At eleven-thirty Ali escorted her twenty-six charges down the hall to the music room to spit into recorders for forty minutes with the other fourth graders. Wallo met her at the door, helped usher her students inside, said Mrs. Doubtfire had told him to take lunch.

Ali shrugged. It was nice seeing Wallo in the halls every day but sharing fourth grade felt close, too close. He was supposed to be the Computer Teacher, lord of a separate and allied domain. Now, suddenly both fourth grade teachers, Ali and Wallo walked down the hall towards the teachers’ lounge in silence. Other teachers’ students skittered by them, racing to class or lunch or the bathroom. Doors slammed. Ali’s pencil skirt rode up her thighs. She wanted to hold Wallo’s hand, but couldn’t. They filed into the lounge and each pulled a paper bag from the fridge. Wallo unwrapped two turkey and salami sandwiches, two apples, and a bag of Chex mix, which he’d prepared before arriving at her apartment last night. Ali had a large square of vegetarian lasagna she and Carmen had cooked a few nights ago. She warmed it up in the microwave. The lounge was empty and the lovers took in the silence graciously, chewing.

Mrs. Rizk, the gym teacher, stomped in and began rooting around the fridge, prompting them to conversation.

“So how are my students?” Ali asked.

“Fine,” Wallo said. He bit an apple and the juice sprayed under fluorescent lights. “Doubtfire sat them next to each other in the back. Ritish mostly picks wood chips off the desk. Maya and Chaco keep leaving their seats and walking to the window and Eduardo just tears paper into little pieces and lets them form little snowdrifts on the floor around his feet. So not so bad.”

“Edgardo,” Ali said. Wallo shrugged. “Are they learning anything?”

“God if I know. But they’re quiet at least.”

Ali thought for a minute, tried not to look angry until she could think of something supportive to say. “They’re lucky to have you,” she finally announced. “They each have their own way of learning, but they can. You’ll figure it out.” Right? she wanted to add, but didn’t.

“Well, sure,” said Wallo. He gave Ali a queer look, raised an eyebrow, buried his smirk in his sandwich. “Very optimistic of you,” he mumbled.