by Kelsie Rae
He gives me a jerky nod before tucking his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Good afternoon, Miss Swenson.”
“Bye, Mr. Daniels.”
Then he leaves. And the familiar sensation of his absence threatens to swallow me whole. Which is surprising. I’d been numb for so long that I’d forgotten what real pain feels like.
It sucks.
His scent lingers in the room as the door closes behind him. My forehead scrunches before I reach for the disinfectant spray, praying the strong scent of cleaning chemicals will be able to wipe away his mouth-watering smell, along with the memories that accompany it.
A few seconds later, the door squeaks open, and my neck snaps up to find Principal Wells leaning against the doorjamb. His white button-up shirt looks close to bursting across his beer belly that would make him the perfect candidate for a mall Santa. All he’s missing is a jolly demeanor, and I haven’t seen that side of him in years. The guy is burnt out and a stickler for the rules. The combination makes him less than jovial or patient with the students, and Turner isn’t the first student we’ve gone head-to-head over. I just hope he didn’t hear about the little fight on the playground today, or I’m screwed.
“Hello, Miss Swenson.”
“Hi, Mr. Wells,” I return with a tight smile. Heaven forbid I call him by his first name.
“Did I just see Owen Daniels leaving your room?”
“The one and only. His little boy is in my class.”
“Ah, makes sense.”
“Yup.” Pushing myself up from my seat, I reach for the disinfectant spray again and squirt it on the chair Owen had been sitting in. “Can I help you with anything?”
“I wanted to have a quick chat.”
“About?”
“About the vice-principal position.”
My heart stalls in my chest before I glance back at him. “Yes?”
“I know you’re interested in being considered for it.”
“I am yes.”
“And why do you think you’d be a good fit? You’re young––”
“Yes, I know. But I love these kids.”
“Most teachers do. They’re not exactly in it for the paycheck,” he jokes.
“Good point,” I concede with a tight smile. “I just figured that it would be better to promote someone familiar with the way Granite Elementary does things––along with our standards, our pride, all of it––than it would be to hire a stranger. My entire resume is built from this school. I even graduated from here before going on to East Heights Middle School down the block. I really think I could make a difference here. That I could be a good fit. A good partner.”
He strides closer, that same stern confidence emanating from each of his pores as he inspects the cleanliness of my room like a seasoned detective.
“You have potential, Miss Swenson. I’m not going to lie to you and say that you don’t,” he tells me. “But you are young, and your experience, while admirable, is still a little lacking compared to the other applicants. As you know, Ms. Rasmussen won’t be retiring until next year, so there’s plenty of time to build up your resume a bit more. I would suggest you start by planning the sixth-grade Boo Bash.”
“Doesn’t one of the sixth-grade teachers normally do that? I don’t want to step on their toes––”
“They sent in their plans for approval, and they were…underwhelming. Why don’t you send me your plans in the next week or so, and we can see what you come up with?”
I open my mouth to argue before closing it just as quickly. This is a great opportunity, despite how shitty I feel that I would be completely overstepping my bounds. Thankfully, Miss Winchester is one of the nicest teachers at the school and is almost as burnt out as Ms. Rasmussen, so I don’t think she’ll mind if I take over the planning of her grade’s Halloween party. Hell, she’d probably thank me for it.
His overly-bushy brow quirks. “Is there a problem, Miss Swenson?”
“No, no problem,” I rush out. “I can definitely get that to you.”
“Perfect. If you have any questions about the budget or anything, just ask Ms. Rasmussen. She can get you the numbers.”
“Sounds good.”
“And one more thing.” He drags his thumb along a black smudge of Expo Marker on the whiteboard and rubs it between his fingers. “Mrs. Ericks recently put in her resignation.”
“But I thought she was going to come back once her maternity leave––”
“She decided a stay-at-home position was more fulfilling,” he quips. “Obviously, this has left us in a bit of a bind.”
Uh, yeah. I’d say so.
“So, there’s no one to fill the gym teacher position?” I ask.
“Unfortunately not. There are a handful of resumes I’m going to go over, but if you think of anyone….”
I nod. “I’ll definitely let you know.”
“Thank you. Good day, Miss Swenson.”
“Good day, Mr. Wells.”
Then he’s gone. And I’m left in a room that feels like it’s spinning as I try to ignore the first dream that slipped through my fingers while holding onto the new one I managed to create after Owen left.
Sixth-grade Boo Bash?
Bring it on.
3
Saylor
“I saw a certain someone in the parking lot after school,” Skye notes as soon as I enter our apartment. She started working at Granite Elementary as a teacher’s assistant after getting fired from her nanny job because of her connection to Liam, her husband, and soon-to-be-ex.
The door closes behind me before I toss my keys onto the kitchen counter. “Really? Already with the interrogation?”
She raises her hands in defense. “I’m just curious, that’s all. I thought you said Grady rides the bus.”
“He does, but I asked Owen to pick him up so we could chat about a little altercation during recess.” Defeated, I slide off my black jacket, then hang it up on the hook near the front door before voicing aloud the words that have been haunting me for way too long.
“I seriously hate him, Skye.”
“You don’t hate him,” Skye corrects me gently.
“I really do, though.”
“What happened?”
“Grady got into a fight at school with Turner.”
“Aw, poor Turner. That kid’s story breaks my heart. Is he okay?”
I laugh. “You should see the kid’s black eye. He was a little shit to Grady and definitely deserved the sucker punch, but that’s not the point. The point is that I had to call Grady’s dad in for a little meeting.”
She cringes. “And how’d it go?”
“Awkward. And then fine. And then not so great.” I rub my hand over my face. “I yelled at him, Skye.”
“You?” Her eyes widen in surprise. “You never yell.”
With a scowl, I admit, “Well, today I did. And I hate that I lost control and got mad at him for calling me by my name. Not Miss Swenson, but Say.” My stomach tightens. “Just like he used to, ya know? I can still hear it. After all these years. The way he’d whisper my name in my ear. The way he’d promise to be with me forever. The way we’d dream about our future. The life we were going to build. What our home would look like. What we….” I squeeze my eyes shut.
Her flats scuff against the floor as she steps closer and squeezes my arm softly. “Tell me, Say.”
“What we would name our kids. What they might look like. If they’d have his wavy hair or my eyes. All of it.”
She pulls me into a hug, then runs her hand up and down my back. “Aw, Say, you’re breaking my heart.”
I laugh, though there isn’t any humor in it. “I thought you didn’t have a heart.”
“Good point. Mine’s still busted up too,” she admits with a frown. “We’re a mess.”
“We really are,” I agree, dryly. “I just want to forget him. And every time I feel like I’m getting closer to leaving him in the past, he pops back up. First, it was the college games and the NFL draf
t, then the pregnancy announcement on ESPN, then the news coverage of his knee and how his career ended before it ever had a chance to begin. And now, this. He’s back. How can I forget him now?”
“Maybe…maybe you should try dating again?” she offers.
I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous. You know that, right?”
“I’m not ridiculous. I’m just saying––”
“That dating someone else will make me feel better? Pretty sure I’ve already been down that road before, and it didn’t do anything.”
“Well, yeah, but––”
“But what, Skye?” I seethe.
“But maybe you have the right motivation now. Once Liam finally signs the freaking divorce papers, you better believe that I’m going to date like it’s going out of style. Even if it’s just to erase his touch and the way he made me feel….” Her lower lip quivers. “I refuse to let him own me.”
Owen has owned me since the moment he approached me when I was putting my textbooks in my locker. All it took was one look, and I was his.
And I’m tired of being his.
Squaring my shoulders, I keep my chin held high and announce, “You know what? You’re right.”
Her jaw drops. “I am?”
“Yeah. You’ve made some excellent points, Skye. I’m going to do it. I’m going to date.”
“And?”
“And where do I even start for something like that?” I laugh. I must be losing my damn mind.
“You could always check out the dating profile Sway and I created for you a couple of years ago.”
My expression sours. “Online dating? No, thank you.”
Skye laughs, and it’s enough to almost make my shitty predicament worth it. She’s always been so light and carefree, but after her falling out with Liam…I’ve missed her.
“Don’t hate me,” she starts, “but I think a dating app is the way to go in today’s age. It’s how people meet now.”
“Why does that make me feel so old?” I pout.
“You’re not old. You’ve just never bothered to date after your high school sweetheart turned out to be an asshole and kind of tainted your idea of love. Although, now that I’ve had my own share of heartbreak spoon-fed to me, I kinda get it.”
“Kinda?” I challenge.
Sticking her tongue out at me, she concedes, “Okay, I totally get it, but I still think online dating is a good idea for you. And since we already created the profile, it’ll be a piece of cake to dive right in.”
I purse my lips. “Fine. Which dating app was it again?”
“Why don’t you grab a bottle of wine and some glasses because I have a feeling we’re going to need it. I’ll get the computer and see if we can retrieve your password.”
“Yaaaaay.” With a groan of acceptance, I trudge to the kitchen and find the necessary ingredients that’ll calm down my frazzled nerves before returning to the family room. Then I flop down beside Skye with my lower lip stuck out for good measure.
She laughs as her fingers type furiously against the keyboard. “Stop pouting. This’ll be good for you. It might even be fun.”
“Now, you’re just being ridiculous.”
“Uh-huh, sure I am. So, here it is. You’ve got like a thousand notifications already, but most of them are pretty old since you never really gave the thing a chance in the first place. Still,”––she turns the computer toward me––“it might be worth the effort of sorting through a few of these.”
There’s a blinking envelope in the top right corner of the screen. It’s stamped with a black bird silhouette across the front and grabs my attention right off the bat. Pointing to it, I ask, “What’s that?”
“Those are the private messages that possible suitors have sent you.”
“Suitors?” I laugh. “Are we in fifteenth-century England?”
“Maybe. Take a look.”
Her finger glides across the touchpad before clicking on the envelope where name after name is lined up in bold ink. Some of them have pictures beside the usernames, while others are a silhouette of a man with a question mark where a face should be.
“Why can’t I see their faces?” I ask.
“It’s one of the perks of the site. You can connect with someone before giving them access to your pictures so that you can see how well you fit emotionally before diving into the physical stuff. Make sense?”
“But what if they’re ugly?”
She snorts. “And I thought I was the superficial one.”
“Har, har.” I take a thick gulp of my grown-up grape juice, desperate for a little liquid courage before asking, “Okay, so…what are my privacy settings? Can people see my picture already, or is it hidden?”
“I think yours are shown, especially considering all of these notifications. You get more when you’re hot,” she clarifies with a wink. “But I’ll check in a few. Let’s focus on sorting out these message requests.”
Another groan claws its way up my throat, but I swallow it down with another chug of wine before diving in.
Well into my fourth glass, a familiar face with the username OD catches my attention. “Is that…?”
“No freaking way,” Skye gasps beside me, leaning closer to make sure she isn’t seeing things. “Looks like The Big O wants to connect.”
I shake my head, then pour my glass to the brim before chugging half of it down. My face wrinkles, but I shake it off. “No. No way.”
“Yes way.”
“He can’t honestly think he still has a chance, right?” I turn to Skye.
“Did he send a message too? Or just a buzz?”
My brows furrow. “A buzz?”
“You know, since it’s called the Birds and Bees app, you can buzz someone?”
My deer in the headlights look spurs her on.
“It’s kind of like a friend request or a poke on Facebook, but, ya know, classier,” she explains.
“So…he wanted to connect with me?”
“Yup. Ooo, look! There’s a message too! We should read it––”
I slam the laptop closed, narrowly missing her finger. With a yelp, she pulls her hand away before delivering a death glare.
“Hey!”
“Sorry,” I mutter, “I just…nope. I don’t wanna know what he has to say.”
“Not even a little bit?”
“Nope. No, thank you.”
She frowns before emptying her glass with a few solid gulps. Smacking her lips together, she reaches for the nearly empty bottle of wine then tops us both off.
“You wanna know what I think?” she asks.
“What?”
“That you should reach out”––she lifts her hands to do finger air quotes––“to him on your own terms.”
“And how would I do that?”
“Create another account. A fake one.”
“And then what?”
“Then you make him fall in love with you the same way you fell in love with him. The same way I fell in love with Liam before he broke my heart,” she adds on a whisper before blinking away the sheen in her eyes. “The same way so many girls fall for the wrong guys before they’re left in the dust.”
“And then what?” I repeat.
“Then you break him the same way he broke you.”
I chew on the pad of my thumb, actually considering her ludicrous idea before shaking my head. “I can’t do that, Skye.”
“You can do that, but you won’t. Because you’re a better person than me, and you’re sure as hell a better person than The Big O.”
The nickname makes me bristle.
“You know what? I’m tired of being the bigger person, the better person, the girl who people can walk all over because she’s too nice to stick up for herself. How dare he try to buzz me or…whatever it is.” I motion to the stupid computer in my lap with a flap of my hand as if I’m waving away an annoying fly.
Then I reopen the laptop like a woman on a mission. “He wants to connect? Fine. We’ll connect.”<
br />
“That’s my girl.” Skye grins. “Gimme the laptop. I’ll create a new profile.”
“Brilliant.” My smile turns wicked as I hand it over to her. “So, what do you need from me?”
Fingers clicking away, she suggests, “Um…another username.”
“I don’t know? I’m not creative enough for these things.”
“How ‘bout…dickhater?” she offers with a wink.
“Meh.”
“Scornedlover?” Her eyebrows bounce up and down like it’s the most genius username ever created.
“Har, har. Keep going, Skye.”
“Um…kinkynerd?”
I snort. “Better. But let’s not attract all the weirdos in one go, shall we? We just want to hook Owen. That’s it.”
She reaches for my wine glass and finishes it off before handing it back to me. Head cocked to one side, she clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Alright, let’s see…how ‘bout Slytherin4ever?”
With a grin, I ignore the way my heart clenches when I hear anything Harry Potter related and answer, “Perfect.”
“Really?”
“Yup. It’ll make him curious enough to accept our buzz or whatever, and he’ll never know it’s me because––”
“You’re a Ravenclaw,” she finishes for me.
“Exactly.”
“Perfect.” Her manicured fingers continue tapping against the keyboard as she keeps filling out my form before she gives me a nod and pushes the computer toward me.
“Alright, Say. Here’s the questionnaire portion. Let’s see whatcha got.”
The next twenty minutes go by in a blur of questions that range from favorite color to favorite sex position. By the time I’m finished, the wine bottle is empty, along with two more we’d pulled from the cabinet, and we’re both rolling on the floor laughing at the innuendos we’ve woven into my answers. Favorite animal: a big, fat snake and a good ol’ rooster, aka cock. Favorite food: foot-longs. Favorite activity: Football.
The last one might not have been an innuendo but made me laugh harder than the rest of them.
“I used to love football, ya know,” I mention. Now, I hate it.
“I know. The Big O introduced the whole family to its awesomeness, remember?”