Dr. Mel King enthusiast

“You’re the one who said I shouldn’t use your stuff,” Mel shrugs, as though that should end this discussion.

Frank takes a deep breath and counts to five. She’s not trying to be stubborn, he reminds himself. She genuinely doesn’t see an issue with this.

“I only said that because it’s stupidly expensive and designed for short men’s hair, not for hair with your texture!” Frank wishes he could go back and stop himself from ever bringing this up. He can pay out the nose for them both to use the stupid shampoo and conditioner Abby turned him onto. (Maybe he could ask Abby for a recommendation for what Mel should use? No, they’re probably not there yet. Or are they? Is this how they get there?)

“Also,” he adds, just thinking of it, “how does it conserve resources? You’re still going to use the same amount, it’s just whether it’s a product that’s already in my apartment or not.”

“It’s 2-in-1,” Mel replies. Her tone implies this should be obvious. “Ergo, only half the amount is used.”

He turns into the parking lot and knows his time to make an argument about this is rapidly dwindling.

“Mel, please let me take care of you. You have gorgeous hair and deserve to smell like whatever beautiful thing you desire, not hypoallergenic dog shampoo and conditioner.”

Admittedly, it’s mango scented and actually smells pretty nice, but Frank doesn’t need to bring that up right now.

“You’re the one who left it in the shower,” Mel mutters, but it sounds more like she just wants that noted on the record, not like she’s trying to argue. “But fine. If you buy shampoo and conditioner for me, I agree to use it.”

“Thank you,” Frank breathes, relieved.

Even four months into dating, she continues to astound him.

He is glad he knows that this kind of conversation is purely about logistics for her, not some obscure and indirect way to panic about commitment or their relationship. They’ve shared a budget spreadsheet since two weeks after their first kiss—actually, to be precise, Mel shared a budget spreadsheet she made specifically for them, with categories like ‘Bunny!,’ ‘Treats for T&P,’ and ‘School Supplies (KEEP RECEIPTS FOR TAXES),’ which Frank dutifully updates every three days. Mel’s already compiling resources for finding their new place when her lease is up in the summer.

“It was my turn to be a movable object,” she says, somewhat nonsensically, before flashing him her pinky, index finger, and thumb, the ASL sign for I love you, and exiting the car.

Movable object, he ponders, trailing behind her as they enter the building and swipe in. He loiters while she talks to Emma for a minute, finalizing their plans to come to the soccer game later in the week, and he has to stop himself from interrupting when he thinks he has it.

“Do you think we take turns being an unstoppable force so the other person has to decide to be a movable object?” he asks in a rush once they get into the classroom. Mel shoots him an unimpressed look. “I know we’re at school, but that’s not explicitly about—” He lowers his voice to a whisper, even though they’re alone in the room. “—our relationship.”

“Yes,” Mel answers, probably sensing that he won’t drop it, and Frank wishes she would let him kiss her at school, even though he gets it. (Really. He does.) “Now please let me focus on this IEP.”

Frank obediently shuts up, mentally rewinding their recent moments of friction and trying to identify who was the unstoppable force and who was the movable object. They really do switch off, don’t they? What a nice idea.

Frank uses the time to file some of the papers from the week so far in their new system for “extra copies” up at the front: separate boxes with hanging file folders, each tab labeled with a different assignment and each box labeled for the classes taught in the room. He continues to be the only issue for the system, since he hasn’t broken the habit of randomly leaving the extra copies in places around the room instead of adding them to their folder, but he’s getting there. (Thank God for Mel King, a phrase that will never become old or less true.)

They’re starting the intro to phase changes today, which means tomorrow he gets to light stuff on fire. He loves lab days because they make him feel like a mad scientist, dorky safety goggles and all. Science is so cool.

Their first period this year is a huge change from their first period last year, mostly because they’re all sleepy as hell. Frank may or may not delight in sneaking up behind kids who are “just resting their eyes, I swear I’m going to do the work” and startling them. Today is Jaydeen’s turn, who elects to go get water to help wake himself up, which Frank thinks is a wise choice.

The room has naturally split along the aisle, the window side vibing more with Mel and the door side working better with Frank. Mel’s usually monopolized by the trio of Lindsey, Angie, and Genesis, who are all very sweet, very quiet, and very confused. Genesis once told Frank that he’s “way too much to handle this early in the morning,” which made Mel look sympathetic, so he tends to steer clear of them.

His side of the room has the ELL crew, Rui and Josue and Maria G and Maria P and Yelitza, and Frank has to work on not spending too much time goofing around with them. Rui’s Spanish is way better than his English, and Frank’s Spanish is way better than his Portuguese (even though he’s almost on Day 400 of Duolingo!), so there’s a lot more Spanglish than the Porglish or Portunhol that Frank had been preparing for. It’s a dangerous place for Frank because they’re incredibly good at distracting him without trying.

(This week’s flavor of distraction: Spanish tongue twisters, aka trabalenguas. They’re impossible. He’s been stuck Par-ang-uar-ee-coo-ti...something something? God, he knew it yesterday. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t even mean anything or that it’s just a place name or something?)

“Mister, ayudáme,” Josue calls when Frank straightens up from helping Sam. “No entiendo.”

"Mister, ayudáme,” Maria G interjects, slapping a hand over Josue’s paper and shoving hers in the air.

“I will help whichever of you remember either of your teachers’ names first,” Frank says. They stare at him for a moment and he sighs. "Yo...ayudo? Ayudaré! Ayudaré a cualquier de ustedes que recuerde primero un nombre de alguno de sus profes.”

They keep staring at him blankly. He gestures between himself and Mel, who’s bent over the desk by Angie, nodding intently at whatever story she’s being told. Maria G darts a hand into her backpack, searching for her ID, while Josue squints at Frank.

“Mister,” he says, finally, like that’s the answer.

“Mi nombre no es ‘Mister Mister,’” Frank says incredulously. Josue shrugs, as though he gave it his best.

“En serio?” Yelitza asks, frowning at the other two. “Nos lo dijo ayer y el lunes.”

Frank doesn’t even remember reminding them of his name yesterday or Monday, but he’ll take her word for it. Maybe by November they’ll be less surprised that he expects them to know this at all.

“Mr. Lang-done!” Maria G cries triumphantly, and Frank gives a sarcastic round of applause.

“Josue, dime el nombre de la otra profe cuando yo termino con María,” Frank instructs, and Josue scrunches up his nose in distaste, reluctantly digging out his own ID to see the schedule on the back.

(Frank only realized a couple of weeks ago—six weeks into the school year—that literally none of his ELLs knew his or Mel’s names or any of their other teachers’ names except Ms. Perez, the ELL coordinator. He’s made it his mission for them to learn them, mostly because it boggles his mind that they don’t. Not even Rui! And Frank’s his coach!! For almost two whole seasons!)

It turns out that Maria and Josue have the same question, anyway, so he ends up helping them at the same time (after Josue mutters an embarrassed “Ms. King”). The rest of their corner is in good shape, which makes Frank feel amazing, because not only are kids learning Chemistry in class today, but they’re learning it in two languages. Isn’t that so cool?

“Mister,” Maria P interjects as he starts to walk away, spotting that Desiree and Cara aren’t even pretending to do their work. “Trabalenguas.”

Frank winces. They’re going to be so disappointed in him. He tries his hardest to remember the nonsense word, but only gets halfway, slowly, and they all groan when he peters out.

“Repeat after me,” Maria P says very seriously, staring at him with one hand raised, ready to direct. “Parangaricutirimícuaro.”

“Parangarycu—”

“No,” Maria P cuts in, disappointed. “Repeat. Gah-ree. Gahree. Parangaricutirimícuaro.”

“That’s just, like, 0 to 100,” Frank sighs, rubbing one hand against the side of his face. He should practice this tonight. Like, for real practice it, not just try to make Mel laugh with how bad he is at it.

Maria P stares at him expectantly.

“Parangarycutiririmeecuaro,” Frank says, as fast as he can. Rui claps, but Josue lays a hand on his arm and shakes his head. Rui drops his hands and adopts a very serious expression. Still not there.

“Ok, voy a practicar, pero ahora necesito enseñar,” Frank says, backing away, and both Marias shake their heads sadly at him, as though his job should be to learn trabalenguas from them instead of teaching the other twenty-odd students in the class about chemistry.

Desiree and Cara are still deep in conversation when he gets to them, heads bent close together.

“She has yellow dog fur on the back of her sweater,” Desiree whispers to Cara.

“So?”

“Remember his intro slide? He has a golden retriever or something.”

“She could have her own dog,” Cara says, unconvinced. “Or a cat? She kind of seems like she might like cats.”

“Ms. King definitely prefers dogs,” Frank says, and he has to swallow back the laugh that threatens to burst out when they both jump.

“Oh! Uh, so do I!” Desiree says, shoving an elbow into Cara’s side like that could possibly improve their current circumstance.

“Yeah, same,” Cara agrees, nodding rapidly. She seems to realize something and widens her eyes in fear. “But cats are cool, too, I didn’t mean it in a bad way—”

“So does Ms. King have a dog?” Desiree asks, interrupting what would have probably been a pretty entertaining spiral.

“In a sense,” Frank says, thinking of the sleepovers he and Bunny have at the King apartment, the way Mel’s factoring in local dog parks and vets into the spreadsheet about where they should live. The girls stare at him in confusion, which he enjoys, before he remembers he’s supposed to be teaching them something.

“Do you need any help with the practice problems?”

They shake their heads, wide-eyed, and turn to the worksheets in front of them. Desiree looks back up at him after a second, like she just can’t help herself, and he’s already delighted by whatever she’s going to say.

“So...are you and Ms. King...like...together?”

He raises his eyebrows and stares in silence until she coughs uncomfortably and turns back to her worksheet, pretending to write something down. He walks away, smirking, and listens to the whispered conversation that resumes when he’s a few steps away.

“Dude.”

“He didn’t say no, right?”

“He definitely didn’t say no.”

He’s looked through it once or twice, mostly when his students have been talking about it and he’s curious about what started a fight, but it’s super depressing and bleak. People say the meanest shit about each other behind the shield of anonymity, and he hates thinking about any of his students participating in it.

This post isn’t so bad, though.

It’s a little pathetic that he’s encouraged to see it written as though it’s mutual, and he tries to remind himself that high schoolers should not be trusted to understand cues about romantic relationships. He’s pretty sure Jason hasn’t even asked Kira out, even though they’ve been flirting in increasingly obvious ways for months. It’s actually kind of painful to watch.

Frank takes a deep breath before diving into the comments.

He reads and rereads and rerereads it, heart pounding, which is so fucking dumb. What do fifteen year olds know about love? What do any of them know about Mel, the most wonderful yet enigmatic person in the world?

He doesn’t really want to click any of the profiles, but it’s easy enough to connect most of the usernames to his students: Jason, who has absolutely no business talking about Frank staring given how he zones out at Kira, Jesus; Shaylia, who...he might need to avoid for a couple days, because yikes (but also...really? He’d hoped that Mel would maybe check him out in the stupid Ken costume, but she didn’t even look at him, instead suggesting that he could have changed at school or lied to Tanner and Penny about the costume, none of which really read as behavior associated with liking someone’s arms); Reef—which Frank had naively assumed was just a nickname for Chareef, and seeing the -er added in his username makes him feel like an idiot—who seems to have no idea what’s going on, which checks out, just as a general way he moves through the world; Kennedy, who Frank has never seen before school, so that’s a little unnerving, but she loves Mel, so he’s going to take the lack of insults towards him as tacit approval; Malcolm, who...Frank is probably also going to need to avoid; Max, who is so totally into Mel, which is what Frank’s been saying since, like, October, and honestly could probably say much worse things, because Frank is, admittedly, both pretty thirsty and a white boy; Aaron, who Frank honestly didn’t think cared about either of them; Terrance, who is Terrance; Kevon, who is apparently more observant than Frank gave him credit for.

He’s kind of relieved that Kira and Kayla haven’t chimed in, since they’re fucking wild cards at best, intentionally provocative at worst.

He returns to Terrance’s comment, which is so quintessentially Terrance that it warms his heart. He does, of course, remember the day Terrance is talking about, back when Frank was slowly coming in earlier and earlier to steal extra time with Mel without being obvious about it. (If that Frank could see him now, carpooler extraordinaire!) He should probably remember it as the day he finally won Terrance over, but it’s coded in his brain as The Day Mel Touched My Thigh, so. Priorities.

It’s really sweet to see Terrance’s earnest contribution to the discussion, Jason’s immediate encouragement. And hey, Frank agrees: it would be nice if they were in love!

He feels like an idiot, staring at the stupid things random kids have said about him and one of the most important people in his life (and Santos, Jesus Christ), especially with the arrival of that little swell of hope between his ribs that he keeps noticing, when their eyes stay locked just a little too long, when she laughs harder than he expects at something he says, when she smiles at him for doing something that most people would find annoying. If this many people, dumbasses though they mostly are, think there’s something there, it can’t all be in his head, right?

His main takeaway shouldn’t be that he might have a chance, but Frank hasn’t gotten this far in life (divorced before thirty-five, just barely a year clean after multiple attempts at rehab, disappointment of his dad’s fuckin’ life) by having good takes, has he?

He’s still buoyed by that little bubble of hope the next morning, mentally preparing for the shitshow that first period is sure to be. He hates amnesty days. It always makes him wish he had a better system (read: any system) for storing extra copies of old assignments, and he feels like a pinball getting sent from student to student, all of whom seem to have forgotten how to do everything they’ve ever learned. He hates not giving students chances to make work up more, though, so he’ll muscle through, especially with the promise of his prep with Mel on the other side.

Mel’s pretty focused on IEP report cards when he gets to school, so he tries to get his shit together without annoying her too much. He responds to a few emails from parents, confirming the AP Chem homework for spring break—which he hates doing, but the AP test is too close not to, ok, and they’re the ones who even chose the class in the first place—and quadruple checks that he has the reservation entered in the facilities site for the practice AP test next month. It sucks that they’ll have to stay until almost 7 to take it, but all the advice says making students sit for a practice test in its entirety is important, so here they are.

(He honestly can’t decide if he hates or loves teaching AP Chem. It’s so much fun some of the time, diving into more depth on the material with students who genuinely want to learn about it, but it’s also such bullshit. It doesn’t really matter whether he likes it or not, though, since something he’s doing is working, and Gloria loves passing AP scores.)

First period is the tornado of noise and confusion and annoying but earnest questions that Frank expected. Max is in one of his space cadet moods, so Mel is effectively out of commission, glued to his side until he finishes his quiz. (Which, Frank would like to note, took most students fifteen minutes, max, but Max is still plodding through it after almost thirty. Mel has the patience of a saint, truly.)

He’s just finishing with Jaz when he notices Terrance and Mel heading towards the office. She looks meaningfully at Frank and nods towards Terrance and the office, and Frank wonders what private concern could be troubling Terrance the day before break. Her shrug at his check-in isn’t exactly confidence-inspiring, but he tries not to let that distract him too much as Jaz asks another question.

Most students have either wrapped up or given at this point, since the inherent flaw of amnesty days are that the students with the most work to make up are also the students who do the worst without structure, but it could be worse. At the very least, everyone except Max finished the quiz, so they’ll be able to enter that before break. Actually, Frank should probably check in with Max, since Mel is gone, huh?

“How’s it going over here?” Frank asks, sitting down on the stool Mel vacated and looking at Max’s paper. He’s almost done, halfway through the last problem, but he’s also staring pretty intensely at the tree outside the window. Its buds are a hopeful light green, a welcome dash of color after a winter of bare branches.

“What’s your favorite season?”

Frank blinks. Not what he expected, but sure, why not. “Probably fall. I like the beginning of the school year, cooler temps, our soccer season. You?”

“Winter,” Max says, sounding a little sad. “It’s nice that the earth is taking a little time to rest, y’know? We should, too. But I guess it’s time to wake up.”

Frank has such a hard time reading this kid, but that’s half the fun of teaching. Kids are so fucking weird. It’s awesome.

“I haven’t thought about it like that. I’d love to hear more when you’re done here.” Frank taps the paper in front of Max, who turns back and blinks like he’d forgotten where he was.

“Oh, yeah. Ms. King said she’ll be excited to grade it when she’s done talking to Terrance.”

Frank bites his lip as Max picks up answering the problem where he left off. It’s so embarrassing that he can relate to a student’s crush on Mel like this: knowing that Mel is excited about something he’s supposed to do sounds like the greatest motivation on earth.

The rest of the class is unraveling a little, Kira and Kayla practicing some TikTok dance at the front of the room (sound off, so Frank is fine letting it slide), and Eli and David may or may not be copying Shawn’s Spanish homework, but there’s only so much Frank can do to reign the chaos in on the day before a break.

“Done.” Max pushes the paper towards Frank and turns back to the window. Frank starts looking it over, pulling a green pen out of his pocket to grade it, but Max slaps a hand over it. “No, Ms. King said she would grade it.”

Frank raises his eyebrows. Really?

“Ok, I didn’t know it was that serious, sorry,” he apologizes, holding his hands up. Max withdraws his hand, still squinting suspiciously at Frank. Frank can’t help what happens next. “Too good for this world, huh?”

Max crosses his arms, still squinting at Frank. He drops his eyes and slowly scans Frank, feet to head, as though he’s cataloguing Frank’s chinos and Vans and Pittsburgh Federation of Teachers shirt and finding it severely lacking. He shrugs when he meets Frank’s gaze again, dropping his arms.

“I said what I said.”

The absurdity of that statement coming from a sixteen-year-old boy wearing SpongeBob pajama pants, Crocs, and a neon pink beanie that says GoDaddy on it is almost too much for Frank, but he keeps a straight face and nods solemnly.

“Respect,” Frank says, holding his fist up, and Max grudgingly fist bumps him.

“Mr. Langdon, since everyone took the quiz, you should be in our TikTok,” Kira calls, as though that makes any sense, but honestly, why the hell not?

He leaves Max to his cloud gazing and meanders up to the front of the room, wondering what Mel and Terrance can possibly be talking about. He notices Shaylia watching him as he passes her and shivers a little. There are some things he’s really, really not supposed to know about his students.

It’s only when he and Mel are letting the battery charge that he realizes he hasn’t looped Charlie in. Much to their father’s chagrin, Frank has been useless with cars his whole life, while Charlie (who hasn’t even owned a car in a decade, since she moved to New York) is some kind of car savant. Or, again, just really confident about using the internet to research things.

His phone rings immediately, and he feels stupid for not seeing it coming. He tries to get out of Mel’s hearing range before answering.

“Hey Charlie—”

“What dumbassery have you gotten involved in this time, Frankie?”

Frank sighs. “No, I didn’t do something dumb. I’m helping a friend.”

“Yolanda should have other lesbians to consult, not this game of telephone. If she wants my number—”

“Shut up.” Why did he think Charlie would be helpful, again? “I have friends other than Yoyo.”

“Oh my God, is it Mel? Is Mel there?”

Frank checks to see if Mel’s listening. She’s staring at him pretty unabashedly, so he lowers his voice. “Ok, yes, it’s her, but—”

“Does she know that you’re friends?”

That’s so dumb. Charlie knows he actually listened to her advice about that, even though he hasn’t updated her on their name conversation from the morning. Jesus, he feels like a middle school girl, texting his friends every time he talks to his crush. What a terrible look for him, especially since there’s no way he’s going to change.

“We’re friends, Charlie! Did you call just to bully me or—”

Charlie launches into a detailed explanation of how car batteries work, then, which is unbelievably boring, but he tries to retain the main points: make sure to check the dash when it turns back on, leave it running for at least 15-20 minutes, preferably going highway speeds for part of it, and get the battery checked out ASAP, either with a mechanic or by using a multimeter, which he should be able to get at most hardware stores.

“But don’t fuck around with a multimeter because you’re trying to impress her,” Charlie orders him just as he’s trying to end the call. “Her car and peace  of mind are way more important than you trying to flex non-existent car skills, ok? Call me if you need another consult, although that might come with a tax.”

Charlie hangs up on him, which is just rude, but she did help a lot, so it balances out, probably. 

It shouldn’t surprise him that he ends up calling her back in the parking lot of the Ace Hardware, especially since he’s already accepted that this will somehow end in his embarrassment. Charlie was right, though, that he shouldn’t fuck around with Mel’s car, so he only feels a little chagrined as he hits dial.

“If it isn’t my favorite baby brother,” Charlie answers, already smug.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re going to make me pay, whatever. Listen, the guide says that you should leave your car off for an hour or the read might not be accurate—”

Charlie switches into helpful mode, talking him through why it might say that and why the reading he’s getting is probably fine anyway.

“You should test it again in the morning, if possible,” Charlie tells him as he shuts the hood. “But yeah, I think it seems like the battery is working. The lights were probably left on overnight or something.”

“Amazing, thanks!” Frank rushes out, as though he can avoid what’s inevitably coming next.

“Not so fast, buster.”

“What does that even mean?” Frank mutters rhetorically. Charlie, as expected, ignores him.

“In exchange for the generous donation of my time towards your hopeless cause, I think I should be allowed to say hi to Mel.”

Frank groans. “No fucking way. You’re going to say something embarrassing and it’ll be a whole thing, I just know it.” 

“Ye of little faith,” Charlie tuts. 

“This is an overpayment,” Frank tells her, rounding the car but not opening the passenger door yet. “Mel’s time is priceless.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re so gross,” Charlie groans. “Just let me say hi. I promise not to say anything weird.”

Given that Charlie lives with her ex-girlfriend and has a tattoo of boobs on her ankle, Frank doesn’t put a ton of stock in Charlie’s definition of weird.

Mel startles when he gets back in the car, clearly in her own little world of grading. She seems a little nervous when he tells her about Charlie’s demand, and he suspects her reasoning of why it’s not fair is probably different than his own, but at least neither of them agree with Charlie, and that’s what counts.

(Sometimes he can feel himself mentally regressing to his middle school self when he talks to Charlie. Other times he worries that’s how he always is, but talking to her just makes him aware of how annoying he actually is.)

He puts the phone on speaker and braces himself.

“Alright, Charlie, behave.”

“Hi!” Mel says brightly, voice betraying none of the nerves or confusion on her face. “Thanks for your help!”

“Hi, Mel,” Charlie starts, and Frank realizes he didn’t even set any ground rules. Amateur hours. “What’s Frankie like as a teacher?” That could be worse. “What’s the most embarrassing thing he’s ever done in your classes?” He could have expected that one. He’s probably already told Charlie most of his embarrassing teaching stories, though, so he’s not sure what she expects to hear. “And are you dating anyone?”

Jesus Christ, Charlie. This is why Langdons can’t have nice things.

He hangs up as fast as he can, since he’s sure it can only get worse from there, and he’s relieved that Mel latches onto the Frankie of it all instead of asking something like why did your sister ask me about my love life, something you have never done? Do you speculate wildly about it to her?

He ignores the way his phone keeps buzzing throughout dinner (because he’s with Mel eating food outside of school!!), more focused on figuring out ways to bump his foot against hers without being weird about it. She makes a point of handing him the receipt, even though she’s the one who paid, so he tosses it for her as they pass the trash can on the way out. 

She drops him back at his car, both a little relieved that Bert started totally normally after dinner, and he feels a little like he just tricked Mel into going on a date with him. At the very least, he can pretend that other people might have thought that, probably all clocking the fucking cartoon hearts floating around his head every time he looks at her.

He finally checks his phone as he walks Bunny.