Peter pointed. “Look at my face. Not laughing.”

“Sorry. I like Kate.”

“Well, so do I. And if you ask if I like like her, so help me…”

Lucius waved his fingers in surrender. “No, no.” He paused. “Kind of hard

to figure out, isn't it? How you feel about someone. What to do about it.”

Peter pulled on his other shoe and began to lace it.

“Yes, people are complex,” Lucius continued.

“I'm sorry, did I ask a question?”

“I'm just saying it's not easy to figure someone out completely. A lot goes into making who we are.”

“Yeah, about a hundred-and-sixty dollars' worth of chemicals.”

“I meant our past, our choices.”

“Are you getting at something? Because I've got to go try to figure out how

to teach the difference between acids and bases with a budget of”—he checked

the paper next to him— “fourteen dollars and ninety-eight cents.”

“Okay. My point is—”

“Sorry, stop. I'll save you the time of more song and dance. Getting closer to

Kate would be a mistake. Being friends, fine. Resolving past issues, great. But we live in different worlds now.”

“Oh, I don't know. She seemed pretty at home painting faces at the carnival.”

Peter saw her in his mind, then, laughing, teasing the kids while she painted

their faces. A natural with the students. He sobered. “Right, and then she left.

She doesn't live here anymore, Lucius. Her life—the life she chose—is in Chicago, with her high-rise office and her Armani water or whatever. She's moved on. She's in the city. That's what she's chosen. She's not a small-town girl anymore.”

“And you're still in high school. The same one you grew up in, in the same

town.”

Peter held his head. “Oh, geez, please don't psychoanalyze me.”

“Sounds like you might be a little jealous.”

He was done getting dressed and stood. “Well, you know what? Maybe I am.

Maybe I'm tired of having to bleed every semester during budget season, trying

to beg for enough materials so my students can have half a chance at learning something. Maybe I should interview for that job in Chicago. Maybe it's time for

me to move on.” Maybe this will be my only chance.

“That's a lot of maybes.

“Maybe.”

Lucius stood as well and clapped him on the back. “Don't worry about the maybes. They're pretty much all that life is made up of.”

“I prefer things be a little more concrete.”

“You're a scientist. You like things to be neat, quantifiable, and reproducible.

That's not how people work.”

“Except for the reproducible part.”

Lucius nodded, chuckling. “True. Well, I expect you're tired of my sage advice by now. I've got my own bleeding to stop back at my office.” He turned

to go, then paused. “See you tomorrow?”

Peter turned. “I'll be here.”

“Oh, and Brenda asked if you squared away things with Nitrovex for that field trip?”

Peter dropped his head back, stared at the ceiling. He'd almost forgotten about that one. “Yes, if there's any money left to put gas in the bus.”

“I'll help you car pool if it comes to that.”

Lucius pushed open the locker room door and was gone.

Peter was alone. The locker room was big, boomy, and empty. The only

sound was the steady drip from one of the faucets in the shower room. It plunked, rhythmically. Something told him it was all somehow symbolic, but he

couldn't put his finger on it. Kate might be able to give him some metaphorical

hints, but she was in Chicago.

He stood, grabbed his papers, slung his workout bag over his shoulder. The

Dixon School brochure was still in his office, and it was time to take some action. There was an early out on Friday. Maybe he could get a substitute for the

morning and set up an interview at Dixon that afternoon.