“I snapped it after you told Mom and Dad you were going to Kendal High School for your first placement. Total stealth mode. That one’s a keeper, hey?”
Will shook his head, unable to keep from smiling. “Well, now I have at least one good memory from that night. Thanks, Joey.” He tapped the screen to save the image to his camera roll.
Not long after he’d dropped that bombshell, Will had excused himself and left the interrogation room before dessert had been served. He hadn’t felt like defending himself anymore, and his mother was inconsolable at that point anyway. Joey, undoubtedly, had stuck around long enough for the peach cobbler. He was curious what was said following his sudden departure. “Give me the CliffsNotes version after I left,” he said. “How angry was Dad?”
“He couldn’t believe you willingly took a placement at a public school, and one with a reputation at that.” Crestwood and Kendal had been going head-to-head in athletic contests since he and Joey had attended the prep school. Their family knew Kendal well and were familiar with their standing—on and off the field.
“With all the connections he has, he could have secured you a spot in any number of prestigious schools,” Joey continued. “Blah, blah, blah. I kinda tuned out from there. But, Will, I mean . . . don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think he’s totally wrong. I think it’s great that you’re trying something new here, challenging yourself, whatever, but you have to think of the bigger picture.”
That last statement was as Edward Whitney a statement as he’d ever heard his brother utter. “I’m not gonna make a difference at a school like ours, Joey. C’mon. You know why I’m doing this.”
“Right, yeah,” Joey agreed. “I get it. But maybe you could make a difference in a place like Crestwood, too. Maybe someone like you could have made a difference to Aly.”
She’d attended the same prep school they had; she’d had many of the same teachers. Why had things been so different for her? Had they stopped caring by the time she came through the system, or was she indifferent to their attempts to help set her on the right track?
Joey had a point, Will supposed, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. For the next two months, he’d be teaching at Kendal High School, three days a week, come hell or high water.
“Oh, you’ll never guess who I ran into at the grocery store the other day,” Joey said. “Mrs. Baxter. Shit, she still looks hot, and she’s probably sixty by now.”
Will blew out a deep belly laugh. All the guys at Crestwood had crushes on Sheena “Big Tits” Baxter, but part of that had to do with the fact that there wasn’t much other eye candy for their teenage hormones to feast on.
“Any hot teachers at Kendal High?”
The moment the words sank in, a vision of Rebecca popped into his head. She was in a category all her own. She glowed with health and vitality, with the supreme confidence of a woman who knew who she was and what she wanted. And, yeah, her body was smokin’, but he had a feeling she worked hard for it. That she didn’t just talk the talk; she walked the walk.
Apparently, he’d been silently admiring her in his head for too long. “All right, bro, start talkin’.”
Tucking his arm under his head, he did his best to recap their introduction to each other on Friday, his brother listening without interruption. “So, then she tells me we’re both teachers now and we need to keep things professional, turns tail, and walks out.”
Joey must have put him on speaker phone because his response was a mocking slow clap. “Classic, Will. You haven’t even started your practicum yet, and she’s already pissed at you. I’m impressed.”
“Thanks,” he deadpanned. “I plan on apologizing to her again tomorrow, try to make amends. But I think I blew any chance of having anything more than a professional relationship with her.”
“If I know you, you’ll get into her pants before the month is through.”
His stomach clenched. The assertion irked him, but he couldn’t blame his brother for making the comment. His reputation spoke for itself. At the ad agency, he’d always had a few women on his rolodex. Friends with benefits. He wouldn’t often go home by himself, but he’d always wake up alone. “It’s not like that,” he said.
“Since when?”
“I don’t know. There’s something about her . . . She’s different. Hell, I’ll just be happy if she can stand to be in my presence for more than five minutes.”
Joey snorted. “I think that’s a safe bet. Ugly as you are, you have a certain way with the ladies. Hope it goes well tomorrow. Let me know, ’kay?”
“Will do. Thanks for calling, man.”
“I don’t hate ya,” Joey said before he clicked off.
Will smiled at his final remark. “Love you too, Joey,” he said to the ceiling. Stretching to his side, he put his phone on the carpeted floor and resumed ideal lounging position. Ten more minutes, and then he’d unpack. He closed his eyes and started to drift off when he felt a twenty-pound weight pounce onto his lap. MoJo kneaded his paws against Will’s T-shirt, fluffing up a prime resting spot, and settled into a ball on his stomach. “Okay, buddy. An hour it is.”
Rebecca habitually showed up to Kendal High a good hour before school started, even earlier on days when she wanted to squeeze in a morning workout in the weight room, and this morning had been like any other. Except not. Because Will’s practicum started today, and he’d probably be there soon, and she hadn’t been able to focus on anything else.
She’d tried going for a run on the treadmill, tried to mark some of the recent health assignments she’d received, and went so far as reorganizing the sneaker collection she kept on the shoe rack under her desk. Which took her all of three minutes. She only stored her most versatile pairs at school, and the rest were at home, displayed lovingly in see-through drop-front stackable shoe boxes.
Would it be weird between them after their talk on Friday? He’d be working with Berg, not her. Well, not directly with her. But their desks were right next to each other, and it wasn’t a huge school, and sometimes the PE classes had to share gym space, and . . . Ugh, shut up, brain.
She hopped out of her chair and grabbed one of the two mini basketballs from the corner of Berg’s desk. He’d stuck a kid-size hoop on the wall next to the door at the start of the semester, and they’d take shots whenever they had a spare moment. Berg kept a running tally for who’d scored the most baskets on a sticky note. Rebecca was currently ahead by three points, but that was hardly enough of a lead to secure bragging rights. She stepped behind the green tape line, squared up, and took her first shot.
Bullseye.
The orange rubber ball rolled back to her feet, and she lined up for her second shot, a fake countdown clock ticking through her mind. Three, two, one . . .
Just as she jumped to take the “buzzer-beater” shot, the office door opened and her ball missed its target completely. Unless its intended target was Will’s head.
Yeah. It was going to be weird between them.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” Rebecca said, covering her burning face with her hands. She peeked between her fingers and watched Will pick up the ball and toss it a few times in the air before he placed it on Berg’s desk next to the other one. Satisfied he didn’t plan on launching a counterattack, she dropped her hands to her side.
“You sure you’re being honest with your tally here?” he asked her with raised eyebrows.
She laughed. “I don’t usually miss by that much. Or at all. You startled me. Guess you got yourself a set of keys?”
“Yeah. I won’t have to bug you guys. Not for keys, at least.”
Silence stretched between them. He made the short trek to his desk, dropped his bag, and then turned to face her with his hand out. “Hey, I’m Will Whitney.”
She frowned. “Uh . . .” Jesus. How hard had she hit him?
“Just play along,” he whispered.
She took his hand and shook it, still not quite understanding whatever game they we
re playing. “Hi, I’m Rebecca Ledgerwood.”
“It’s great to meet you, Rebecca. I look forward to working with you . . . in a strictly professional way.”
Catching his drift, she smiled. He wanted to start fresh. She could do that. “You ready for the big day?” she asked him as she pushed aside the unmarked stack of health assignments and sat atop her desk.
Will unpacked his bag and laid out all his supplies—notebook, clipboard, pens, pencils, and highlighters. “As I’ll ever be.”
She could tell he was nervous. The slight quaver in his voice, his bouncing left foot, needing to keep busy. She’d encountered a very different Will in the hallway last Friday, and while they’d gotten along fine then, she had to admit, she liked this version a whole lot more. This Will was vulnerable. Real. Probably scared out of his mind, and not pretending otherwise. Today would be a huge test. If he could survive day one, there was hope for him.
“I feel like I’m missing something,” he said, his eyes darting from her to the contents he’d gathered on his desk. “What am I missing?”
Rebecca took him in then—all of him—from the perfectly disheveled hair on his head, to the prep school-appropriate attire, and the neon-green sneakers on his feet. He was a juxtaposition of professional and playful. She was glad to see he’d draped a T-shirt and a pair of shorts over the back of his chair as a change of clothes for his afternoon in the gym. But there was, in fact, one noticeable thing missing.
She yanked open the top drawer of her desk and rifled inside until she found the package she was looking for. In no time at all, she freed the brass object from its confines. “This,” she said, “is the most important weapon in a Phys. Ed. teacher’s arsenal.”
A grin split his face as she stepped toward him and hung the lanyard around his neck, but instead of a gold medal, he’d been awarded a whistle. He pressed a hand to his heart. “I’m honored. I’ll wear it with pride.”
“As you should.” Their eyes held for a fraction too long. She cleared her throat and retreated to her desk. “It’s not just a fashion accessory,” she informed him. “Don’t be afraid to blow it.”
Will nodded, but she wondered if he caught the double meaning. There might not have been any another job in the world that encouraged a person to take chances and make mistakes as much as teaching did. Some lessons flopped, no matter how many hours you worked on them. Some produced incredible results with one class and crashed and burned with another. Every class was different, just as every student responded differently, had unique strengths and needs. But the moment you lost your courage, you lost the very essence, the joy, of being a teacher.
There were some things he’d have to learn on his own as he navigated this strange and wonderful new world.
The shrill ring of the warning bell sounded, signaling they had ten minutes before class started. “I better get to the gym,” she said. “You remember how to get upstairs?” Berg was likely waiting for him in the science classroom. He was probably testing him already to see how well he handled himself in getting around the place.
“Yeah, I think I’m good.”
He followed her to the door, which she held open for him and waved him ahead. Teens took over every spare inch of the hallway, congregating at their lockers, paying absolutely no heed to the “warning,” as usual.
“Good luck,” she said to Will.
He exhaled a whoosh of breath. “Thanks.” Then he started walking in the wrong direction.
Chuckling, she hurried after him and turned him toward the proper stairwell. “You’ll do great!” Her eyes followed him as he politely maneuvered his way through the teenage bodies and out of sight.
They’re gonna eat him alive.
7
Will stood off to the side and took note of the various strategies Pete utilized. He began his science lesson with a joke to break the ice and engage his audience. While they opened their notebooks, he loaded his slideshow presentation on the interactive whiteboard. Pete led them through the ins and outs of solids, liquids, and gases, and they filled in the blanks on the handout he’d provided. At Crestwood, there’d never been any shortcuts or handouts. If there were notes to be written, then you wrote out every last detail yourself. He had to remind himself that the bulk of students here weren’t in pursuit of higher education. Most just wanted to graduate, period.
His gaze circled around the room, taking in the layout and décor. Desks were at the front, and the benches where they performed lab experiments were at the back. Colorful posters featuring periodic tables, safety protocols, images of cell structures, and circuit symbols covered the walls, along with cabinets containing microscopes, test tubes, safety goggles, and the like. It was the quintessential science classroom with one remarkable feature.
The students.
He marveled at the mixture of faces and races, pleased to see such a diverse group. The students—and teachers—at Crestwood had been predominantly white, at least while he’d attended. He hoped that wasn’t still the case. Pete had mentioned that Kendal High was a magnet school, behaviorling students from dozens of surrounding communities in its vocational education programs, which helped to explain the demographic. But what amazed Will most of all was that, despite the unique blend of personalities and ethnic backgrounds, there weren’t any clashes. Everything seemed to be harmonious, and the room stayed remarkably quiet.
This isn’t so bad. Man, if the rest of the day turns out like this, I’ve got it made.
Before he knew it, the bell rang and chaos erupted. Chairs screeched against the floor. Books and writing supplies were shoved into backpacks. Voices rose eight octaves. The door flew open and bodies rushed in and out of the room, bringing the added bonus of hallway noise to the migraine-inducing cacophony. He realized then, with great distress, the kind of mayhem this collection of teenagers were truly capable of.
Pete walked up next to him, somehow unfazed by the commotion around them, and said, “Ready to go, bud? We’re on prep now.”
Will just nodded and stuck close to his mentor, grateful for the other man’s linebacker stature as he bulldozed a path through the hallway. They made it to the PE office in record time. Never more grateful for the sanctuary of a closed door, he collapsed into his chair and relished the blessed silence. “How did you do it?” he asked Pete, who sat at his desk across from Will’s. “It was so quiet in there . . . How did you reel in that madness?”
Pete laughed. “Took me a solid month to achieve that level of calm, my friend. You can read every classroom management textbook ever written and try every technique, but I’m telling you, kid, nothing works better than routine.”
Will knew Pete didn’t mean any disrespect by calling him ‘kid,’ and the guy probably had twenty years on him, but he found it agitating. This wasn’t his first foray into the working world. He’d been there, done that, and seen and dealt with a lot of shit along the way. Yeah, he knew teaching was an entirely different beast, but he got the impression that Pete didn’t expect him to be hitting any homeruns in his debut.
“So, we’ve got the senior boys Phys. Ed. class after lunch, right?”
“Yep,” the other man answered. “You good to go with your football lesson?”
Will grabbed the clipboard from his desk and looked at the notes and drills he’d drawn up. “I think I’ll read over it a few more times, then run it past you, if that’s okay?”
“Sure thing.” Pete pulled open his desk drawer and freed a protein bar from the clutter. “Don’t forget we’ve got lunchtime supervision today.”
Crap. There went any possibility of eating lunch with Rebecca. He wondered if she packed her lunch every day, if she cooked or ordered takeout, preferred sandwiches to salads. How often her condiments wound up on her face. “Do they have anything good in the cafeteria?”
“In theory? Yeah,” Pete answered. “Is it edible? Depends on what you get. The kids from our culinary arts classes are in charge of the menu so every day is a gamble. It’s p
retty hard to screw up pizza, though. I’d go for that if I were you.”
The office phone rang, and since it was nearest Pete’s desk, he picked up the receiver. Will listened in for a minute as Pete attempted to placate a parent who was obviously upset about his son’s latest test result. Deciding it would be a good time to peruse the cafeteria selections, he ducked out and ventured toward the south wing of the building, pausing at the open door of the gymnasium. Rebecca stood in the center of the gym, the KHS Comets emblem blazing beneath her matching red-and-gold sneaker-clad feet. A dozen girls surrounded her, waiting for her to distribute the mesh jerseys she held to distinguish which team they were on. Half were given blue, and the other half were given green. Rebecca donned a blue jersey herself before raising a basketball at center for the jump ball.
He smiled, curious to see if she purposely stacked the other team so she could help to level the playing field. Or court, in this case. The greens took opening possession, and the game was on. Thirteen pairs of sneakers squeaked against the hardwood as the girls battled it out. Rebecca held nothing back. Passing, shooting, defending, blocking, sprinting from end to end, her face glistening from perspiration and glowing with the pure, unadulterated joy of a woman who was crazy about sports.
Whenever Rebecca held the ball, at least three girls on the opposing team swarmed her, laughing as she evaded their defensive tactics and outmaneuvered them every time. He’d been so riveted by her, her focus, the fluidity of her movements, that he was stunned to find her eyes trained on him after she received the ball from a teammate.
He’d been caught, but he stood rooted to the spot because he didn’t want to miss what came next. Now that she knew he was there, watching her. What would she do? She faked a pass to a girl on the right, dribbled between her legs once. Twice. Eyed her target, and elevated into a fadeaway jump shot, curling her shooting hand as the ball swished through the net.
Learning to Love Page 6