Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sayla
Fun fact: Switching director roles requires both Dex and me to work twice as much as usual. This is because we’re not only handling the new roles, we’re also walking each other through everything we know about our real ones.
On behalf of performing arts, we spend my extra prep period each day ticking tasks off on my ever-present checklists. Except these are Dexter’s checklists now. He’s the new captain of the clipboard.
With my help, he does things like draft an email to the parents of students in the fall play, asking for volunteers to assist with costumes and makeup.
He also sends updated meeting times and locations to the booster club to accommodate his schedule.
He even contacts copyright holders to confirm permission for songs the choir will perform at their next concert.
For the record, what Dex lacks in know-how, he more than makes up for with charm and enthusiasm. I can only hope, when it’s time for me to take over again, everyone won’t be too disappointed.
Including me.
Because working closely with Dex turns out to be way more enjoyable than I expected. I’m not sporty—at all—and I’m only about half as charming as he is. Still, taking on Dexter’s role, even temporarily, teaches me a lot about what he does. And about what I’m capable of doing myself.
During his extra prep periods, he walks me through contacting uniform suppliers to order replacement jerseys, scheduling maintenance on all our playing fields, and asking students to turn in proof of recent physicals, or permission slips for away games, or grade checks for eligibility.
We even respond to scouting requests from some college-level coaches and inform the athletes they’re interested in of any potential meetings.
This kind of coordination can be crucial to a student’s future.
Scholarships and admissions are on the line.
So I’m kind of glad this role change won’t last too long, because I’m not sure I could keep up.
But beyond all these administrative responsibilities, our most important goal is preparing our students for the performances and activities during the SACSS evaluation.
The first order of business is rallying the theater for a football scrimmage.
We plan to use flags. Not tackle. To keep things gentle for liability purposes.
And a few of these kids are even less sporty than I am, which is saying a lot.
So I show up in my coaching clothes and wearing a whistle, but I have to rely on Dex and the actual football team for help.
They’re super cool about it. And I have to admit, I’m impressed. For all the complaints people heap on teenagers, when you give them a task in a subject they’re passionate about, they rise to the occasion. Or maybe Dex is just good at inspiring sportsmanship.
Either way, the football team helps them with drills and exercises. And we teach them plays for what will hopefully be easy-to-score touchdowns. No cutthroat competition. No injuries.
Just good old-fashioned game play.
At the same time, we’re also prepping the football players to perform a scene from Romeo and Juliet. Directing them proves easier after they start working with the theater kids. Apparently, collaborating is a talent that improves with practice.
Go figure.
As a group, we decide on a part in Act I where Romeo and Juliet meet at the Capulets’ masquerade ball.
This way, most of the team can be milling about and dancing around the stage in costumes.
A couple of guys volunteer to take on the leads.
It’s all good, silly fun. But still Shakespeare. A classic.
When the team asks if they can finish the scene by lip-syncing to a modern song, Dex suggests reenacting the video from One Direction’s “Steal My Girl” as an homage to Romeo stealing Juliet out from under Count Paris.
Dex claims the video was a favorite of his sisters back in the day, but I catch him singing along more than once during rehearsal, so I’m not sure he wasn’t a secret fan himself.
But the video is chaotic and circus-like, full of energy and characters, so performing it is a great excuse to include all kinds of students in the grand finale.
Advanced orchestra plays the music. The choir sings the lyrics.
Members of the marching band participate.
So does the dance team. Sign language class.
Gymnastics. Basketball. Cheerleaders. Mathletes.
One of our art classes is in charge of painting the backdrop. Kids in wood shop build the stage. And since the set will be assembled on the football field for the final performance, we’ll have to break everything down within twenty-four hours before the game the following night. But nobody minds.
The spirit of teamwork is in the air.
Even Mr. Wilford takes part, offering to dress up like a ringmaster when we present our Stony Peak circus to the SACSS.
We rehearse and practice every day. Some of us even put in hours over the weekend.
And no matter what we’re doing—football or Shakespeare or set construction or lip-syncing—I find myself watching Dex.
Seeing him in action is … hot.
I already knew the man was attractive in his workout gear, strolling around campus in thigh-hugging joggers and unzipped hoodies.
But Dexter Michaels looks equally good in tailored khakis and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
I’m pretty sure there’s nothing sexier than knowing underneath his shirt are a bunch of tattoos no one else at Stony Peak is aware of.
And I continually catch myself chewing my lip, checking out the muscles in his forearms, roped veins, and—
Well.
I’m just grateful he doesn’t catch me drooling.
And through it all, thrumming in the background, is the fact that he gave up the FRIG for me.
On second thought, this is hardly a background thrum.
It’s more like a full-on fall festival parade in my chest. The man I’d decided was my enemy—for years—says he sees me. And as it turns out, I like being seen.
So things have been going well between us ever since the retreat.
Except for the part where I still wake up waiting for the other shoe to drop.
After so many years of being uprooted without warning, yanked away from any attachments I’d started to form, I’m not programmed to expect smooth sailing.
I’m also starting to think some of my early hostility toward Dexter stemmed from my inability to trust being happy.
From the beginning, I loved teaching at Stony Peak High.
I found a roommate and best friend in Loren.
I had students who needed me. Colleagues I respected.
And, above all else, a super solid routine.
So much of what I’d always wanted in my life was finally mine, but my brain—or my heart, or both—wasn’t comfortable relaxing into the goodness of it all.
My subconscious stayed vigilant. Ever-prepared for the worst-case scenario.
I think a part of me believed that if my real nemesis was right in front of me, I wouldn’t have to worry about all the other uncertainties in the future. I could consolidate my discomfort and control everything in one place. Dex became the focus of my fears.
Being angry with him was so much easier than being afraid.
But I’m trying to look at reality differently now.
I keep thinking about that sign Dex told me about in their family’s home: Happiness is a choice.
Maybe it’s time I surrender to the uncertainty of the future and just decide to be happy.
It’s risky, sure. But when I look at Dexter now, I think worth the risk.
And after he transfers to Harvest High, things will hopefully be even better between us. I’ll still be the same old Sayla Kroft here, and he can be the extraordinary leader he is over there, and we won’t have to compete anymore.
Win-win.
But I can’t focus on that now. The SACSS visit is next week. And until then, I’m determined to keep my head in the game.
Speaking of games, I’ve been coordinating a trade so the theater kids can borrow uniforms from the football team for the scrimmage.
I had to consider both the size and condition of the jerseys and pants, and I’ve come up with a list of pairings I think will work.
I need to give Dexter his own copy, though, so he can confirm the matches.
He’ll probably attach it to his clipboard.
A smile tugs at my lips.
The man takes his temporary role seriously.
Our Friday rehearsals ended an hour ago, and almost everyone else has left school, but Dex is still in his office.
A shiver racks my body at the thought of being alone with him again.
Or maybe the temperatures have dropped more than expected.
Either way, I throw on my lucky cardigan before heading across campus.
The late-afternoon air is crisp and tinged with the scent of wood and allspice.
In the quad, fallen leaves dapple the grass.
Planters of seasonal shrubs line the walkways.
Like most of the structures at Stony Peak, the science building is red brick with stone accents.
Some of the largest, oldest, most beautiful oak trees shade the east side.
And above both entrances, engraved in the concrete, is this message: Truth Above All.
Dexter’s office is on the second floor, so I scurry up the stairs and pop inside. He’s at his desk, and stacks of papers and folders crowd every surface. On the tallest pile under the window is his teddy bear.
“Hey, there!” He clambers out of his seat, clearing his throat.
“I didn’t know you were coming. I was just reorganizing my filing cabinets.
You inspired me to put everything in order.
By year. By course. By sport. All the records and invoices and lesson plans.
” He comes around the desk. “I had to take everything out first, so we’re a little disorganized. ”
We. I nod at the bear, grinning. “Is this Clarence?”
“Yep.”
“And you normally keep him in your filing cabinet?”
“Yeah, well.” Dex ducks his head, bashful. “I can’t exactly have a teddy bear on display during a disciplinary meeting with a student.”
“Poor Clarence.” My lips twitch. I’m absolutely loving the fact that, for once, Dex is the one who’s off-balance. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody.” I take a beat. “Well, anybody else.”
He tips his chin. “What does that mean?”
“I might’ve mentioned Clarence to Loren,” I confess. But we’re talking about a teddy bear, not some criminal rap sheet. “And by ‘might have,’ I mean I definitely told Loren.”
Dex lets a thread of air out through his teeth, but he says nothing.
I shift my weight, uncomfortable now. “You didn’t say he was a secret.”
“You’re right.” His jaw ticks. “I didn’t.”
“I’m sorry.” I cringe. “I only brought him up to Loren because you telling me about your bear was one of the highlights of our retreat. That’s the moment my feelings about you started to shift.”
His expression warms, and he strides over to Clarence. “I guess that’s a good thing, then.” In the big window above him, old branches stretch, bare and finger-like, almost close enough to touch the glass. “Especially considering how much time we’ve had to spend together lately.”
Dex turns back to me, and I test out a small smile. “Working so closely with me hasn’t been too terrible, right?”
“Heh.” His eyes crinkle at the edges. “Only mild torture.”
“Seriously, though.” I lift a brow. “Why do you keep Clarence here? Do you just love reliving the memory of having your tonsils removed?” I expect him to laugh, but he shakes his head, eyes back on the bear.
“As a matter of fact, I forgot about him as soon as we got home from the hospital. But my little sister dug him out of a toy box years later. She’s the one who named him. Slept with him every night. Those two had a real love affair going for a while.”
“I see.” My lips twitch. “So you were jealous.”
“Not exactly.” He lets out a nostalgic sigh.
“When I went away to college, I was the first kid in my family to move out, so my mom tucked Clarence into one of my bags. Later that night, after everyone had left, I found him at the bottom of a suitcase, tucked in between a bunch of socks. I was pretty homesick, so I kept him.” He averts his gaze, like the memory makes him shy.
“To this day, he reminds me about what really matters in life, you know? He connects me to my past. To my family.”
“Aww.” I swallow. “He’s love.”
“Sounds kind of corny.” Dex pushes out a chuckle. “But yeah. You could say that.”
“Well, I would say that, since I’ve kept literally nothing from my childhood. My mom made us travel so light, she didn’t save even a single box of my stuff. I’ve got zero mementos or keepsakes.” A smirk slips out of me. “You have no idea how lucky you are that your childhood was so perfect.”
“Yeah, well.” His eyes come back to mine. “Nothing’s perfect.”
“Oh, really?” I snark. “Try telling that to everyone at Stony Peak who thinks you’re as close to perfection as a person can get.”
“I don’t care what they think.” Dex takes a step toward me, his gaze holding mine. “What do you think, Kroft?”
My pulse picks up, and I press my lips together, willing myself not to say anything stupid.
Like, I think you’re funny and generous and brilliant and dedicated, and I kind of want you to kiss me senseless right now.
But we’ve almost made it to the visitation, and Dex and I can’t afford to let our focus slip. For the sake of Mr. Wilford, the school, all our students, and the district—not to mention ourselves—we need to keep our minds on a successful evaluation.
After that, we can evaluate our lips.
“I think you need to look over these uniform pairings.” I show him the list of football players whose jerseys I predict will fit their theater kid counterparts. “Tell me if I got any matches wrong.”
“Hold on.” Dex bugs his eyes out. “Sayla Kroft is capable of making a mistake?”
“Rarely,” I smirk.
But you have no idea how much I want to make a mistake.
All the mistakes. Right now.
With you.
I shove the paper at him, and our fingers brush, sending energy singeing up my arm. When we both jerk our hands away, the list of names flutters to the ground, but we keep our eyes locked on each other.
“So clumsy,” he says with a teasing tsk. “You need to be more careful, Kroft.”
My eyebrow quirks. “You’re clumsy.”
“No. You.”
“Oh, really?” I square my shoulders, enjoying the sparks. “You are the most—”
“Shhh.” He lifts a finger and ghosts the tip across my mouth. “You should stop talking now.”