Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Weston
I was sitting in my office, talking to Finn, when Kylie popped in clutching her iPad.
“Good. You’re here too, Finn.” She sat down next to him.
“What’s wrong? You look frazzled,” I asked her.
“Because I am!” she snapped. “Principal Jordan is a nightmare.”
“Who is Principal Jordan?” I asked.
“The principal at Manhattan Heights. The gala is next week in the gymnasium. Your grandfather’s gym.
” She pointed at me. “Problem one. Principal Jordan told me that the school’s decorating committee is handling the gym, and that my event designer is ‘welcome to consult.’ Can you believe that?
Second, they want a theme, and they all voted for A Night Under the Stars. ”
“Okay? And?” My brow arched.
“They’re going to hang two hundred paper stars that a tenth-grade art class is cutting out by hand.
We have a six-figure budget for this thing, and the ceiling is going to look like a kindergarten graduation.
I suggested a chandelier shaped like the Castile logo, and Principal Jordan told me it was a bit much to my face. Can you believe that?”
“I’m starting to like Principal Jordan.” I grinned.
“Problem two. This one is your fault.” She stared at me. “Our auctioneer canceled.”
“I never agreed to an auctioneer. Why did he cancel?”
“I got the local anchor. You know the hot guy with the spikey hair and bright white teeth? He’s on every night at ten o’clock?
Anyway, he pulled out because his network doesn’t want him associated with the Castile rebrand until they see how this whole thing works out.
Which means the man we hired to make you look good is too worried about looking bad by standing next to you.
We’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, Weston.
Do you understand how far we have to climb out?
Well, do you? I feel it in my bones every single day since I started planning this. ”
“Just get another one. What’s the big deal?” I asked.
“In a week? Sure. I’ll just call the other famous person who does free charity auctions at public high schools. I’ll fix it. I always fix it. But I want you to feel bad.” She pointed at me. “And I can tell you don’t. So, whatever.”
“I’ll be your auctioneer,” Finn said.
“And what experience do you have?” Kylie’s brow raised.
“Let him do it,” I said. “Now, what else?”
She scrolled on her iPad. “The date auction lineup. Principal Jordan is in it. A History teacher. Chemistry Teacher. Art Teacher. And an English teacher.”
“Have you met any of them besides Principal Jordan?” I asked.
“No. Why?”
“Because I want to know what they look like.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s for the school, Weston, and your fucking reputation that’s bringing this company down.” She leaned forward and pointed at me. “You will go on that date, and you will like it!” she shouted.
“Relax, Kylie. Jesus Christ.”
“I will relax once this is over and your reputation is restored. If that’s even possible.” She stood up from her chair. “A Night Under the Stars. Paper ones. Cut by children,” she sighed. “And you’re not going to say one word!” She left my office.
Finn looked at me and shook his head. “She’s a little psycho these days.”
“It’s grandmother’s fault. You know how she is.”
“All too well.” He shook his head.
Samantha
“How was your day?” Greta walked into my classroom.
“It was good.” I smiled. “How was yours?”
“It’s like beating my head against the wall trying to teach these little serpents Chemistry.” She fell into one of the desk chairs. “By the way. Did you sign up for the blind date auction?”
“God no.” I laughed. “I’m not interested in going on a date with any man right now.”
“It’s for the school.”
“Well, I’m not. I’ll leave it to the other teachers.” I smirked. “You sign up.”
“I did. I’m a delight, and these are rich men we’re talking about.
Maybe it’ll work out, and I’ll never have to teach Chemistry again.
It’s one date, Sam. One blind date. You don’t even have to like him.
You sit there, let the man be charming, and eat the world’s nicest dinner, while some lonely rich person practices having a personality, and the school gets the funds it needs to keep certain programs. Where’s the downside to all of that? ”
“The downside is that the last time I trusted a man to be charming for two hours, he was charming for three years, and then I found out he’d been sharing that charm with a woman named Brittany from his gym.”
“It’s been six months, Sam.”
“And the wound is still fresh. I don’t know if I can ever trust a man again.
I met his mother and bought her birthday and Christmas gifts.
I learned to make his disgusting protein pancakes, and I drove four hours to watch him do a triathlon in the pouring rain.
I stood there, holding up a sign, cheering his dumbass on, and the entire time, there was a Brittany. I’m such a fool.”
“In your defense, you didn’t know about Gym Girl Brittany.”
“There’s always a Brittany. That’s the thing nobody tells you. You can do everything right. You can hold the sign in the rain, and somewhere, there is always a Brittany. Out there, waiting and stretching her perfect body.”
“Okay, that’s a little bleak, Sam. Brittany was Chris’s character flaw. Not yours. It’s time to move on.”
“I’m busy. I have a teenager who communicates exclusively by slamming doors and a shitload of papers to grade. Besides, I’m under construction right now. I put up cones, and you cannot park there yet.”
“Under construction? And how long is this construction project going to take before it’s completed?” she asked. “Because I’ve driven past that lot for a while now, and I don’t see a lot of workers.”
“They’re on a break.”
“For six months? Fine. Don’t participate.
But for the record. You teaching Gatsby to the students about how the saddest people are the ones who won’t let any good in, while you yourself put up cones around your own heart.
The irony.” She shook her head. “For what it’s worth.
Chris was a coward and a fool, and his pancakes sounded revolting.
You, my friend, deserve somebody who’d hold the sign in the rain for you.
And when you find him, I get full credit, and I’m your maid of honor at your wedding.
I won’t wear pink, so start thinking of other colors.
Until next time, love.” She smiled and left my classroom.
I gathered my things and headed to the soccer field to watch Zoey’s soccer practice. She was a natural—something she inherited from her loser father.
“Excuse me, Miss Hollis?”
“Mr. Pipps. How are you?”
“We need to have a chat about Zoey.” He sat on the bench next to me.
“What about her?”
“She’s a bright girl,” he said, pushing up his thick, black-rimmed glasses.
“She is.” I smiled.
“Very bright.”
“Why, thank you, Walter.”
“She’s possibly the brightest math student in all of my classes, which poses a problem.”
I understood why the students called him ‘The Turtle.’ Not only did his face resemble one, but he was slow as hell. Slow when he walked. Slow when he talked.
“Yesterday,” he paused. “I asked the class a question. A difficult question that Zoey happened to answer correctly.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” My brow furrowed.
“Yes, it is. But then she asked me a question back.”
“Okay. And? I encourage my students to ask questions. It’s called learning.”
“This was her question. And I quote, ‘Mr. Pipps, isn’t a limit just a mathematical proof that you can spend your whole life getting closer and closer to something and still never, ever be allowed to have it? And doesn’t that mean that hope is technically a trap?’”
“Oh lord,” I sighed.
“That question got some of the other students thinking, and then a riot erupted in the classroom. Jarod shouted that graphs are ruined for him forever. We didn’t finish the lesson on limits, Sam, and I’ll be honest with you. I have not felt very good about them since.”
I wanted to burst out into laughter because this math nerd was unsettled by my daughter’s question.
“That’s—I’m sorry, Walter. Unfortunately, that is very Zoey.”
“It’s not the first time since school started.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “This is the quiz from last week. Zoey gave the correct definition. And she would have had an A+ if it weren’t for this.” He pointed to the remark Zoey had made in parentheses.
I studied the paper. Everything was perfect, right down to her beautiful handwriting. Then I saw it: (so basically the curve gets super close and then commits to never touching the line. Bold strategy. Personally, I would just touch the line, but okay.)
“Well, you know kids.” I breathed out a laugh.
“Again, she’s an excellent student. She can do the math, no problem. The math keeps telling her something she already believes, and it’s making her angry.”
“I don’t think my daughter is angry, Walter.”
“But she is, Sam. Maybe you need to have a talk with her.”
“Sure. Okay.” I smiled.
When Zoey was finished with practice, she walked over and squinted her eyes to shield them from the sun.
“Why was The Turtle over here talking to you?”
“Let’s go. We’ll talk on the way home.” I hooked my arm in hers as we walked across the field.
“Is that my quiz?” She pointed.
“Yes.”
“I got the questions right, Mom. See. Full marks.”
“You did. But you would have gotten an A+ had it not been for this.” I pointed to her statement.
“So, this is a conversation about me being correct. Right?”
“Zoey.”
“I’m just saying, a lot of parents would kill for this. ‘My daughter is too good at math.’ People dream about a conversation like that.”
“You caused a riot in the classroom about limits,” I said.
“I made them think. There’s a difference.”
“Mr. Pipps told me that Jarod said graphs are ruined for him forever now.”
“Jerky Jarod needed to hear it. I did Jarod a favor. Besides, who taught me how to think?” She cocked her head. “You’re always telling me to think outside the box. So, technically, it’s your fault.”
“I suppose it is. Just do me a favor. From now on, keep your thoughts in Math class to yourself. The Turtle takes his math very seriously, and we don’t want to upset him. Deal?”
“Deal. Can we go out to eat?” she asked.
“Sure. Where do you want to go?”
“Starlight Café.”
“Oh, my favorite.” I hooked my arm around her with a smile.