Chapter 6 #2
“Bye, Ms. Starling!” Lizzy waves both arms wildly from the back seat of a white Nissan, her face pressed against the window as her mom pulls away from the line.
Josh runs up beside me when his dad stops in front of the curb. “There you are,” I say, laughing as I guide him toward the open door. “Have a good afternoon, buddy.”
He beams up at me with a toothless grin. “I got on the color green today for good behavior.”
“I knew you would.” I wave to his dad and step back as the truck pulls away.
As the last car approaches, sweet, shy Brenna stops beside me and looks up at me with her innocent brown eyes. “You forgot to give me my sticker,” she accuses with her no-nonsense attitude.
“I know,” I tell her softly. “I owe you one tomorrow.”
She considers this, then nods. “Okay. Don’t forget.”
“I won’t.”
Moments such as this remind me why I love what I do. The chaos, the noise, the sticky fingers, and endless questions all feel safe and predictable for at least a few hours each day.
I’m a Virgo to the core, craving structure and routine.
When the last car pulls away and the line finally clears, I breathe a sigh of relief and head toward the building.
The parking lot is mostly empty now, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the pavement.
Halfway to my car, an eerie feeling hits me.
It’s that prickling awareness at the back of my neck, feeling as if eyes are tracking my every move.
I slow, keys clutched between my fingers, and glance around casually.
A few teachers linger near the entrance, chatting.
The custodian pushes a trash bin toward the dumpster.
Nothing seems out of place or threatening.
I shake it off. You’re tired, I tell myself.
Overtired brains conjure things not there. Still, I don’t linger, quickly unlocking my car and sliding inside, locking the doors the second I’m seated. The familiar click brings a small sense of relief. I rest my forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, breathing. Then my phone buzzes.
Promise: Girls’ night at the clubhouse Saturday. You in?
My stomach tightens. Going to the clubhouse means there is a high chance of running into Catcher.
If I am forced to face Catcher, the girls will sense something is off.
Questions will follow, ones I don’t want to answer.
I can already see myself plastering on a smile, pretending I’m fine while everything inside me feels fragile and exposed. My thumbs hover over the screen.
Me: Ugh, I wish. I’m drowning in lesson planning and tutoring this weekend. Rain check?
The reply comes almost instantly.
Promise: You’ve been busy a lot lately. You sure you’re okay?
I stare at the message longer than necessary.
Me: Just tired. Soon, though.
I set the phone down before she can respond again and start the engine. As I pull out of the parking lot, I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes are a little too tired, and my smile is a little too practiced, while I tell myself I made the right choice.
My parents’ house is filled with the aroma of pot roast the second I step inside, wrapping around me like a hug before I even see them.
“There she is,” my mom calls from the kitchen. “Come help set the table, but first take your shoes off, you’ll track in dirt.”
I smile and do as I’m told, lining my flats neatly by the door as I did when I was a kid. Some habits never fade. Dad looks up from the table where he’s setting plates and smiles. “You’re right on time.”
“I told you I would be,” I tease, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “How are you doing today, Daddy?”
“Good. Your mom has been keeping me busy. She wanted new shelves in the laundry room, so I’ve been working on those.”
Since Dad’s retirement, Mom is keeping him occupied with all sorts of projects around the house.
Mom swats at me with a dish towel as I pass her. “You look tired,” she says, squinting at my face. “Are you sleeping well? And you look a little flushed. You sure you’re not coming down with something?”
“I’m sleeping okay,” I answer easily. It’s not a lie, but not the whole truth either.
Dinner is comfortable in the way only family dinners can be—easy conversation, laughs, the clink of silverware against plates. Mom and Dad fill me in on their plans to travel to the Smoky Mountains this summer and how they have already rented a cabin and bought tickets for a dinner show.
“I know,” Mom says as she sets her fork down. “You should come with us. The cabin is plenty big enough.” Mom looks almost giddy at the thought of me tagging along on their trip. But with the credit card bills piling up, I can’t afford to slack off this summer with my parents.
“I wish I could, Mom, but I already told Principal Collins I’d help out with summer school. Donna normally takes that position, but she is scheduled to be out on maternity leave.”
Mom’s face falls slightly. “Oh, that’s too bad.”
I wave her off, not wanting her to feel guilty. “You and Dad will have an awesome time without me. You two deserve a vacation alone, just the two of you.”
Mom smiles and thankfully changes the subject. “How are things at school? How are the kids?”
“Work is good, and the kids are great. They are excited about Mother’s Day coming up and the project we are working on. Which reminds me…” I turn to my dad. “Can I borrow your camera? I want to get some pictures of the kids to go along with their secret gifts.”
“Of course.” He stands and places his napkin on the table beside his plate. “I’ll go grab it now before I forget.”
While Dad’s off fetching his camera, Mom moves the conversation along. “So, how are the girls? I haven’t seen them around lately.”
“They’re good. Promise texted earlier. She invited me out this weekend for a girls’ night, but I had to pass. I’m just so busy with tutoring and all, and I have a mountain of laundry I need to catch up on.”
Mom reaches across the table and places her hand over mine. “I worry you take on too much. Just don’t overdo it. You’re young, you should be out having fun.”
“I have plenty of fun, Mom. And I’m not overdoing it. I promise.” I offer a warm smile and swallow, my appetite suddenly gone. “I’m okay,” I repeat, but quieter this time.
When dinner is over, Mom insists on packing me leftovers, stuffing enough food for three people into the bag as if she’s afraid I might starve between now and the next time she sees me.
At the door, Dad pulls me into a hug that lasts a beat longer than usual. “Love you, Button,” he murmurs.
“Love you too,” I whisper back.
As I walk back to my car, the night air is sticky and humid against my skin, and I feel emotionally drained and a tad queasy.
I blame it on the muggy Louisiana heat. On a lighter note, after spending the past couple of hours with my parents, I feel hopeful.
Somewhere between pot roast and quiet understanding, my parents reminded me of something important.
I’m not alone, even when I try to be.