love…lives…”

Suddenly, he’s sitting bolt upright and is staring off to the left, Billy frowns at him, furrowing his brow at his boyfriend. “What?” he asks, following Eddie’s line of sight. “What is it?”

His eyes almost immediately find Agatha’s orange Subaru Crosstrek as it pulls into a space nearby. His eyes then find the person who gets out on the passenger side and he nearly drops his coffee as he sits ramrod straight.

Miss Vidal is laughing as she sips her coffee, her messenger bag slung over her shoulder as she shuts the door and meets Agatha at the hood of the car. Agatha is smiling more widely than Billy has ever seen her smile before as she wraps her arm around Rio’s waist, pulling her in and…

“DID THEY JUST K–MFFH!” 

Eddie covers Billy’s mouth with his hands, glaring down at him.

“Shut up,” he hisses. “You’ll spook them.”

Billy shoves his hands away. “They’re human women,” he huffs. “Not wild horses.”

“Just as majestic, though,” Eddie sighs, placing one hand over his heart. “Look at how sweet and beautifully gay they are.” He sticks out his bottom lip.

“Yeah,” Billy sighs, looking back at them. “They do make a cute couple.”

Agatha has her face pressed to the collar of Miss Vidal’s polo (pastel green today) and their free hands are holding each other, fingers interlocked. Miss Vidal brushes a few kisses to Agatha’s hairline before pulling away and tugging her in the direction of the school, neither of them seeming to care about the students and faculty members that stare after them and their romantically linked hands.

Nobody says anything to them except for Ms. Calderu.

“Mazel!” she calls at them as they pass by her. 

Miss Vidal flushes and walks faster as Agatha lets out a loud, snorty laugh, picking up her pace to keep in line with her…girlfriend?

Whatever they are, Billy decides, it’s adorable.

“Told you they didn’t need our help,” Eddie murmurs as he slings his arm around Billy’s shoulder, pulling him back in to continue their pre-school cuddle.

“I guess not,” Billy says, taking a sip of his latte, smiling knowingly.