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After the offering was collected, Pastor Tom took the stage and began his lesson. Mr. Connelly didn’t have a Bible, and while the verses were displayed on the screen up front, I shared with him. Another clichéd habit: when you see someone without a Bible, you share yours. I shouldn’t have, though, because when he leaned into me to get a better look at the page, I smelled his cologne. And it made me feel something I wasn’t supposed to feel inside a sanctuary. Or auditorium. Holy auditorium. Whatever.

“So it’s really about weighing options: what I
can
do versus what I
should
do,” Pastor Tom continued. “We have the will to choose. That’s how God designed us. Free will. Everything’s permissible. Go on and do it. But understand the consequences first.”

I inhaled deeply, almost tasting the cologne on my tongue, and wanted to rest my head on Mr. Connelly’s shoulder.

“Let’s read this verse again,” Pastor Tom said. “Paul says, ‘Everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial. Everything is permissible, but not everything is constructive’. So yeah, you can do whatever you want, right? Sure. But why would you do something that would ultimately harm you? What you really need to ask yourself before you engage in anything is, ‘Does this glorify God or me?’”

Mr. Connelly has nice lips.

“And why don’t we take it completely out of the “Christian” context for a minute,” the pastor went on.

I wonder what it would be like to kiss them.

“Whether you believe in God or not, whether you’re a Christ-follower or not, Paul’s words resonate with all of us. Ask yourself this: I’m permitted to do whatever I want, but how will it affect my life, my health, my relationships, my friendships, my community? Because whether you’re a Christian or not, those things matter. And unless you’re completely self-destructive, you want to live a healthy life. You want to have healthy relationships. You want what’s best for your community.”

What am I thinking? I can’t kiss my math teacher!

“So, in essence, that’s living ‘beneficial’,” Pastor Tom explained.

But maybe I
could
kiss him. Just a little.

You think that’s a good idea, Cadence?
I heard my conscience ask.
I mean, have you not been paying attention to the lesson for the last thirty minutes?

What lesson?

The lesson about not doing things you shouldn’t be doing. Like your math teacher, for one. Pay attention!
my conscience cried.

I shook my head and huffed.

I was only fantasizing,
I argued.

And that’s where the trouble begins.

Whatever,
I replied.

At the end of the lesson, we sang one more song. I didn’t sing any of the songs in the beginning of the service because I was too nervous being so close to Mr. Connelly. But I couldn’t resist the closing song, and sang along with the crowd, forgetting for a moment that Mr. Connelly was standing beside me until he mentioned my singing after church.

“You have a really pretty voice, Cadence,” he said.

“Thank you,” I replied, eyes glued to the floor.

“If there was a choir, you ought to be in it,” he went on.

“No choir here. This is a contemporary church,” I said, grinning.

“I gathered as much. And I suppose ‘contemporary’ defines a place of worship that, in no way, resembles a traditional church?” he asked.

“You got it,” I replied.

“It’s very sneaky,” he said.

I laughed. “Sneaky?”

“Oh yes. You make it look this attractive, and who can resist?” he asked.

I instinctively smoothed my hair. I knew he was referring to our church service, but the way he looked at me suggested he was really talking about me. It was that same look. The one from Highway 28.

“Mr. Connelly?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry for being rude to you in the office when I was cleaning out my shoes,” I said.

“It’s all right, Cadence. You were having a bad day,” he replied.

I shrugged. “I washed your handkerchief. Again. This time on the delicate cycle.”

Mr. Connelly smiled. “Cadence, you don’t—”

“
Please
take it,” I whispered, digging around my purse. I handed him the handkerchief, and he took it reluctantly. “If I keep it, it’ll only encourage more crying,” I said lightly. “I’m trying to stop crying so much.”

Mr. Connelly nodded. “I don’t mind that you cry into my handkerchief, Cadence.”

I wanted him to stop saying my name so much. I wanted him to stop being so kind. It bordered inappropriate, and I realized I liked it too much. I didn’t want to get used to kindness from a man who was supposed to be marginal in my life.

“Cadence? You ready?” Dad asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “Um, Dad?”

“Yes?”

I thought about introducing Mr. Connelly to my father, but quickly changed my mind. They already shook hands and spoke. Maybe Dad knew he was my math teacher.

“Uh, can we go get Mexican food?” I asked instead.

“No.”

Of course, I already knew Dad would say no. I loved Mexican food, and he hated it, so we never ate it. Ever.

I turned around to say goodbye to Mr. Connelly. I’m sure I had disappointment written all over my face. I was tired of hearing the word “no.” I heard it every day, over the most inconsequential things.

“May I watch
The Vampire Diaries
?”

“No.”

“May I be excused from dinner early?”

“No.”

“May I take a walk around the neighborhood?”

“No.”

I couldn’t breathe for the “no’s” piling on top of me, pressing on my heart, smothering my brain, making it impossible to think positive thoughts.

I looked back at Mr. Connelly, giving him a “Well, there you have it” expression. He shook his head slightly and shrugged, silently saying, “Hey, what are you gonna do, right?”

“Bye, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said.

I waved and followed behind my parents and brother out of the sanctuary.

***

I was shocked when Mr. Connelly placed a large bag on the table in front of me in the cafeteria. All I could do was stare at the name of the restaurant printed on the front: Moe’s Southwest Grill.

“Your dad left this for you in the office. I was in there, so I said I’d bring it to you,” Mr. Connelly explained.

It was a big, fat lie. Dad would never in a million years bring me lunch.

“You gonna eat?” he asked, taking the seat beside me.

All I could do was nod and stare. Mr. Connelly chuckled and reached into the bag, pulling out chips and salsa and a large burrito.

“Your dad got you chicken,” he said. “With guacamole on it.” It came out more as a question.

“I like chicken,” I replied. “And I love guacamole.”

“Good.” He sounded relieved, like he got my order just right.

I looked at Nicole and Riley who had sopping, unappetizing pieces of cafeteria lasagna on their plates. I looked back at my food knowing I could never eat it all. I felt a slight rumble in my stomach—something I hadn’t felt in a long time—but it wasn’t the kind of hunger that could put away all this food.

“Would you guys like some?” I asked.

They looked at me and furrowed their brows.

“I won’t be able to eat it all,” I said. “Nicole, give me your knife.”

She handed it over, and I cut my burrito into three pieces before remembering Mr. Connelly.

“I don’t want any,” Mr. Connelly said, when I apologized to him. “But thanks, Cadence.”

I don’t know why he didn’t want any of the food he paid for. And I don’t know why he brought it for me in the first place. Did I look
that
desperate and disappointed in church yesterday when Dad rejected my lunch suggestion? I tried to ignore how weird the situation was and passed Riley and Nicole a piece of my burrito. I also pushed the chips and salsa to the center of the table. We all scooted closer together to reach the chips, and in the process, I accidentally nudged Mr. Connelly. I mumbled an apology, then bit into the best lunch I’d ever eaten at school.

***

I decided the mannerly thing to do was to thank Mr. Connelly for buying me lunch, but I was too embarrassed to do it face-to-face. Instead, I ignored the history lecture sixth period and wrote him a thank-you note. It would have been so much nicer on a piece of stationery and not my notebook paper, but I couldn’t be choosy if I wanted to give it to him by the end of the day.

I watched him leave his classroom at the beginning of seventh period, and slipped inside quickly to place the folded note on his desk. I hurried out of the room before he came back; I didn’t want to be caught in the act. I tried to ignore the fluttering of my heart as I imagined him reading the note before class:

Dear Mr. Connelly,

Thank you for bringing me lunch today. I know it wasn’t from my dad. He would never do something that nice for me so soon after my “big mistake.” Plus, he hates any food that resembles Mexican food. Come to think of it, I don’t believe my dad has ever stepped foot inside a Moe’s. I guess my question is, how did you have time to pick it up when you teach a class right before lunch? Maybe you have secret powers that I don’t know about? In any case, I thought it was a very kind gesture. I guess yesterday in church I looked really disappointed not to get my Mexican food. You better be careful. I could find other reasons to look “disappointed” that might incite your generosity. Would crying over a bad quiz grade count for anything?

Sincerely,

Cadence

***

Tuesday morning I opened my locker to another note. I picked it up and groaned. I couldn’t imagine what was written. I thought the bullies had exhausted every conceivable bad name to call me and considered trashing it. But curiosity, as it so often does, won out, and I unfolded the letter to take a look.

My heart nearly fell out of my chest. I wasn’t expecting anything nice, and I certainly wasn’t expecting it from Mr. Connelly. I hurried to the bathroom and locked myself in the far stall. I wanted complete privacy when I read it, especially since my emotions read so easily on my face.

Dear Cadence,

I knew you were too smart to buy the story of your father bringing you lunch, but I couldn’t very well tell you I did in front of the students at your lunch table. And yes, your disappointment at church the other day spurred me to action. Every girl should be able to have Mexican food every once in a while. I hope you don’t think my actions were inappropriate. And as much as I’d like to claim secret powers, I can’t take credit for actually picking up your lunch. I was busy going over algebraic formulas with my ninth graders. My friend dropped it off. He was in the neighborhood.

I must confess that when you look sad, it compels me to act. I’m not sure it would be ethical to change a grade over tears, but if anyone could do it, you would be the one.

Sincerely,

Mark Connelly

I read the note five times. And each time, I convinced myself a little more that Mr. Connelly was the man I was going to marry. It was ludicrous and immature, and I clung to the fantasy as long as I could until the first period bell rang, screaming at me to get to class.

I walked into math class a complete wreck. I kept my eyes glued to the floor and then my desk once I was seated. I couldn’t look at him. I was blushing too badly, and I knew he would know it was because I’d read his note. There was really nothing inappropriate in it unless you wanted to look at the entire situation as completely inappropriate. What would the checklist look like?

1. Male teacher buys female student lunch: Inappropriate

2. Female student writes male teacher a thank-you note: Appropriate?

3. Male teacher leaves note for female student in her locker: Inappropriate!

4. Note states that female student “compels” male teacher to act: FREAKING INAPPROPRIATE

Okay. So I had no idea what Mr. Connelly was up to. Maybe he just saw me as one really pathetic, lonely student whose father was an ass to deny her Mexican food, and decided buying me lunch would be his good deed for the year. Why the focus on me, though? There were tons of other losers at this school who could benefit from his kindness. And why would he take the time (and risk) to write me a note and stick it in my locker? Was I over-thinking it?

“Mr. Connelly? Do you have a girlfriend?” I heard from the back of the classroom.

I perked up immediately. A girlfriend? No way. Just the other day his mother was trying to set him up.