8
CARTER
This has turned out to be even better than I expected as I watch her across the room. The principal was too happy to sign me in as a guest and had no problem ushering me right to her classroom. The shock on her face was priceless. But now, it looks more like loathing. Feisty. I can work with that.
E.J. leans over and whispers, “You should shoot your shot too. She’s really cool for a teacher.”
“I’m not sure it would go well.”
“Probably not.” He snickers and glances over to Avery as she does her best to avoid looking in my direction. There’s an obvious connection between her and the kid. He’s definitely the class clown and probably a tad of a troublemaker, but she seems to be on his good side. That says a lot. And so does his assessment of my father. He won me over right away by seeing straight through the bullshit of the dog and pony show my father puts on.
“She’s not like the other teachers. She’s better.” The kid speaks with a heartfelt sincerity that makes me want to get to know everything about her and learn firsthand how she earned his respect.
“So, you play ball?” I ask.
“I used to, but work has to come first now.” E.J. shakes his head.
Work? He can’t be more than fifteen or sixteen years old. And it’s moments like this that I feel like a prick for not appreciating the luxuries that I was provided by my father even if they came with their own price. “Well, maybe if you have some time off, you can come to a game.”
His face immediately lights up, and I’m already making a mental note to get him tickets. “Really? That’d be amazing. I promise to not read or sleep during the game.” His reassurance is convincing and hilarious as he nods happily.
“Thanks, bud.”
We chat baseball until the bell rings, then he instructs me not to screw up with Ms. W before walking over to her. The other students rise out of their seats, some waving, some plain old staring at me until they all eventually make their way out to the hallway, leaving me and Avery in the empty classroom.
“What are you doing here?” Her tone is flat, but I see the frustration in her posture as she rises from her desk and folds her arms over her chest.
“You visited me at work, figured I’d return the favor.” I can’t help but enjoy her growing frustration. I relish in it when she gives up her calm demeanor and throws her hands in the air.
“You’re a baseball player. An audience is part of the job description for you. It’s not in mine. How did you find out where I worked, anyway?”
“I have my ways.” Thank you, Joe. This is far more enjoyable than showing up at the field hours early because it’s better than staring at the bare walls of my new house in the town I never thought I’d return to again.
“Yes, I’m sure you do. You proved your point. So you can leave now.”
“What point is that?” I ask curiously, wanting to know what she thinks I’m up to because I’m not even sure anymore.
“That you’re in control and can make my life miserable all because I wasn’t interested in your infantile game.” She walks over to me, leaning over the desk as she glares to me. “So, if you plan to get me fired, go ahead and try.”
Fired? “Why would I want to get you fired? I just wanted a tour from Ms. W, and apparently she’s the best teacher around—according to E.J.”
“You can’t be happy with the pictures and everyone making the both of us out to be a joke.”
“I’d say the joke’s on them.” Because I sure as hell don’t mind since it’s the reason Joe was able to find out who she is.
“Don’t you have a game or practice or, like, weight lifting or some sort of sporty thing—you know, somewhere else—that you need to get to?”
“I have time.” Plenty of time for her. I don’t have to be at the field for a few hours, and even so, I have a feeling I’d make the time even if I didn’t have it. Something doesn’t sit right about that with me. What is it about her? I want to get to know her. What am I looking for, though? And what happens when I find it?
“I don’t.”
“Avery, just a few minutes. Show me around the school, tell me a little bit about how you won over the class clown who is usually labeled the problematic student, and I’ll tell Principal Newman that you were the most gracious tour guide ever—even if you do hate me and try to shove me over the landing.”
“It’s a thought.” Her expression softens a bit as she moves behind her desk, grabbing keys and her phone out of the drawer. Softly she says, “I don’t hate you. I just don’t understand why you’re here.”