Chapter Text
The kid transferred over from Eden Elementary, a dim star in the fog of San Francisco with a botany department the singular snake plant in the teacher breakroom would be jealous of.
With all new kids, there’s a time where the teachers worry– it’s full of the kid’s silence and glances at other friend groups like a fish singled out from the shoal. Then, there’s a break in routine from someone, or something new like a school trip or a new project which forces interaction. A new friend leads to joining in with their games and accidentally gaining the entire group’s approval.
It’s like the cafeteria itself takes a breath and even the 15yr old coffee maker works just a bit better.
Even still, Ryland keeps a certain eye on the newest of the bunch. The most recent before Harlow was Avery, and she’s rambunctious– full of energy and big emotions. That means every emotion was big, so he kept the door open for when she had too much to hold.
Harlow however, wasn’t neutral per se, but had such a good hold on his emotions– except for pick-up time.
It was a visible dullness, slanting down, and a sudden lack of pep. No “Bye, Mr. Grace!” like the other kids–he just grabbed his bag, walked to the black hatchback, and disappeared behind the backdoor’s tinted glass.
It was usually a lady with a blonde braid– Ava, he remembers from Harlow’s list of guardians. She was the silent type– almost government agency poster material.
So, it wasn’t anything disturbingly out of place, but just out of joint enough to pay attention when Harlow started running to the car the first time after winter break. It's a different person and a different vehicle (a truck, chugging along in the cold air) – possibly the other guardian listed: Simon Fischer.
Ava and the Man take turns (Ryland assumes as he only has pick-up duty twice a week), and it's soon to be February around the corner.
He continues to water the snake plant (wilted, yellowing from too much water), gives out small homework assignments (most of the class finishes them, a few late and unfinished, one not turned in), and starts to plan the next team project (marble coasters, handbuilt and as artistic as you can get in 6th grade science).
The pick-up routine continues, but Harlow slowly stops getting picked up by the woman. There’s much more running up to the pickup truck (various colors like beetle wings, red rust and blue paint) and smiles.
Something settles in his chest. No need to be wary anymore– this kid will be just fine.
–
“Mr Grace?” Harlow Fischer walked out of the science classroom, hands full of a towering project. “Could you help me get this to the truck?”
The experiments like volcanos of soda and egg drops were over, but building a marble rollercoaster was not. It was various papers (pink and green and white), cardboard tubes, tape (blue and scotch and pale white) and some hot glue and just a bit of something metallic. Was that aluminum tape and some electrical tape? Grace spied some graphing paper, sketched with diagrams of building projects, something with benches or garden beds used for the slides from pillar to pillar.
“Oh–” he moved and caught the side of the coaster before the fall to the linoleum flooring ate its integrity. “Of course, Harlow.”
“Got everything?” He waited for a nod–a small chin holding a different part of the paper machine for stability moved ever so slightly. “Alrighty, then.” Grace held his side of the bargain up as he grabbed and pulled the class door closed. Nothing more to do for today.
They moved with careful purpose, a world in their hands.
The blue Ford rumbled up, slowed at the loading zone and rested in park. One door opened and shut on the other side, and Mr. Fischer (he thinks, still has not confirmed) walked around (half up hair, slight wave, soft looking overshirt). He’d taken the scene in stride, swooped in, opened the passenger door and leaned the seat up so Harlow’s project could be set in the back.
“I’ll get that–” He took the marble coaster, gently set it inside, then set the seat back up.
Ryland shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet, then took a slight step away once he realized he didn’t have anything in his hands to excuse how close he was to the truck. Hands wiped on pants (what to do with his hands, where should they go?).
“Kay, kiddo, get in.” The man patted the top of the passenger door and shut it once the bag was thrown in and Harlow settled in place. “Thanks for your help–” a hand was held out.
“Oh, of course. I’m Mr. Grace–” He took his hand, warm and only slightly rough, and shook. “Ryland Grace, his science teacher. Uh, he’s been great in classes, good student.”
“Aw, great.” A smile emerged, making crows feet and lovely curves in his face. “Thats really good. Been a little worried, but he’s a great kid– knew he’d get there eventually.”
“Yeah. Of course. Um..and your name?”
“Simon Fischer.” Great. Good. Awesome.
“Simon. Good to know–” Ryland said, gesticulating with a finger gun, stepping away more.
Simon rounds the truck and opens his door, pausing before he gets in. With a tap on the hood, he starts. “Let me know if you ever need help with anything–” He gestures with a hand, then sets it back on the truck hood. “Harlow talks about school but never anything like school trips or class parties. I have a pretty flexible schedule, so I can help with events like that if you need it.”
“Uh.” Yes, please. Oh my stars, this is a teacher’s wet dream—Ryland always daydreams in the deep dark of the summer, before classes even start, that he will get a good set of parents alongside the kids that don’t nitpick or gossip or.. whatever. This is a rarer dream come true–a nice parent that volunteers to help with class events. “Well, we usually have a class party at the very end of the year, but the next thing is a school wide picnic. We uh, take our lunches outside on the lawn, or in the auditorium and watch a movie if its bad weather–”
“Oh, great. I’ll make sure to ask you for the dates next time I see you.”
“Yea– I’ll get those for you.” A nod, twisting of hands, never idle.
“Alrighty then. Have a good one Mr. Grace.”
The truck starts rolling, and Harlow looks up from his notebook (scribbles of eels and sea creatures in red marker, if Ryland remembers correctly), then waves violently through the window– stopping as they peel out of the lot.
Ryland twisted round on his heel and started back to the school buildings. Damn. Why did he feel out of breath?