by Amy Sparling
I swallow as a knot forms in my stomach. Shit. I knew I’d missed a lot of school, but I didn’t think was failing. “Listen…” I say, sitting a little straighter. This is one of those talks teachers have with students, trying to make them work harder so that the teacher can feel like they’ve accomplished something with today’s youth. All I have to do is promise to do better and I’ll be let off the hook and she can go on with her day, thinking she’s changing the world or something stupid like that.
“I know I’ve missed some school, and my grades aren’t that great, but I can assure you Mrs.…” I look around, hoping to find a nametag on her desk. I’ve never been summoned to the AP before and I have no idea what her name is.
“Mrs. Reese,” she supplies for me, giving me a knowing grin.
“Oh, that’s weird,” I say. The realization that we have the same last name makes me forget the speech I was about to give.
“It’s not that weird,” she says, folding her hands over her chest in a way that shows off the diamond ring on her finger. “Surely you knew it was coming?”
“Uh…what?”
She chuckles and holds out her hand to me. “Your father and I got married, silly. It’s been two months, of course he told you by now.”
Chapter 4
I stare at her so long I’m surprised she keeps the smile on her face. Of course I understand the words she’s saying, because I speak English and she’s talking in plain English. There’s nothing to decipher here, but I don’t exactly get it.
“Edward Reese?” I say flatly. She nods. “He’s not my dad. He’s nothing to me.”
Her cheerful expression falls. “Well…I know it may seem different since he’s not your biological—”
“No,” I say, cutting her off. “He’s nothing to me. He’s a guy who used to be married to my mom and now he’s not and apparently, he married you, but I didn’t know that.”
“He didn’t tell you?” she says, her tight lipped smile turning into a frown.
I shake my head. “He doesn’t talk to me.”
She sighs, her hands folding back in her lap. “He wants to be a part of your life, you know.”
“No, he doesn’t.” I stand up. This sudden revelation came from so far out of nowhere that I’m not sure how to process it. Who even is this lady? We’ve never spoken in my life and now she’s married to my ex step-dad and thinks we can be friends? Um, no. “Can I go now?”
“No, dear, sit down.” She motions for me to sit and I do, although I’d want nothing more than to march out of this office then out of the building and all the way back home. But although I don’t care about school at all, I do care about getting into trouble, so I sit down and stay where I am.
My mind wanders back to thoughts of my ex step-dad. Has it really been about three years since we last talked? He had reached out to me shortly after moving out. He left me a voicemail saying I can call him anytime I want. But the next day, Mom cancelled our phones and moved us to a prepaid plan to save money, so he lost our numbers. Good riddance, though. We live in the same house, so if he’d wanted to see me, he could have. Mom said it would be a huge hassle to change our last names, so we never did. I didn’t really care about it because Reese is the only last name I’ve ever known. Now I kind of wish I had.
Mrs. Reese—ugh, I can’t stand calling her that—begins discussing my poor attendance record. She’s reading off absences from a printed piece of paper, but I don’t pay much attention. I already know I’ve missed a lot of days. I’ve tried to excuse most of them because I’m sick of detention.
“So needless to say, you’ll be making up time.”
My head snaps up when she says these words. “I’ve already made up time for my unexcused absences,” I say. “The rest of my absences have been excused.” Detention sucks for the normal high school student, but it’s even worse when you have a store to run in the evenings. I cannot waste any more of my life sitting in this stupid school.
Mrs. Reese presses her lips together. “Have you been listening, Natalie? After eighteen missed days in a semester, you’re no longer covered by excuse notes. The state requires that you make up the time regardless of the reason you were absent.”
My body deflates. Shit. “So how many days do I need to sit here and waste my life when I could be working instead?” I say, the sarcasm evident in my voice.
“Tuesday and Thursday, two hours each day.”
“That’s not too bad,” I say. Last time I had to make up time for four hours on a Saturday and that totally sucked.
“For the next two months,” Mrs. Reese adds.
My jaw drops. “Are you serious?”
“I’m afraid so, dear. It’s either making up time or summer school.”
“And how long is summer school?” I ask, secretly hoping she’ll say one week or something equally impossible.
“All summer long.”
This revelation is even worse than hearing that my dad has remarried and still doesn’t even talk to me. Two days a week for two months? What the hell? This is total bullshit.
I grip the textbook in my lap and struggle between totally losing my shit and screaming or trying to stay calm. I choose to stay calm. “What happens if I can’t do this?” I ask politely. “Like…if I have a store I have to work at or else I’ll be homeless?”
“The board of education doesn’t see that as a valid reason to avoid making up time.”
I frown. “Is detention still in the library?” I ask. Maybe I can spend it on the computers looking up new marketing techniques to bring people into the store.
“Yes, but that’s not all. There’s another thing we need to discuss.”
I swear if she tells me she’s about to have a baby, I’m going to lose it.
She reaches across her desk and takes a manila file out of a stack. My name is printed at the top and the edges are a little bent as if this folder is old. I stare at it, wondering if this is the infamous permanent record file that people talk about. I always figured these things are kept on the computer now.
Mrs. Reese sets the folder in front of her and opens it up. “I’d like to take a minute to go over your freshman questionnaire with you, Natalie.”
My chest tightens as she picks up the paper inside. I totally forgot about those stupid things they made us fill out on the first day of school my freshman year. I don’t even remember what I wrote on mine.
Mrs. Reese clears her throat. “The question asks what you’d like to be when you grow up. Your answer: I want to own a coffee shop in the meeting room next door to my mom’s store.”
I swallow. I remember that now. It’s always been my dream, turning that unused section of the store into a separate business. It would have its own door on the strip but also, it’d be open to the shop so I could sell people coffee and then they could browse The Magpie.
I don’t say anything, even when she takes a moment to peer at me over the top of my paper. “The next question asks how you plan to achieve your goal.”
I lean forward slightly, wondering what I wrote four years ago. It was probably something stupid, knowing me.
“I will graduate high school with scholarships already won and then I will get into Sam Houston State University with my tuition either mostly or fully paid for from the scholarships. I’ll complete a four year bachelor degree in business so that I’ll be better educated to run a business and to help my mom and dad with their business.”
This part hurts. Not only were my parents still married back then, but I’d had all these goals of attending college and getting scholarships. Something twists in my gut, making me nauseated. So much has changed in four years.
My mom is divorced.
I have exactly zero scholarships.
My application to SHSU hasn’t even been filled out yet.
“How have your goals now changed from back then?” Mrs. Reese asks. Her eyes watch me with a seriousness that means she might actually care what my answer is.
“The
y haven’t changed,” I admit. “I still want to run a coffee shop, but that won’t happen, most likely. You need money for that kind of thing. And I’d still like to go to college, but I have no scholarships and as you’ve already mentioned, my grades are bad.” I let out a sigh that makes my heart hurt.
“I think your goals are very achievable,” she says, closing my folder and placing it on top of the stack. “I think you just got a little off track this year, but there’s still a way to get everything you want.”
I lift an eyebrow at her. She continues, “I’m very good friends with the admissions people at Sam Houston. They often accept students like you who had a good record with a little slip ups along the way.”
I lean back into my chair. Outside, the bell rings, signaling the end of forth period. “I’m not too concerned with getting accepted as I am with paying for it. My mom and I don’t have any money, and the store is more important than college anyway.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” she interjects. “You said so yourself in your paper. If you have an education, you can run the store better. As far as finances…there are grants and scholarships, and I’m sure your father—”
“Ex step-dad,” I say, throwing her a look. “And no. I will never ask him for money.”
She actually looks a little sad for a minute but then she regains her composure. “I’ve already spoken with Sam Houston, and they’re expecting your application before the school year is over. Can I tell them you’ll be sending it in?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
Whatever I need to say to get her to shut up.
“Wonderful.” She beams. Her eyes start to sparkle a little as she leans in, as if she’s about to tell me a fantastic secret or something. “I’m not supposed to go around telling students this but…” She winks at me. “I have recommended you for a scholarship and you’re now a finalist for the Sterling SBA scholarship!”
“SBA?” I ask. Briefly I wonder if this woman would be so nice to me if she wasn’t married to my ex step-dad. There’s no way she puts this much thought into every student in the school.
“Small Business Association,” she clarifies. “Since your mom owns a small business in town, the organization loves giving scholarships to students of business owners. I put your name in and they’ve told me you’re at the top of the list. All you have to do of course, is graduate. That means pass all your classes.”
I frown. “I’m not sure I will pass with how far behind I am.” It sucks to admit it, but the idea of failing school is not something I want to live with. I’m not an idiot or some drop out loser. Why did I let myself screw up so badly this year? I do want to go to college. I want to make something of myself and earn a skill that will help me get a job if the business goes under. I don’t want to live my life like Mom does, constantly stressed out about being self-employed. I hang my head in my hands. “This sucks. I didn’t realize how bad my grades had gotten.”
“I thought of that too,” she says. She looks like she’s about to tell me I won the lottery or something. “Your math and chemistry teacher are pretty set on failing you and seeing you in summer school, but I’ve worked out a deal with them. During your detention to make up time, you’ll be in the library receiving tutoring. Tutoring for two days a week, as well as not missing any more school—” she says, giving me a long look, “will be enough for your teachers to pass you.”
“Tutoring?” I say the word like it’s a curse word. I can think of no worse way to spend my time after school than being retaught everything I didn’t learn in class. I should spend that time coming up with ideas for the store, not listening to some old woman drone on and on about fractions.
I chew on my lip. “I don’t…”
“I’ll stop you right there,” Mrs. Reese says, holding up a manicured hand with a wedding ring that must have cost a fortune. Way more money than it would take to keep the store afloat. “I’m afraid this isn’t a negotiation, Natalie. You will attend make up time twice a week to avoid being arrested and tried by the state of Texas for truancy. You will also receive tutoring during this time period if you want to graduate and not flunk out of school in your senior year.”
“I get it,” I say. “Can I go now?”
“One more thing.”
Mrs. Reese slides a piece of paper across her desk and then hands me a pen. “The school needs your full cooperation in this matter of truancy. Short of being hospitalized, you’ll be expected to attend school every day. Do you understand?”
I nod.
“Great,” she says, pushing the paper close to me. “Now sign this document saying I’ve warned you of the consequences of missing any more school this year.”
It’s some stupid thing, probably not even a legally binding contract. My eyes skim over it, the stupid wording saying I solemnly swear to attend every day unless a catastrophic circumstance should occur. I sign my name quickly and drop the pen on the table.
I grab my book and turn to leave. “Come see me any time you need,” she calls out after me.
“Sure thing,” I say, as I make a promise to myself that I’ll never step foot in her office again.
Chapter 5
I jump when my alarm goes off on Saturday morning. Is it really nine o’clock already? Ugh. Feels like I just fell asleep half an hour ago.
I sit up in bed, and the stack of papers slide off my bed with a splash that sends them skidding all over the hardwood floor of my bedroom. Shit. I forgot I fell asleep on top of a pile of missed schoolwork my teachers gave me. Thursday had been bad enough after spending hours in the AP’s office, but Friday was a freaking nightmare. Apparently, my ex step-dad’s new wife had told all my teachers about my new efforts to pass senior year so I can get into college. Every teacher except my art teacher gave me a stack of missed work and worksheets they called “extra credit” that I have to finish before the year is over. The term extra credit implies that it’s optional, but all of this work is not.
My teachers all spoke to me in soft tones like I was some breakable object who would shatter into pieces if I didn’t get this last chance to save my grade. It’s bad enough that I have to attend tutoring. Now I’m stuck doing extra work on top of that.
I don’t even bother picking up the papers right now. It’s Saturday, which is luckily not a school day. I throw on a pair of skinny jeans and a pink Magpie polo shirt that actually looks kind of cute on me. It’s from the time Mom and I thought about getting professional and wearing shirts with the store’s logo on the front. Sometimes we wear them and sometimes we don’t, but today is laundry day so I’m stuck without any other option.
Tossing my hair into a messy bun, I grab some Pop-Tarts and tell Mom goodbye. She’ll be driving to the store about ten minutes before we open, but I want to get there early and get started on some ways to bring people into the store. I hop on my bike and pedal through the morning sunshine all the way to the beach.
Since I’m here half an hour early, I go ahead and flip the sign on the door to OPEN. It’s unlikely that anyone will stop by this early, but just in case they do, I don’t want to miss the sale. Behind the front counter, I work on the website, updating it with our new inventory and sales items. Then I type up a newsletter to send out to our pathetically small list of subscribers. We have three hundred and ten people signed up out of the eighty thousand who live in Sterling, TX. And the last time I checked, only half of them even opened our emails.
Still, I dutifully type a message to our customers, offer them ten percent off in the next seven days if they mention this email, and hit send.
Ten minutes before we open, the bells on the door jingle and I assume it’s my mom, so I don’t look up. But when someone clears their throat, the sound is very much masculine, and my head shoots up from behind a rack of greeting cards.
Jack Brown smiles at me. “Hello there,” he says, giving me a polite nod. “I was hoping to speak with Marlene Reese.”
He’s dressed impeccably in a dark gray suit and s
hiny black leather shoes. He’s holding a folder that looks somehow more threatening than ordinary folders. I glance behind him at the door, knowing my mom will be here any minute. I only have a few seconds to lie like hell and get him out of here.
“She won’t be in today. I’m sorry about that.” I step out from behind the greeting cards and extend my hand, figuring a handshake is a sign of professionalism. Maybe he won’t call my bluff. Maybe he’ll get the hell out of here before Mom walks through that door.
“What can I help you with?” I ask.
He frowns a little, but then he hands me the folder. “I’d like to formally offer your store a buyout. I think you’ll find my offer quite generous. Can you please give this to Marlene as soon as possible?”
I hold back my scowl, instead schooling my lips into a smile. “Of course. But I should warn you not to get your hopes up because my mother is still very young and has no plans of retiring or selling the store any time soon. In fact, we’re considering opening up a coffee shop next door.”
It’s such a lie, but I pull it off pretty well. I don’t even think he knows how much of a lie it is, especially since the last time I talked to him I lied about opening a second store. Still, the corner of his lips quirk up a bit in a way that reminds me of his son, Caleb. We’re the same age and we even used to be friends in elementary school, though I doubt he remembers that. Now Caleb is a jock—with all the popularity that comes with it—and we’re on two opposite ends of the social world at school.
Apparently, his dad and my mom are also on opposite ends. He’s rich, and she’s poor.
“I’ll be sure to deliver this to her, Mr. Brown. Just in case she’d be interested.”
“Thank you,” he says, flashing me his white teeth. He really does look a lot like his son, only his son is much hotter.
“How is Caleb doing?” I ask before I can think better of it. I haven’t thought of him in years, not since around fifth grade when he got too cool to sit with me on the bus. But seeing Jack Brown this close makes me think of how much they resemble each other.