Another Chance with You

by Jacquelin Thomas

  And then came Tracy. They’d met at a fashion show. She’d walked in with her own fan club. She hadn’t wanted Donovan for what he could give her and had even turned down the opportunity to participate in this MET reality special. After four weeks of dating, he guessed she sounded like a winner to him. Last Friday when Donovan had flown out to Michigan for business, he’d allowed Tracy the chance to stay at his place alone. The weekend had been the first step in trust...not something worthy of a proposal. If she passed this step, Donovan planned on getting out of the city with her for the upcoming holiday week.

  One of the guys who’d entered the condo before him cracked the door open and asked to speak to Amelia.

  Vickers pulled Amelia back by the corner of her blazer. “Let’s not forget,” he warned in a low voice, “I am the on-site producer here. When this assignment is over, you’ll go back to Southwood.”

  Not liking it, Donovan stepped forward and wagged his index finger in warning at the man.

  Amelia shrugged off Vickers’s touch, stepped back and shook her head at Donovan as the other producer disappeared inside. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Why do you put up with him?” Donovan asked. “Does Christopher know how he treats employees?”

  Christopher Kelly, his close friend and scion of the Kelly political dynasty of Miami, had opted to invest in the entertainment world with Multi-Ethnic Television, opening his high-rise building to MET and several other successful businesses in Miami. They had bonded over being offspring of famous parents. And Donovan knew Christopher would not appreciate this behavior.

  “Leave it alone,” said Amelia with a shake of her head.

  The door cracked open again. This time a hand reached out with a thumbs-up. Amelia patted Donovan on the back and nodded to the cameraman behind them. “Now, you open your door and the film crew will start rolling from there. We’ll edit it later and splice it into a smooth cut.”

  Still not knowing all the terms, Donovan crossed the threshold of his place. He’d already been told to ignore the camera and just act natural. “Natural” meant he ripped off his monkey suit and strolled around his apartment in his boxer briefs, but this was not that kind of show. Donovan set his keys on the half table by the door and headed up the curved stairway to his bedroom. One cameraman walked backward, filming him from the front. What happened to the other guy who’d come in first? Weren’t there a total of three of them?

  Thighs burning from taking two steps at a time, Donovan made a mental note never to skip leg day again. Employees of Ravens Cosmetics took advantage of the gym around the corner of the building. He needed to do so again. The door to Donovan’s bedroom was slightly ajar. He heard whispers inside. Was Tracy awake? Did the cameramen wake her?

  Pushing the door open farther, Donovan’s eyes adjusted to the bright sunshine creeping in from the balcony. His foot hit a bottle and then a pile of clothing. He shook his head at the mess his housekeeper was going to have to clean, then let his eyes wander to a hairy leg poking out of the comforter. The movement in the bedroom didn’t disturb the sleeping couple in his bed. Tracy rolled over and wrapped her legs around her partner. The fact Tracy slept with another man did not bother Donovan. His disappointment in himself for beginning to think he could trust someone did. The audacity of her bringing this dude to his place: sheer disrespect. Donovan balled up his fists to keep from flipping them off the mattress.

  Whelp, so much for those holiday getaway plans, Donovan thought to himself. Relationships were not in his future.

  * * *

  British Carres flipped her agenda page for the next item up for discussion and her heart jolted. Finally! The Southwood School Advisory Council was going to acknowledge the growing need to fund Science, Technology, Engineering and Math for Girls Raised in the South—STEM for GRITS, an after-school program she spearheaded, involving twenty-plus girls attending Southwood Middle School. Her new robotics group received the hand-me-downs from the boys and it was time for a change. The male robotics team monopolized the lab Mondays through Thursdays, giving British’s team only one day in the lab for experiments. The local community collected money currently to distribute to the students in need and after they were all taken care of, a nice pot was up for grabs. Since the language arts, social studies and math departments received a bonus a few years ago, the sciences were next in line. As one of the lower level science teachers at Southwood Middle School, British felt like she had to work twice as hard, putting her degree in chemistry and science from Florida A&M University to good use. STEM for GRITS deserved some of the funds available.

  The gray tables in the basement of city hall had been set up in a square so that all the committee members of the school board could read each other’s faces. This was the biggest challenge of all. She needed to channel her inner beauty queen and learn to compose her face.

  Seated across from her was the thorn in her side, the director of the science department. Dr. Cam Beasley was a “good ole boy” who felt the best place for a woman was in the kitchen. The man loved to point out that British had taken a job as the home economics teacher when she’d first started out, further proving her point of the need for the science club for girls. Cam often forgot science was in everything taught in home ec. British had endured the sexism in the field while attending college. She hated the idea that a new batch of budding scientists could be being held back by some lab-coat-wearing, chauvinistic pig.

  Whatever, she thought and looked back down at her paperwork before Cam made eye contact and tried to smile. She feared she wouldn’t be able to offer a friendly response. British fiddled with a section of the two-page document where the silver staple bound the papers. Her portion of tonight’s discussion was the last on the agenda before they took off for the Thanksgiving break. The bonus money would pay for accommodations, travel and supplies if the STEM for GRITS attended the district science fair, where they’d compete against several schools in Southern Georgia.

  “You’re not going to get anywhere if you’re frowning like that.”

  Looking up, British watched her teacher’s aide, Kimber Reyes, pull out the empty black-metal folding chair beside her and take a seat. “Hey, we’re just about to start back up.”

  “Convenient,” Kimber said, shaking her head. “I saw Cam run outside to put the top up on his convertible. He’s more afraid of getting the car wet than his dreadlock extensions.”

  As a former beauty queen, British recognized false hair. She never judged anyone for their hair accessories, but Cam tempted her to start. He looked ridiculous with an extra piece of hair covering the spot where his heavy dreads exposed his bald spot. Though British laughed at Kimber’s sarcasm, a feeling of dread came over her. Across the square, Cam huddled with the principal and the superintendent.

  A feeling of doom washed over British the moment the superintendent, Herbert Locke, greeted Cam with a pat on the back and whispered something in the science director’s ear. The two bent over in laughter of the slap-happy-inside-joke kind. Of course these two were buddies. They probably just made arrangements to visit each other’s hunting camps, considering deer season was about to kick off. British needed these funds and she had to get the board to recognize it.

  “All right, if we can finish up here,” the president of the Southwood School Advisory Committee said, clearing her throat. “I am sure we would all like to get home and start cooking for the Thanksgiving holiday before this storm breaks and leaves us high and dry.”

  As if on cue a crack of lightning lit up the rectangular windows of the conference room. Everyone groaned.

  “Excuse me,” British said, standing as others began to gather their belongings. “I believe we missed my part of the agenda.” She was never one to bite her tongue and she wasn’t going to start now.

  Someone sighed in annoyance.

  Two of the high school teachers plopped their purses back on the table. />
  “Sorry to take five minutes out of your evening, but this has been put off long enough and now that we have Superintendent Locke here—”

  “You’re already two minutes into your time, Home Ec,” Cam interrupted and chuckled.

  British’s upper lip curled, hearing the nickname; she twisted the pear-shaped diamond engagement ring she still wore on her finger. Bravery ignited, she cleared her throat. “I don’t see how laughing about STEM for GRITS is funny.” But as she said the words the rest of the advisory board laughed. Heat filled her cheeks, reminding her of the time when she realized she loved science and the science fairs. She’d been so excited the year she was old enough to make an exploding volcano that she practically ran over to join the boys. Her ears still rang from the laughter of the class when the boys told her she could only clean up after them and handed her a broom. None of her girlfriends, friends who didn’t grasp the science behind creating their own lip-gloss flavors, wanted to speak up in fear of how the boys would respond. British knew then there needed to be a better support group for girls.

  “Why do you think your girls deserve the bonus funding when we already have a legitimate robotics team that can use the funding?” Cam asked, elbowing the superintendent.

  “Because the boys on the robotics team are either distracted by the girls or they’re not inclusive.”

  Locke raised his hands in the air. “Which is it?”

  Cam spoke first. “Maybe if your girls dressed—”

  The women who’d slammed their purses down gasped at the absurdity.

  “The trends these days...” Cam sputtered and tried to recover. “Look, when I was growing up, girls had to cover up and wear long skirts. Shirts were damn near turtlenecks. Nowadays they’re wearing basically neon signs for boys to look.”

  “How ’bout you teach your boys to not stare?” British tapped her paperwork with her pink-polished nails. Maybe today was not the greatest day to wear this cotton-candy color. “May we please focus on the agenda?”

  And then the weather spoke for her. A loud boom cracked outside on the lawn; the lights flickered and the air went off. Ear-piercing silence filled the room. Once everyone registered what had happened, they began talking at once.

  British could feel her funding being pushed to the next meeting. “Before this meeting adjourns, can we please vote to approve who gets the donation from the city? Maybe the Christmas Advisory Council can weigh in on the matter?”

  Miss McDonald, the school’s librarian and the parliamentarian of the council, banged her gavel at her end of the table and commanded order just as she did in the library.

  “What?” British asked. “We’re not going to meet next month and, before the year ends, there’s a chance my girls can make it to the Four Points STEM contest. It is imperative to nurture young girls at this impressionable age. We need to continue to encourage their creative minds in science and math, as well as everything else. We need more geochemists like Ashanti Johnson, zoologists like Lillian Burwell Lewis and, of course mathematicians like Katherine Johnson. Is the school willing to sponsor both teams?”

  As British spoke she recognized the eye-rolls. She was losing her audience. Everyone wanted to get home. They wanted to be with their families. For the first time this year, the schools planned to be closed the entire week of Thanksgiving instead of the last three days of the week, which was fine, British guessed. She tried to avoid her family this time of year.

  “Why didn’t you put in your request sooner?” the treasurer asked, flipping through a black binder. “I see no notes here.”

  “Strange.” British glared across at Cam. She twisted her wedding ring round her finger for confidence. “I could have sworn I had submitted it at least every other week since the beginning of the semester, once I heard about the extra funding. Actually, I gave it to you again before the school day started.”

  Cam shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I handed in another proposal a week ago.” British’s nails scratched at the top of the table. Kimber patted her on the back, easing her down.

  “Last week, when my football player got hurt during practice?” Cam asked and laughed. “I apologize if taking a student to the ER trumped filing your request.”

  British’s eyes narrowed on the director. “I’m ten seconds away from filing a complaint.”

  The superintendent stood. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Carres, with limited funding, my hands are tied here. Only one program in the school applied for the bonus.”

  Kimber spoke up. “What about an after-school group?”

  The lights flickered once again and gave everyone a glimpse of intrigue on the superintendent’s face. “You have an after-school group? I don’t recall a budget for one.” He looked over at the principal of Southwood Middle School.

  “Mrs. Carres uses the recreation center located directly off the school,” Principal Terrence advised, beaming. He offered a wink in British’s direction.

  “All of its members are from the school?” Herbert Locke asked British.

  British nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Who funds this project?”

  “I do,” admitted British. A lump formed in her throat. When her husband, Christian Carres, died five years ago due to complications from a car accident, he’d left her a lump sum of money. There was nothing she’d wanted more than to help the girls of Southwood, Georgia, so she’d poured the money Christian left her into equipment, safety features, you name it.

  “Interesting.” Herbert stroked the patch of red hair growing on his chin.

  “You’re not seriously contemplating her request?” Cam squawked.

  “If Mrs. Carres turned in her paperwork and you failed to turn it in—” the superintendent went on “—I don’t feel comfortable not supporting them.”

  “But my robotics team,” Cam said through gritted teeth. “We already made plans. I’ve seen the competition from Black Wolf Creek and Peachville. We’ve got this in the bag.”

  “And how do you know?” asked Coach Farmer. He rose from his seat. The hem of his white pullover shirt acted like a hammock for his protruding belly, which lapped the waistband of his red shorts. He spoke in American Sign Language, which he’d initially learned to communicate with the quarterback. For practice and perfection, he always signed now. “Are you spying on the competition?”

  Cam sputtered. His bright face reddened. “Competition? What competition?”

  Whispers of doubt spread among the committee. British loved to argue her point but if she stood here and let Cam explain himself, she didn’t have to say a word.

  “So you’re not worried about them,” baited British, “but you’re worried about my girls?”

  “Stop trying to make me out to be some sexist, Home Ec.”

  “Hold on, now,” said one of the high school science teachers. “We have a couple of STEM and robotics teams at Southwood High that stepped back for the middle school to receive the funding, but if we’re opening the door, we don’t mind stepping up to the plate at the competition.”

  A disgruntled conversation began. All the science teachers, including at the elementary level, wanted a shot to go to Districts.

  “All right. All right.” Herbert motioned for everyone to settle down. “I have one pot of money—we can split it evenly or winner takes all.”

  “Winner takes all,” British and Cam chorused.

  “Sounds like we have a Southwood competition.” Herbert clapped his hands together. “Two weeks from tonight. That will give everyone enough time to enjoy the Thanksgiving break, have time to spend with their families and then get back to the labs and find something interesting to entertain the Christmas Advisory Council. We’ll let them decide the winner. Half of the group is made up of organizers for the school drive, and they may just want to have the CAC do this every year i
f there’s leftover funds.”

  Thunder rumbled outside at his final words. The school district board members gathered their belongings and attempted to file out the double doors in an orderly fashion. British lingered behind the glass doors of city hall, Kimber keeping her company.

  “Don’t you guys need to get on the road and head for Villa San Juan?”

  “Yeah, Nate and Stephen already left with their families,” said Kimber. “I wanted to come out and support you.”

  British linked her arm through the younger girl’s. They locked elbows and began walking out the double doors. Rain pelted the brick walkway. “Did you bring your umbrella?”

  “Of course not.” Kimber laughed. “But I love walking in the rain.”

  “I can give you a ride, Kimber.”

  Kimber tugged on British’s arm. “Key word being love, as in the fact I enjoy it,” she giggled.

  Cars began leaving the parking lot. Rain fell harder before their wipers could wipe it away. British sighed and glanced at the dark sky. Not even a single star in sight. “You think anyone would notice if I slept here?”

  “You can come over and stay at my place tonight,” Kimber offered. “I have a nice bottle of wine we can try out.”

  When British came to Southwood to work as an aide, she did so at Southwood High School, four years after graduating from there herself. She’d been the youngest aide so far and she’d found it hard to gain the respect of the students, until popular Kimber Reyes had spoken up and vouched for her. Five years later she was here with the same girl, who was all grown up. Well, almost.

  British shook her head. “No, thanks. I don’t like the idea of drinking alcohol with you.”

  “I am almost twenty-one and it’s nonalcoholic.”

  “Fake wine,” British said with a frown. “I can’t drink fake wine with you.”