Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ALLIE
I’ve somehow moved out of my parents’ house without telling them, which wasn’t the plan. But they’ve been busy, and our paths simply haven’t crossed. Not that they organically will now that I live across town …
Taking my phone out of my purse, I send a text to our group chat asking if they want to have supper tonight. My mom is the first to answer.
Mom
That sounds nice, honey, but Dad and I have plans. Can we make it tomorrow night?
Me
Let me check my schedule and get back to you.
I should just tell her that tomorrow night will be fine, but the girls might have basketball practice, and I still need to sit down with Noah and finalize the gym schedule with him.
Speaking of Noah, my thoughts about him are getting complicated. He makes me feel things I’m not prepared to deal with. Although, he might just be invoking some kind of cell memory that stems from years of unrequited love. I’m pretty sure that’s a thing.
While I used to pine for Noah like only a hormone filled teenager can, I’m no longer that same simple girl. I’ve grown into a moderately bitter, extremely trepidatious, full-grown adult with enough issues to fill a stadium. I clearly have a lot to work out, and that’s going to take time.
I release a sigh so loud and long I’m surprised I don’t pass out from oxygen deprivation. A quiet knock on the door brings me back from my musings. Speak of the devil. It’s Noah.
“Hey,” he says, walking into my classroom with a big grin on his face.
He’s holding a pot of purple mums. Against all reason I want to walk over to him and run my hands through his wavy brown hair.
While I’m doing that, I imagine leaning in and sniffing the side of his neck, and I wonder if he still wears that aftershave that smells like cloves and cinnamon.
My mouth waters in a Pavlovian response.
“Hey, yourself.” I point to the flowers he’s holding. “Have you taken up gardening?”
“Nope. I bought these at the store.” Putting them down on my desk, he adds, “They’re a welcome back to Elk Lake High School gift for you.”
Heat floods my face. “Thank you.”
Before I can decipher whether there’s another meaning behind his gift—like are they just a welcome plant, or are there any romantic feelings involved?—he says, “Mums are Lorelai and my mom’s favorite. They seemed fitting for the season.”
That comment makes it clear I’ve fallen into the friend and family category. While that should probably elicit a sensation of relief, it actually ticks me off. Apparently, my younger self is still looking for a different kind of acknowledgment from Noah Riley.
“That’s very sweet of you, thank you. Purple is my favorite color.”
Sitting down in one of the classroom chairs, he asks, “Are you getting excited?”
I tip my head from side to side. “About some things. The class is reading Catcher in the Rye, which is not one of my favorites. But yeah, I’m happy to be here.”
“What’s your favorite book from this age?” he asks.
“Robinson Crusoe.”
“Why?”
Leaning against my desk, I tell him, “The adventure, I suppose. The protagonist wanted a life at sea which was in opposition of the path his parents envisioned for him.”
“Ah, so you’re a rebel. Are you following in Defoe’s footsteps?” Referencing the author of the book, he asks, “He did pattern the hero after himself, didn’t he?”
“It depends on who you ask,” I tell him. “As to my being a rebel, I admit that I’m not currently living the life my mother wants for me. But that doesn’t mean I’m hoping to be shipwrecked on a deserted island or hijacked by pirates.” I feel like I’ve been through enough.
He shrugs his eyebrows comically. Mimicking a pirate’s accent, he declares, “Arrrrrr, I suppose only time will tell. The seas are full of mischief.”
A burst of laughter bubbles out of me. I didn’t realize Noah was such a ham.
But I suppose that’s because I never got to know him outside his role as Lorelai’s hunky brother.
Our early relationship was more based on me staring at him with enough pent-up emotion to sink a ship.
“I’m willing to bet there aren’t that many pirates in Elk Lake,” I tell him.
“I mean, what kind of booty would they possibly be hoping to pillage here?”
“It’s the lure of the crappies,” he teases, still with a pirate drawl.
“If you say so.”
Noah changes the subject. “I’m also here because I want to talk basketball. We need to settle on a practice schedule.”
“I’d like for the girls to get in at least two hours a day,” I tell him. “I know you have the gym right after school, but is there any way we can use it then, too?”
“You only had seven girls at tryouts, right?” I nod my head, so he says, “Then I think they should practice with the boys.”
“Are you sure it won’t be too crowded?”
“Oh, it’ll be crowded, but in a good way.” He explains, “I’m hoping it will incite some healthy competition. I’m pretty sure the boys will want to show off in front of the girls. That alone will force them to work harder than they have been.”
“And the girls already feel like they have something to prove to the boys,” I add. “I like it. It’s a good plan.”
Noah stands up and stretches his arms one across the other. “We can overlap practices on Saturdays if you want. That way we can plot our individual strategies.”
The bell rings, startling me. “Wow, I forget how loud that thing is.”
“I’m off to freshman dodgeball,” he says with a grimace. “Here’s hoping those kids have better aim than they did last week. I took more balls to the head than a blind juggler.”
I watch as Noah leaves my room and wonder at the odd set of events that has brought him back into my life. The life I currently have, thanks to his involvement.
Leah Flynn walks into my classroom with a group of her friends. “Miss Rogers, hi!” Her pale complexion turns pink with excitement. Indicating the girls next to her, she says, “These are my friends, Taylor and Penny.”
“Hi, girls,” I greet them. “Welcome back to Freshman Honors English.”
“Miss Rogers is our new girls’ basketball coach,” Leah tells her friends. “She’s amazing!”
The rest of the class pushes their way through the door, and once everyone is seated, I clear my throat to get their attention.
I introduced myself, “Good morning, I’m Miss Rogers, your new English teacher.
I hope you’re all ready to learn.” I cringe after that last bit comes out of my mouth.
I sound like a stereotypical teacher from my own high school years. In a nutshell, boring and old.
A boy I recognize from basketball raises his hand and asks, “Miss, huh? That makes you single.” He winks boldly.
“Don’t be an idiot, Jackson.” Leah Flynn to the rescue. “Miss Rogers is a grown woman. She’s never going to be interested in someone like you.” The heightened flush on Leah’s cheeks gives her away. She has a crush on Jackson.
“Don’t you worry about me and Miss Rogers, Leah,” Jackson tells her. “I’m pretty sure she’s got good taste in men.” His cocky expression is enough to make me laugh. So, I do.
Little does he know, my taste in men is not the best, but I don’t offer that insight. “While I appreciate the compliment, Jackson, we’re going to have to keep things professional between us.” To lighten the mood, I add, “After all, you play for the enemy.”
“We kicked your butts last night!” Leah translates for the non-basketball players in the room.
“We let you win, Flynn,” he lies. Then he arrogantly brags, “The boys are way better than you girls.”
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough, Jackson,” I tell him. “Mr. Riley and I have decided that you’ll be practicing together. There will be plenty of opportunity for you to show the girls what you’re made of.”
Jackson does not look pleased by that information, but Leah sure does. The smirk on her face says that she’s looking forward to spending as much time with Jackson as she can. Even if it is under the guise of competition.
“Enough basketball talk,” I say while handing out a quiz the previous teacher prepared. “Put your books away and pull out a pen, it’s pop quiz time.”
An echo of “Oh, no!” fills the air. “I hate this book!” a boy across the room yells out. “It’s so depressing!” comes another airborne opinion.
“It’s never been one of my favorites,” I admit, “but it’s required, so we need to finish it.”
The grumbles and groans continue as an idea pops into my head.
“You know what?” I tell them while handing out the quizzes.
“We’re going to do this a bit differently.
Instead of everyone taking the quiz on their own, I want you to partner up in groups of four and discuss the questions amongst yourselves.
When you’re done, we’ll compare observations as a class. ”
“How will that be graded?” a studious-looking girl in the front row asks. She appears to be an A student so I know she won’t like my answer.
“As long as we get some good discussion going at the end, everyone will get an A,” I tell them. Yup, she looks annoyed.
The rest of the class, however, fills the air with cheers. English is supposed to be fun and I’m going to make sure it is. Literature is meant to expand thoughts and open minds. The best way to do that is to encourage conversation.
While the class shuffles their chairs around and gets to work, I sit down at my desk and stare at the pot of purple mums that now resides there.
It’s been a very long time since I’ve received flowers.
Brett bought me roses every year for our anniversary, except for the last one.
We were declared officially divorced the day before our sixth wedding anniversary.
He married his next wife on the day of, which feels like bad karma.
At any rate, that makes my last gift of flowers almost a year ago. Noah may not have meant his offering in any way but friendly, but even so, it means a lot.
I can’t help but wonder if I’d never met Brett, would the sun, moon, and stars have aligned in such a way that Noah Riley would have come back into my life sooner? Maybe in a romantic way …