The air in the staff room was thick with the aroma of stale coffee and simmering resentment. Lingling Kwong, Math teacher extraordinaire and known Mechanical robot of the school, meticulously straightened the stack of calculus papers in front of her. Each of these is proof to the intellectual shortcomings of the modern teenager nowadays. "Integals," she muttered under her breath, a sharp intake of air emphasizing her disdain, "They treat them like suggestions."
The door burst open with a flourish, a whirlwind of bright colours and infectious laughter preceding the arrival of Orm. Orm, the English Department's sunshine incarnate, radiating good cheer like a walking, talking Vitamin D supplement. Today, she was rocking a floral dress so vibrant it practically hummed, her long, sun-kissed hair bouncing as she moved.
"Lingling! Just the woman I wanted to see!" Orm beamed, her eyes, the colour of melted caramel, sparkling. "I was thinking, with the school Foundation day coming up, wouldn't it be fun to have a cross-departmental fundraiser? Maybe a 'Literary Lemonade' stand run by my literature club and 'Pi-zza' sales courtesy of your math whizzes?"
Lingling's perfectly crafted poker face cracked, a flicker of something unreadable flashing across her usually impassive features. "Pizza?" she echoed, the single word sounding drier than the Sahara desert. "Your fundraising idea involves puns?"
Orm's smile didn't falter. "Of course! Kids nowadays love cringey stuff and being corny sometimes never hurt anyone. Plus, wouldn't it be a great opportunity for the kids to bond? Think of the quadratic equations disguised as pizza recipes, the haiku written on lemonade cups!"
Lingling pinched the bridge of her nose. "I fail to see the educational value in… culinary puns."
This was it. The moment the entire student body had been waiting for since the beginning of the semester. Ever since they'd witnessed their notoriously stoic Math teacher visibly stumble over the word "Pythagorean," when Orm had complimented her geometric brooch. Operation "Ship LingOrm" was in full swing.
From behind the strategically placed stack of faculty mugs, a chorus of barely concealed snickers erupted. Gap, the history teacher, choked on his coffee, his eyes wide with amusement. Mrs. Ying, the drama teacher, subtly waggled her eyebrows in Lingling's direction.
Lingling, of course, was oblivious, too absorbed in suppressing the inexplicable flutter that always erupted in her chest whenever Orm was nearby. She found herself inexplicably flustered, her brain momentarily short-circuiting.
"The… the caloric intake… would be… detrimental to their concentration during… the next class," she stammered, her usually precise voice betraying her inner war to herself.
Orm, bless her oblivious heart, just chuckled. "Oh, come on, Ling! A little sugar never hurt anyone. Besides, I promise we'll offer sugar-free options. We can even have a 'zero-calorie poetry slam' on the side!"
Lingling stared at her, a strange mix of exasperation and…dare she admit it… admiration swirling within her. Orm was infuriating. And utterly, hopelessly, charming.
"Zero-calorie poetry?" Lingling repeated, her voice flat. "That sounds… thermodynamically impossible."
Orm giggled, the sound like wind chimes in a summer breeze. "You and your math, P'Ling! Always thinking analytically." She reached out and gently touched Lingling's arm, a brief, electric contact that sent a jolt straight through her.
"Come on, loosen up a little," Orm urged. "It's just a dance. And a fundraiser. With pizza. And maybe some poetry."
Lingling felt her meticulously constructed composure crumbling. The students were practically vibrating with anticipation. Gap, with his punchable face, was openly grinning. Ying was taking notes as if writing the beginning of a story of something beautiful.
