I don’t understand, either. But I hope to figure it—and her—out soon. Rising out of the cramped desk, I stretch and give her a smile. “Lead the way.”
The brief glimpse I got of her at ease is gone as she shakes her head and walks out of the classroom, locking the door behind us. Mechanically, she walks through the hallway, pointing out various things as she names them. Once we make our way around to the gym, she points at the double doorway, and I peek through the window. Coeds are playing basketball during PE—some three-on-three is happening on one side of the court and another group is practicing free throws on the other side while some others linger in the bleachers. “Looks like fun.”
“You said you grew up in Canaan Falls?”
“I did. But my dad made me go to a private school.”
“You act like it’s a bad thing.”
“It wasn’t. I just didn’t want to do anything he wanted me to do, solely because he wanted me to do it.”
“So, why do you play his sport then?”
For the first time in my life, I confess the truth out loud, admit where my original passion for the game ignited. “Because he didn’t want me to.”
She gives me a puzzled look. “But you’re playing for his team.”
“It was the organization that wanted to sign me. And at the end of the day, I just wanted to be on the mound again.” I take in a deep breath as I glance around the gymnasium hallway. “It started out as a way to piss him off. But I found being on the field was the only place I wanted to be. For me, not him.” My gaze meets hers to find curiosity brewing. “My father was a hell of a baseball player, but E.J. wasn’t wrong in his assessment of the man I knew off the field. And I’d appreciate it if you kept that to yourself.” Did I really admit that aloud to her? Shit, I’m unsure if I’m testing her or myself. Because I can count on one hand how many people know my true feelings about my father.
She gives me a knowing nod, her eyes locked on mine, and it’s in that moment that I know I don’t need to worry one bit that she’d betray my confidence or sell me out for some news story payout and a few minutes of fame.
Leading me down a corridor, she opens a door, and we enter the cafeteria. She points around, telling me that it used to be half the size before the addition was added on a few years ago.
“So, you attended high school here?” I fish for intel but only receive a nod as confirmation. She’s not so willing to share, but I hope I can change that eventually. “What made you decide to become a history teacher?”
Her eyes land on me, narrowing for a split second before she looks ahead and leads me out of the lunchroom. “I always wanted to be a teacher. I loved school. And as cliché as it sounds, I wanted to make a difference for the students like E.J. who I don’t see as problematic but who need some extra guidance in the right direction sometimes.”
“He’s a great kid.”
“He is.”
“He gave me a bit of advice.” I take in a deep breath, internally laughing at myself for being nervous as I say, “He told me I should ‘shoot my shot.’”
Avery’s response is to pick up her pace, but as we round the corner, I recognize the school’s entryway which is really close to the principal’s office—where she is heading with purpose.
“I have a feeling he and I will both be disappointed if I don’t heed his advice,” I say as she halts, slowly turning to face me. “So, can I get your number or maybe meet you sometime for coffee?”
The horror on her face isn’t exactly what I’d expected. The look does nothing but kick up a churning in my gut. It intensifies when she shakes her head and responds, “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Shit. I did. I still do. “And what makes you think that?”
“History. That’s what,” she responds, ushering me into the main office, making her way to the secretary’s desk. “Principal Newman wanted to see Mr. Barlowe before he left, but I really need to get back to my classroom. Can you show him to his office?”
The secretary hurriedly jumps up, as eager to help as Avery is to escape me. “Avery.” When I say her name, she stops, quickly glancing over her shoulder with a mixture of uncertainty and something else I can’t quite read on her face.
“It was really nice to meet you, Carter, but I have to get back to my students.” With that, she walks away, and I stand there, watching her once again hurry away. Only this time, I feel like she’s running from me in particular and not just some baseball player she assumed the worst about.