Chapter 24: Ezra - Entities to Lovers

I’m not supposed to have a favorite student.

I know what it’s like to have teachers who don’t care. For me, it was math and science teachers who didn’t care how good I was at English or history if I couldn’t hack it in their class—and it sucked. I try not to do it in my own class, but the curly-haired blonde doodling on a Post-it Note in the back row is making it hard to uphold that oath.

I’m supposed to be focused on the in-class discussion at hand, but I’m focused on her. The kids are doing fine and displaying at least a mild interest in the Stamp Act. I’m mostly grading them on whether they participate and if they’re trying or not. I can daydream about my girl for a few seconds longer.

In fifteen minutes, class will end and I’ll have to go to my evaluation meeting. Rory’s set to hang in the hallway while I meet with Dr. Belmont, and that’s the one comfort I have going into it. I’ve been queasy since I woke up because I’m not sure what to expect.

Of course, the easy answer is hoping I get hired back and have a job next semester, but there’s a nagging sound in the back of my head telling me I deserve more. Strangely enough, it comes to me in Rory’s voice.

“So…yeah,” Kate Reagan finishes. “I don’t have any more questions. I think the stamps really set the colonists off.”

I step away from the desk I’ve been leaning on.

“You know, Kate, I think you’re right,” I agree. “That’s a nice stopping point, so I’ll give you guys a few minutes of your life back. Nice work today. Great discussion. I know the Stamp Act isn’t as exciting, but it was important. I promise we’ll get spicier next week.”

The kids pack up their laptops and bags and scurry toward the door. I don’t blame them for wanting to get out of here. The department-approved curriculum leaves a lot to be desired. Maybe if this meeting goes well, and Dr. Belmont sees the kids are pulling decent grades, he’ll let me experiment a little more.

“Remember,” I remind them. “There’s a reading for Thursday. Pages are on the syllabus and Canvas page.”

The class filters out, with only my favorite student hanging behind.

“Ahem.” Rory clears her throat. “Professor, do you do office hours?”

I look up from shuffling my papers and sliding them into my backpack. Rory rises from the back row and meets me at the desk. It’s also ill advised to have illicit thoughts while on the job, but she makes it really hard. Today, she’s got her hair up in a messy bun; she’s wearing a pair of thermal leggings and a big cozy sweater with little birds on the front.

“Only if you want to come meet me in the dining hall,” I tell her, crossing my arms. “You know, because I don’t get an office.”

“Maybe next semester,” she reassures me with a warm smile. Rory grips my tie and pulls me into a kiss now that we’re alone. I embrace her and let her take away all the nerves bubbling in my stomach. Unfortunately, nothing’s broken this curse (as evidenced by an ill-fated solo run to CVS for batteries this morning), so we’re still trying to figure out what the hell Temperance wants from us.

“How do you feel?” she asks me as I pack up my laptop.

“Okay, I think.”

Truthfully, I’m still struggling with if another semester at Revere would grant me anything but security. The longer I spend with Rory, the more she looks at me like I matter, like I’m leaving my mark, it makes me wonder if I’m leaving my mark here.

It was why I went into teaching in the first place. To make kids feel special the way Ms. Drake made me feel special. I wanted to encourage them to follow their dreams and show them the value in their own skills like she did for me. But when I can’t even stray from the boring old path because some stuffy old guy says no? What am I succeeding at?

“Your kids listen to you,” she tells me. “Even when the topic is boring.”

“You’re telling me you’re not wooed by the Stamp Act?” I jest.

“Yeah, nothing gets me going faster than colonial stamps.”

“Don’t kink-shame, darling,” I say in my Royce accent.

Rory blushes and rolls her eyes as we migrate into the hallway and toward the stairs. My meeting’s across campus in one of the library study rooms. Dr. Belmont didn’t even want to meet in his nice office. I hope that’s not a bad omen.

“We’ve got everything set up for Hayden and Hallie on Friday,” she announces as we step onto the quad. “Wi-Fi guy came today. Tour bus is all booked out for them and the film crew. You’re available to come do that tour with me, right?”

Delia planned for Rory to do the tour, because she could offer her medium insights while they filmed. And if we’re not cured of our curse, I have no choice but to come, too, but I want to be there anyway. I know putting herself in the spotlight isn’t easy. If it’s any help whatsoever to not have to face it alone, I’m there.

I know she doesn’t need me, so the true bonus is getting to watch her shine.

“Of course. I can even practice some new jokes, just for you.”

Rory laces her arm through mine and rests her head against my shoulder. “Don’t push yourself too far, Professor.”

I stop walking and face her. We’re in the middle of campus and there’s always a chance one of my students could see us, but what do they care? They’d be bewildered a nerd like me could pull someone this gorgeous.

I brush Rory’s curls out of her face and kiss her forehead. She leans into it with pure comfort, and I feel like I’m doing something right here.

She stands on her toes and meets my lips for a simple peck. Her mouth tastes like sweet, caramelly coffee and cinnamon from the pastry we split on our way over here.

She pulls away—eyes closed, smile teasing, blissfully happy. Because of me. I didn’t know I could do that. Each glimpse of happiness she shows me makes me feel light and warm, and I want to do more. I drop my hands to hers, and toy with the sun and moon ring on her finger, making her blush harder. I’m about to lean in for another final kiss when her phone rings.

Rory grumbles and fishes it from her jacket pocket.

“Hey, Mom,” she says. “What’s up?”

I check my watch. I still have ten minutes before I meet with Dr. Belmont, and god knows he won’t be on time. I nod for us to keep heading toward the library as Delia prattles on the other end, but then Rory’s expression shifts.

“What?” Rory gasps. “The radio? Did you try unplugging it?” She pauses, listening. “It…asked for me?” Her voice turns cold, and her eyes are full of dread. I can only assume we’re talking about a spirit. I think of what she told me back in Maine. When she was little, a spirit attached itself to her and tormented her for weeks.

It made her think she was anything but magical and smart and fantastic. It planted seeds of doubt in each brave thing she tries to do. I’ve never wanted to fight a spirit so badly before. Not even Temperance.

Even worse? It finds her when she’s happiest—like right now.

Through the phone, music blares in a full cacophony, and Delia shouts over it all. “Rory, it’s making everything in the store go wild. I need your help.”

“Mom,” she argues, looking to me. “I can’t.”

If this spirit is wreaking havoc on the store, she does need to go. Delia needs someone who can speak to that spirit and calm it down. The only person for the job is Rory. But doing so means leaving me here—leaving me to face my meeting alone—and god knows what’ll happen.

Temperance told us to be afraid and separating us now has me very afraid. Of what’ll happen to Rory when we part ways, of what it means for my evaluation. I have no idea what this rogue spirit could do to the store—to Delia, to Rory. But Eddie told us we’d have to make a choice.

“Shit, Rory,” I tell her. “I think this is it.”

“Mom,” she says into the phone. “Let me call you back in a second.”

Music blasts through her phone speaker and the line goes dead. I think Rory knows what I’m going to say, but her posture is resistant and her breathing quickens.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“Eddie told us we were going to have to make a choice, one that scared us. This whole time, we’ve been staying together to keep each other safe, but what if we have to face the things that scare us alone?”

“Ezra, you can’t seriously think this is a good idea.” She should be letting go of my hands and agreeing, but instead, she’s holding on to me harder. “We both have enough on the line. I butt-dialed 911 when you ran to get batteries for my remote. We can’t risk this when you have your evaluation.”

“And we can’t risk something going sideways at the store on our busiest week of the year. I can’t blow this meeting off, and you’re the only person who can talk to spirits. I think this is our choice. We need to choose the thing that scares us. I need to face this meeting alone, and you need to go help your mom. It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Be afraid,” she recalls, rubbing her hand over her face. “Ezra, if I leave and something goes wrong…”

I don’t have a confirmed answer, but if the challenge here is to take risks—this is a big fucking risk. I like to think I’m a passable teacher (by Dr. Belmont’s standards) and so low on the payroll that no one’s thinking enough about me to fire me, but with Rory across the city? God only knows what could go wrong. I am deeply fearful, and based off Rory’s shaking hands, so is she.

“I think we need to take that gamble. We’re going to have to eventually if we want to break this curse.”

She tenses and thinks it over, but this is our shot. We have to take it. And if I’m right, we won’t have to worry about the ramifications. Even if we do…there’s a part of me that can’t let anything happen to the store. I can’t let things go south for Rory’s shoot on Halloween, and we have packed tours every night this week. A spirit unleashing hell on the shop will cost major financial losses for the store. I care about the shop more than I should because they’ve made it a safe place I call home.

“Rory, please go,” I urge. “Help your mom. It’ll be okay. Remember, we’re supposed to be afraid.”

She squeezes my hands. “Okay.”

“I’ll meet you back at the store as soon as I’m done, all right?”

She nods. “Good luck.”

We’ll both need it. Rory kisses me one more time, knotting her fingers in my hair and making this one mean something. I let go of her hand and wait for that moment of lightness Eddie described, some sign we’ve done it. But there’s nothing. Maybe there won’t be proof. I’ll just know.

I bolt across campus to the library and step in two puddles, leaving me with wet socks, and miss every crosswalk by a split second, with no room for jaywalking. It’s not reassuring me I’ve broken this curse, but I’m also rushing. I’m not being the most cautious.

I arrive just in time. The first win is that Dr. Belmont is late, so he’ll never have to know I sprinted halfway across campus. I’m hardly even sweaty, so—win number two.

Dr. Belmont’s figure finally appears in the doorway. He (a) looks like he doesn’t want to be there and (b) has not a single hair out of place in his mustache, which could have its own zip code. He’s wearing a thick sweater vest, white button-down, and checkered tie. He is the dictionary definition of a professor, while I know I’m not. Between the earring, the tattoos, and the less than traditional style, I don’t look like I belong in academia, but I care a lot. God, do I care. My credentials and a shining interview got me this job, but there’s always been a part of me that felt like an outcast here. Teaching at Revere was never one of my bucket list items. I’d love to end up at a more accepting university, get more specialized, or teach more interesting classes. But as a twenty-nine-year-old with a mountain of debt, I can’t be picky, and I hope I’m doing the best I can.

Dr. Belmont takes the ergonomic spinning chair I left open for him.

“Mr. Blackwell,” he says, gruff and unamused—already. He sets his leather-bound notebook in front of me. I feel like I’ve been pulled into the principal’s office.

“Afternoon, Dr. Belmont. How’s your day going?”

“Fine.”

Nothing else. My god, this man has the charisma of a corkboard. An undecorated corkboard.

“So, I’d love to talk about how things are going this semester. Hopefully next semester, too,” I begin. It might be presumptuous, but if he’s going to stare at me over his rimless glasses, I should do something.

“Ezra, you’re not going to like this, so let me get out with it. No need to pretend.”

Oh god…

“The history department is making cuts next semester and as the new head of the department, I’ve been putting together a curriculum plan and determining who might take on those classes, and there isn’t a place for you in that roster.”

“Sir, I don’t…”

I’m not even getting evaluated. I figured maybe we could at least talk about how I’ve done this semester. The past two eval meetings I had were boring, with some snide comments about sticking to the curriculum, but clearly, I was fine enough to keep around. This year, there’s no discussion, just…

“We’re laying you off. As I’m sure you know, teaching positions are in high demand and low supply, and as we craft the future of the department, we have to look at what we want to represent. I want adjuncts who will stick to the curriculum we’ve planned and not veer off in their own directions—”

I knew this was a possibility, but somehow, the reality feels so much worse. I’ve spent my whole career feeling like I was falling behind, and this was my first step ahead. It was my first teaching job and I put fucking everything into it, within my capabilities. My kids do well. Even Lil Tater stopped falling asleep every Thursday (recovering from whatever Wet Wednesday is) because he’s growing more interested in the course.

I’ve stepped out of line here and there, but even then it was the most boring possible rebellion. I’d ask students to bring me a story they found when researching that they’d never heard of or found cool and we’d talk about it. I gave extra credit points if they took pictures of themselves at stops on the Freedom Trail we discussed. These were small things I could do to make them engage more, but apparently…I suck at that, too.

“Dr. Belmont, with all due respect, the students seemed far more engaged when I let them explore the topics they were interested in. When I gave assignments straight out of the textbook, they shoved the answers into AI and fed them back to me. Sure, maybe it’s technically correct and in the curriculum, but are they even learning?”

“That’s for me to decide,” he argues.

I deflate. I’m being laid off. I’m being laid off by a guy who doesn’t give a shit if the kids like the subject or not. He’s exactly the kind of teacher that made me hate things like math or science because I wasn’t immediately good at it, who cared more about what number I ended up with than how invested I got. He’s going to do the same damn thing to this department.

Dr. Hugh Belmont isn’t even laying me off in his own office. He’s doing it in one of the quiet study rooms with a standard-issue wooden table. It smells like stale coffee and his overpriced cologne, which he probably only wears because it’s overpriced.

“Look, Ezra,” he huffs. “We do appreciate your obvious enthusiasm for history, but here at Revere, we don’t subscribe to this new alternative way of teaching where professors get to do whatever they want. We’re a college, not a hippie commune.”

“We’re a liberal arts college,” I assert. “Aren’t we supposed to embrace diversity and independent minds?”

“Within reason.”

“That’s not very liberal.”

“I’ll pass that up to the dean.” Dr. Belmont clears his throat. “We’ll of course let you finish out the semester, but come the end of the term, we do not have a position for you here at Revere University, Mr. Blackwell.”

There’s no “I’m sorry” or “We’re sad to see you go,” because they aren’t. They’re just letting go another expendable adjunct professor who didn’t fall in line or deliver. Because if I know anything about myself, it’s that the people who matter will always tire of me, or quit on me long before then. As much as I wish I could blame Temperance and being on my own, I fear even more it’s another primary source in my long history of not being worth anyone’s effort. The fear now is how far this catastrophe will ripple out.

My first thought goes to Rory. Rory, who smiles at me like I mean something, who challenges me because she knows it’s a valiant fight, who sees value in me and my skills. Even Delia, who tells me I’m the best external hire they’ve ever made. Over the past week, I’ve seen myself in a much better light. I saw myself as someone who could be loved, who could find a partner just as difficult and determined as I am, who doesn’t need me to have the highest job title.

But what if that’s just because things are good now? What happens to us if I can’t find another job, or she realizes it’s embarrassing to have a boyfriend who wasn’t even good enough to be an adjunct to freshmen? The idea of Rory quitting on me, too, is scarier than anything else. Even that imaginary pain makes me want to shrivel up and disappear.

“I…” I begin. “I understand. Thank you, Dr. Belmont. I do appreciate the time I’ve spent here,” I say. It’s not fully a lie. I do appreciate the job and what I’ve gotten to learn here. I do not appreciate him as a supervisor, though.

“Make sure to finish off the semester strong,” he advises.

“I will…”

I’m not sure I can do anything strong, now more than ever.