the boys

"My advice to you," I call across to the back table, "is not to listen to a thing they say." Two members of the South American contingent are trying to persuade a kid who was, until just lately, a walking, talking Asian stereotype (so quiet, so studious) to ask some Korean girl out. As if they haven't corrupted him enough already.

"I have heard all their sad stories," I continue, as they blush and grin. "And I seriously would not listen to a word they say." We're waiting for the bell.

"That's right!" says the instigator, with a note of recognition. "We all tell our girl problems to Ms. P. That's what you should do, too!"

I roll my eyes for their benefit and turn to the senior girl beside me: "Like I have time for any more free therapy." We laugh in solidarity that may or may not be appropriate. I don't even know any more. "I should charge by the hour!" I push back from my desk and head to testosterone corner, where I'm greeted with a recap.

"See, he likes this girl. . ."

"No, he doesn't." I've already heard his protests, and besides, it's time to barge in. "He likes geometry, just like you." I sit down by the board and draw triangles. Geometric, not romantic. We work the problems, and somehow, they get it.