“What We Do In Life Echoes In Eternity”

This wouldn’t have caused alarm to his students in normal circumstances, because their teacher has always been a little cheerful. Even more when he’s talking about topics that interest him, topics in his field of specialty. But the way he was smiling recently? It was different.

They would know. They’ve observed numerous victims with the same stupid lovesick smile—their classmates, kids from the lower grade, even their parents. It has been the subject in conversation a few times, used as evidence against kids who swore they didn’t have a crush on that person.

And their dear Science teacher? He had that stupid lovesick smile on his face if they’ve ever seen one.

Whispers immediately erupt mid-activity.

"Holy crap."

"What?"

Kevin lowers his voice. "Look at Mr. Grace."

The few rows of students behind him immediately turned their attention to their teacher, who was innocently sitting at the desk in front of them, staring at his phone while waiting for them to turn in their activities.

Oh, and he was smiling, alright. Grinning. Like a total idiot.

"Is he texting someone?"

"He has to be. It’s a girlfriend. Trust me, I know these things."

This prompts a few more students to maneuver their attention from the worksheet on their table to Ryland, who still remains unaware, thumbs moving across the screen of his phone.

And, if it wasn’t already obvious, his smile stretches a little more. Until, he abruptly locks his phone and places it in his jean pocket. “Alright, let’s—”

His hands are in the air, mid-action of a clap, but he freezes in place when he catches almost the entire class staring at him.

“Why are we staring?” Ryland turns around to check if there’s something behind him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion before he looks back at his class. They all have the same knowing grins on their faces, but they choose to say nothing.

For now, at least.

Ryland really doesn’t know what’s in store for him.

“Alright, that’s time. Hand over your papers, and don’t forget about the quiz tomorrow about photosynthesis and the components of the plant cell.”

Ryland really doesn’t know what’s in store for him.

Since then, his students have taken to spying.

Their loser of a teacher couldn't possibly have met someone outside of school. Sure, Mr. Grace wasn't ugly. Some of the girls in class even had harmless little crushes on him. He was smart, too. Funny in a dorky sort of way. He had enough charm that, theoretically, dating shouldn't be impossible.

The problem was that he was still, in his entirety, Ryland Grace.

He wasn't exactly the type to walk up to a stranger and start a conversation. So if there was suddenly someone in his life? It had to be someone from school.

A breakthrough seems to happen in their research right before their eyes when lunch period rolls along a few days later, in the form of the teachers’ lounge that was a little visible from a certain part of the courtyard.

Fortunately for Olivia, she had been walking past when a certain Science teacher caught her eyes. She immediately summons her co-authors to sit at the table with a direct view of the window peering into the space their teachers lounge in during lunch break.

“Look, look! Don’t be obvious.”

Half the people at the table turn.

Olivia hisses. “I said don’t be obvious!”

But low and behold, there it was. Mr. Grace and you. Sitting together, and talking, and laughing, and sharing the same takeout food.

“Holy shit.”

“Dude!”

As if the evidence wasn’t incriminating enough, Ryland has the audacity to steal one of your potato wedges which earns him a smack in his hand by you. And the smile that follows. Oh, that stupid lovesick smile they had seen from a few days ago.

Everyone at the courtyard is losing their minds. “That was flirting!”

“That was absolutely flirting. Did you see the way he smiled at her?”

“Ms. (Name) is the one he was texting!”

“And the way she laughed at him, too?”

“We’ve cracked the case.”

Olivia shakes her head. “We need more evidence.”

You and Ryland having lunch together, like you always do even before he had confessed, had unknowingly catapulted their investigation.

Their next piece of evidence would go down in history as The Cardigan Incident.

Almost cemented in Grover Cleveland Middle School as a school legend.

It had been a quiet evening in your classroom.

Most of the students had already gone home, leaving the halls unusually peaceful. Outside the windows, the sky had faded from gold to navy blue, the last traces of sunlight disappearing behind distant buildings.

Inside, you and Ryland sat across from each other, grading papers.

It was almost routine by now.

Every few days, one of you would wander into the other's classroom after the final bell with an armful of assignments and a complaint about how middle schoolers somehow managed to invent entirely new ways to get questions wrong.

Tonight was no different.

Ryland was flipping through a stack of science quizzes while you worked through essays.

The silence between the two of you was comfortable. Always easy.

Unknown to the both of you, just a few doors down, a group of students had stayed late to prepare for an upcoming mathematics competition. They were just finishing up when they headed down the hallway to meet their waiting parents outside.

And they would've walked right past your classroom. Really would’ve, had someone not noticed movement through the window.

"Why is there somebody still in there?"

Everyone freezes at the question.

The classroom lights are on, but the hallway is dark enough that all they can see are vague silhouettes moving inside.

For one horrifying second, somebody whispers, "Is that the ghost everyone keeps talking about?"

They immediately start to back away from the door. “Oh, no no no no. I am not about to become school history.”

But of course, in a group, there is always one brave soul. One kid who volunteers to check again, rushing past his peers valiantly and squinting through the small glass panel to hopefully catch a glance of Grover’s Ghost.

He doesn’t expect what he sees. It’s the last thing he expects.

"...Wait, that's Mr. Grace. He’s with…"

Everybody crowds forward. "What?"

"Move."

"Let me see."

"Get your big head out of the way. Some of us want to see!"

Meanwhile, entirely unaware of the surveillance operation unfolding outside your classroom, you rub your hands over your arms.

The school's heating system had apparently given up hours ago, so it felt like winter had come early in the four corners of your classroom. With teeth clattering, you try to power through. Though, not without making an offhanded comment to your boyfriend. "It's freezing in here."

Ryland glances up from his papers, red pen mid-air as he immediately shifts his attention to you.

He always does that. Always invests all his attention when you say something.

"Huh? Did you say something, honey?"

You tug your sleeves down over your hands. "I think the school’s trying to save money again. It’s like, really cold. Freezing cold. Deadly cold."

Ryland laughs at your accusations.

“I mean, freezing the teachers is definitely cheaper than fixing the school’s heaters.”

"Of course we’re the sacrifice."

Another laugh bubbles up from his throat, shaking his head as he pushes his glasses further up his nose with one finger. He only turns his attention away when you return to grading your essays.

Or, at least he tries to turn his attention away, but he can see you rubbing your arms again through his peripheral vision and it just won’t do.

Without looking up for more than a second, he reaches for the cardigan hanging over the back of his chair.

Outside the room, several students stop breathing.

Inside the room, however, Ryland simply stands. And before you can understand what he’s doing, he drapes the cardigan over your shoulders, helping your arms catch the sleeves.

The gesture is so casual it almost seems like it’s been done so many times before. A hundred times even.

"Ryland."

"What?"

"You're gonna be cold."

He shrugs, smiling at you so softly that you feel something squeeze your heart, sit on your sternum, constrict your diaphragm. "I'll survive."

You pull the cardigan tighter around yourself.

It's warm, and it smells like him. Coffee and dry-erase markers and the soap you bought him for his birthday last year.

"Thanks."

Ryland offers a distracted smile as he returns to grading. "Don't mention it."

Outside the classroom, absolute chaos erupts.

"He did the movie thing."

"What movie thing?"

"The jacket thing! The thing where the guy gives his jacket to the girl he likes!"

A collective gasp sweeps through the group.

"Oh my God."

"Someone take a picture."

"I'm trying."

"Hurry up!"

"Zoom it in!"

“My camera won’t focus!”

Inside the classroom, Ryland circles a wrong answer in red pen.

Outside the classroom, an entire investigation gains enough evidence to sustain itself for a decade.

Ryland Grace starts to notice his students acting odd on an unassuming Tuesday.

He's halfway through collecting the day's activity sheets when he spots a cluster of students gathered around Rekha in the back of the classroom, whispering with the kind of intensity usually reserved for scientific breakthroughs.

Now, Ryland isn't one to stick his nose into other people's business. Still, the final bell rang five minutes ago, and if they don't start heading home soon, their parents are going to start wondering where they are.

"Okay," he says, making his way toward the group, "what's got you guys so busy back here?"

A chorus of startled yelps erupts.

Someone immediately tries to snatch the paper away.

Unfortunately for them, Ryland catches it in his hand, and takes quite a long glimpse before it disappears from him.

He was, however, able to read:

Evidence:

(1) Smiling like an idiot.

(2) Shared an umbrella once.

(3) Eating lunch together.

(4) He carries her bag.

(5) The cardigan incident.

(6) Kevin swears he saw her fixing his tie last week.

(7) Said "good morning" to Ms. (Name) three times.

The students scatter, and someone throws the piece of paper in the trash. And within seconds, they're grabbing backpacks, muttering excuses, and practically sprinting out of the classroom.

Ryland blinks after them.

"What was that about?” He mutters more to himself than to anyone.

He assumes it's harmless gossip. Some kid probably has a crush, and the rest of them are playing detective.

Then a single word catches in his mind.

Tie.

No one wears a tie to school.

Ryland is already dismissing the whole thing when he passes the narrow glass panel in the classroom door and catches his reflection.

His hand instinctively rises to the tie around his neck.

The tie.

The one you'd absentmindedly straightened for him last week before a faculty meeting.

Ryland freezes.

"...Oh."

A beat passes.

"...Oh, no."

Ryland Grace is afraid.

Well, he’s afraid of a lot of things—heights, conflicts, public speaking, anything that could cause a physical injury. And above all, thirteen-year-olds. Specifically, his thirteen-year-olds.

Because they definitely know something, and it’s definitely (ninety-nine percent sure) your relationship.

He’s started to notice it. The staring, the whispering, the suspiciously innocent smiles, and that damn piece of paper with their own list of evidence against him.

Unfortunately, today's schedule is doing him absolutely no favors. You and Ryland had been paired up to accompany your students to the planetary exhibition in your school’s hall. Which means that’s several hours of supervision, and several hours of being under their observation, their lingering stares, their whispers.

Kids are menacing, even more teens. And it seems he had been the chosen victim to their gossip.

“(Name), honey?” He asks. He’s still trying to find ease in calling you a petname, because he honestly still can’t believe you’ve reciprocated his feelings. That you’re actually his girlfriend. It’s so new on his tongue, but it’s a welcomed change.

“Yeah?”

The pressing matter returns to him, and he has to stay on topic. It’s only been a few weeks since you’d answered his confession. How does his students already know?

Ryland lowers his voice. "I think the kids know about us."

You blink, looking up from the stack of papers with attendance sheets you’d printed out.

"Really? How’d you come to that conclusion?”

“They stare.”

You laugh.

"No, seriously. They stare like they know something. Trust me, I know that look.”

Your smile widens, and Ryland immediately loses his train of thought.

(Which happens a lot these days. A lot more than he'd ever admit. It’s definitely because of you.)

"You know.” You say, leaning forward slightly. “If they do know, it's probably because you're terrible at hiding how much you like me."

His eyebrows shoot upward. "I am not. I think I’ve been pretty slick, actually."

"You carried my coffee, my papers, my bag, and my projector all on the same day."

"Those were all separate situations."

“All on the same day though.” You repeat.

"That's still not enough evidence." A stubborn look settles onto his face as he shakes his head in denial. “For a research to be substantial, you have to—”

You lean forward and press a quick kiss to his lips.

His argument dies instantly. His words are forgotten, and he doesn’t know what point he’s trying to prove anymore.

"...Okay."

Your smile turns fond. "Okay?"

"I don't remember what we were talking about."

A laugh escapes you. “Want another one?”

Ryland’s face brightens up at the suggestion, but before you can kiss him again, another teacher pokes their head into the room.

"Grace? We need help finishing the setup downstairs."

Ryland sighs dramatically, and then he whispers—not very quietly—"I'm... cashing my kiss in later."

You snort. "You make it sound like a coupon."

"It is a coupon. I worked hard to get it.”

Thirty minutes later, after he’d gotten the kiss you’d promised him, you and Ryland are leading your class downstairs toward the exhibition hall, and the whispers begin almost immediately.

You understand Ryland’s sudden hypothesis now, and when you turn to your boyfriend, he looks like he’s really trying to ignore them. Mostly because you know he wouldn’t know what he'd do if he acknowledged them.

And before you can offer him any form of support, the same teacher calls you for a favor. You quietly excuse yourself as Ryland stops the group just outside the entrance.

“Okay, rules.”

Collective groans erupt the hallway.

"First rule, no running. Second, no talking loudly. Third rule, no eating inside the exhibit area.”

A hand shoots up.

"What if I'm hungry?"

"You should've eaten lunch by now. It’s…3pm."

"What if I'm hungry now?"

“You can eat after the exhibition.”

The student mutters something about oppression. Ryland ignores that too.

"Alright. Fourth rule—"

His voice cuts off as his gaze trails off in the distance. Across the hall, you've just emerged from a storage room carrying a large box filled with 3D glasses for the exhibition.

The box isn't enormous. But it looks heavy.

Ryland watches you adjust your grip.

"Fourth rule..." He repeats absentmindedly, still watching the way you struggle with the box, still seeing the way you refuse to bother anyone else to ask for help.

The students watch him expectantly.

Finally, he closes his mouth. “Just, wait one moment.”

He turns around, walking away after telling them to stay in place. And the entire class watches as their teacher crosses the room and reaches you.

"You should've asked for help."

"I can carry it."

"I know you can."

Still, despite his response, the box is already in his hands.

You roll your eyes affectionately, and Ryland can only smile at you. That stupid lovesick smile.

"The kids are staring." You whisper, and his shoulder bumps yours. A small gesture, playful and instinctive. The kind of habit that’s between two people who have gotten used to being near each other.

"They are not."

The students are collectively staring, mouths agape as they slowly start to turn towards one another.

Several silent nods are exchanged.

A few fingers point.

Someone mouths “I told you” to someone.

Olivia can’t believe their hypothesis is correct.

Meanwhile, Ryland continues carrying the box as if he hasn't just abandoned an entire class.

Tomorrow, they decide, will be the day. Tomorrow they'll get answers. And they know exactly how to extract that information from their beloved Science teacher.

“Lava, lava, lava, lava.”

Fists are bumping their tables in a coordinated rhythm as Ryland takes out the small, round Earth plush from the corner of his classroom. And then it’s tossed in the air, and immediately it lands on Olivia’s hands.

“Which two organelles are found in plant cells but not in animal cells?”

“Uh, uh.” She juggles the knitted ball in her hands.

“It’s melting your hands, Olivia!”

She suddenly sits a little straighter, voice significantly louder as she says, “The rigid cell wall and chloroplasts for photosynthesis.”

“Oh! Give her a round of applause. That’s awesome.” He smiles, catching the ball in his hand as Olivia throws it back at him.

And as he does, he fails to see the knowing smirk on her face.

“Mr. Grace?” She clears her throat, and Ryland gives her his attention, thinking it’s a follow-up question of what he’d just asked.

"Are you and Ms. (Name) really together?"

Absolute silence greets the room, lingering in the air and expanding as all his students lean forward from their desks.

Their brilliant plan was commencing, and Ryland can only stare with dawning horror. And then he’s scratching the back of his head. “That’s… not a lava question.”

“You said you have to answer all the questions!”

“Well, then I pass.”

“You can’t pass!”

“I just did.”

“Lava, lava, lava, lava.” Everyone starts chanting again, and Ryland is already running a palm down his face exasperatedly. This cannot be happening to him. There is no way that this is currently happening in real time.

He drops his head back dramatically, stares at the ceiling for a moment the way all students do when confronted with a difficult question. And like he had told them several times, there really were no answers there, nothing of help.

“Why do you guys care so much?”

"Because you're our favorite teacher. And she's our favorite teacher too. And if you guys are together then it's like one of those crazy crossover episodes."

A girl near the front chimes in. “Soooo, are you guys together?”

They really have him cornered this time, and they know it. They had perfectly thought this plan through, because lava rules existed, and Ryland could never break one of his own rules. It’d set a bad example to the kids.

"Alright, fine."

The room becomes so quiet that you could almost hear swallowing.

Ryland sighs, thinking his life decisions through, thinks of a way out, and when no opportunity presents itself, he finally nods. Once.

"Yes."

The reaction is immediate, and the entire classroom detonates in comments, one over the other and some people have gotten out of their seats, one kid nearly topples over a desk, and Ryland can’t hear everything at once, but he can hear:

“I knew it!”

“Let’s goooooooo.”

“That’s what I said!”

“Dude, I told you.”

“Five dollars! Pay up!”

Oh, what would their parents say about betting on their teacher’s love life?

Ryland points at them. “Alright, calm down. Everyone back to your seats.”

And then his hand is up. “My hand is up.”

Kevin immediately sits, and the others slowly follow suit. But not without a few more whispers cleared out.

"We're happy for you!" Olivia suddenly says, and everyone is smiling and nodding their heads.

“Jesus Christ.” Ryland mutters under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Another hand rises.

It’s Rekha.

Absolutely not.

"No."

"You didn't even hear the question yet."

"I don't need to."

"But—"

"No."

"Have you kissed?"

The room erupts in screams, and Ryland is starting to get dizzy, and just when he thinks his whole life is about to crumble in front of him… the bell rings. And Ryland can see salvation. Beautiful, wonderful salvation, and he swears he has never loved a sound more in his life.

His students groan. For the first time in their lives, they groan at the sound of the bell.

“Class dismissed!”

"We were just getting somewhere." Rekha whines, but still, backpacks are gathered and chairs are scraped back to their spot, and his thirteen-year-olds start filing out of the room. And finally, the door closes and Ryland can finally breathe. He has been saved.

He really needs to modify the rules of the lava game.

A knock immediately sounds from the classroom door, breaking him out of his trance.

Ryland already knows who it is. And he needs you now more than ever, especially after the most stressful moment of his life.

You slip inside, balancing your bag and a stack of papers against your hip. “Hey.”

His arms are immediately peeling away everything you’re holding, and in record time, he has his arms wrapped around you. Ryland’s head is buried in your hair, glasses askew and all over the places, and his hands are linked around your waist.

“You okay there, Ry?”

“You have no idea what I just went through.”

A laugh slips out of you. “Aw. Were they bad today?”

“They contrived against me.”

Your expression immediately shifts into sympathy. “Oh, no. What happened?”

Your hands are running down his back, following a trail up his hair before settling back on his hunched over back. Rubbing evolves into light pats as you wait for him to tell you about his day, and you can feel the tension in his shoulders start to undo.

The late afternoon sun filters through the classroom windows. The building is quieter now that most of the students have gone home, distant voices and slamming lockers echoing faintly through the halls.

And then he finally pulls away, and you reach over and smooth down the collar of his shirt absentmindedly. And Ryland can only remember that damn piece of paper and the evidence against him.

He should’ve seen this coming.

“Can’t tell you yet. It’s a long story.”

"It's that bad, huh?"

"I got through it."

You grin. "Good. Because I was wondering if you'd want to grab dinner later. We could still go home and freshen up a bit, rest if you need. I’m sure Colt would like to know what the kids did to you today.”

The answer is immediate. "Yes. Let’s get dinner."

Everything else is ignored.

You laugh again, and Ryland thinks he would gladly survive ten more student interrogations if it meant ending his day like this.

A sudden blur appears outside the classroom door.

Neither of you notices. Then another. And another. And now a cluster of students who definitely should have already gone home crouches beneath the little window in the door.

Inside the classroom, you continue talking.

Outside, Olivia is standing on tiptoe.

"I can't see anything."

"Move over."

"You move over."

"Shhh!"

Inside, you turn your head curiously after hearing what seems to be whispers. "Did you hear something?"

Ryland freezes. A horrible realization slowly dawns on him. It’s never over. And as Ryland looks over at the door, it suddenly starts to empty as his students dive for cover.

A loud thunk follows and a few muffled "ow”s.

Ryland closes his eyes. "Let's get dinner."

"Okay? I thought we already established that.”

"Right now."

"Right now?"

"Immediately."

You laugh as he takes your hand and starts steering you toward the door.

The second it opens, six students scatter down the hallway like they weren’t just eavesdropping. And this time, they’re not slick at all. There’s tripping, and pushing over, and running as they try to escape.

And as Ryland buries his face in his hands, you stand there completely bewildered.

"...What was that about?"

Ryland looks at the ceiling. Wow! Still no answers up there.

"I have absolutely no idea, honey. I seriously have no idea."

And Ryland eventually tells you everything over dinner, and you can’t help but laugh.