Me You Us by Aaron Karo Page B

the door to lunch.
    I try to push any uneasiness I have about this development deep, deep down, as far as it will go.

17
    BEHIND THE MYSTERIOUS DOOR that leads to the teachers’ lounge I always imagine the faculty in their underwear, drinking beer and smoking cigars. The reality is much more mundane. The room is about twice the size of a normal classroom and has a few couches, coffee tables, desks, and a semi-enclosed kitchenette area. Everyone is fully clothed, sober, and smoke-free.
    I’m dropping off a thank-you note for one of my teachers who wrote me a college recommendation, but she’s not here, so I put it in her mailbox. I’m about to leave when I hear a voice I was truly hoping not to hear.
    â€œShane!”
    It’s Mr. Kimbrough, who emerges from the kitchenette area with a cup of coffee and waves at me. Although I told himduring our last conversation that I would try to think of a way for him to secure a real date with Ms. Solomon, I’ve actually been trying to avoid him. Between my own love life and my actual clients’ love lives, I’ve got a lot on my plate.
    Mr. K. beckons me to join him at one of the desks in the lounge. I sigh and then head over to him. He greets me with what I find to be an overly enthusiastic handshake. “Good to see you, Shane!” Well, at least he doesn’t hug me.
    â€œWhat’s going on, Mr. K.?” I ask. “Sorry I haven’t been in touch.”
    â€œI figured you were cooking up some really good advice for me.”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    â€œAnyway, I’m glad you’re here. I’m been trying to get my mind off . . .” He looks around warily at the handful of other teachers in the room. None are within earshot. “ Deb. You know, so I don’t obsess and what have you.”
    This is him not obsessing?
    â€œI started a blog,” he says. “I want you to check it out.”
    Eleven words that no one ever wants to hear.
    â€œA blog?” I say.
    â€œYeah.” He opens an old IBM laptop. “I’m gonna post interesting math stories. Maybe a few jokes and cartoons.” He launches the site and then steps back for me to see. “I call it Humble Pi.”
    The blog features a caricature of Mr. Kimbrough,which, given the generous hairline and stingy waistline, he probably drew himself. Under the title BOB KIMBROUGH’S HUMBLE is another drawing, this one of a literal pie—like the dessert—with a pi symbol bursting out of it.
    â€œHumble Pi. Get it? ‘Pi’ as in 3.14?”
    â€œI get it,” I say.
    â€œIt was either that or Divide and Conquer.”
    â€œStick with Humble Pi.”
    â€œOkay. Good idea.”
    â€œYou haven’t posted anything yet,” I mention.
    â€œI just started it. It’s only for me and a few of my math-teacher friends. I doubt anyone else will even care.”
    Now that’s the understatement of the century.
    Mr. K. is admiring this WordPress site like it’s his firstborn. I’m not really sure what he wants from me right now.
    â€œSo . . . I’m gonna take off,” I say.
    â€œCrap!” Mr. Kimbrough exclaims suddenly. He slams the laptop shut, almost clipping my fingers.
    â€œWhat?” I say.
    Mr. K. motions with his chin: Across the room, Ms. ­Solomon has entered the lounge and is walking toward us.
    I continue to be impressed by Mr. K.’s taste. Ms. ­Solomon has stunning green eyes and long, Rapunzel-worthy dirty-blond hair. She’s slender and wears a white blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt—teacher-appropriate but sexy enough to inspire, I’m sure, a few naughty daydreams fromher male students. She smiles as she approaches us.
    For some reason, Mr. Kimbrough panics and tries to hide his laptop under a stack of papers.
    â€œHey, Bob,” Ms. Solomon says as she reaches the desk. “I forgot my lesson plan.”
    She plucks it right from the top