Chapter 6 Rhea
Every time the bell rings, it vibrates through my skull, and I’m counting down the hours until I can wrap up here and get fresh air.
“Ms. Drake.” Annie—an oddly short seventh-grade girl who reminds me of Sunday—stands at my desk.
“Hey Annie,” I sit up a little straighter and lean on my sticker-bombed desk.
Being the most disrespected teacher in the school, as well as the most loved, is a hard gig.
Teachers don’t take me seriously because I teach art, but my room is a space for anyone.
Kids who can’t handle the school cafeteria ‘cause it’s too loud at lunch, ones I find sitting in the hallway, because they were kicked out of class.
Most just use my room as a study hall during free periods.
I also have the biggest room in the school, next to the gymnasium, and that always comes up in conversation at staff meetings and during teacher development days.
I have free rein of the space, and unlike most rooms, it's darker inside.
I replaced all the bright white lights with dimmable ones, and art covers every ounce of the walls.
Kids are allowed to paint and repaint the tables if they have an idea, and art is more than just marks and exams.
It’s expression and emotion.
“I’ve been working on this for weeks, and I can’t get it right. Can you tell me what’s wrong with it?” She hands me her notebook, and I suppress the small grunt of pain as I take it with my sore hand.
It’s a sketch of an elderly lady feeding ducks at the park. I recognize the tree from the space down past Main, Twindleway Park. It’s got a big pond and a dog run that Cosy loves to use.
“Why did you choose her?” I ask her, looking over the messy pencil sketch.
“Uh,” Annie pauses to think.
“There must have been a reason,” I encourage, admiring each little duck she took the time to create.
“I guess I liked that she was so old, feeding a bunch of baby ducks…” She chews her lip, and her shoulders sag like she said the wrong thing.
“Then there’s nothing wrong with it,” I hand it back to her.
“There has to be,” she sounds disappointed.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “You capture her age with grace in these lines, and every duck you drew has its own personality, Annie. It’s beautiful.”
Annie stares down at it, and I can tell something is still bugging her.
“What did you think was wrong with it?” I ask her as the second bell rings for late students.
“Why don’t you stay here and think on it?
You have… English next?” I ask her, and pick up the phone on my desk as she nods.
“I’ll let Mr. Disson know you aren’t feeling well, and you can hang out here with the seniors, maybe one of them can help you figure it out? ”
Annie nods a little more enthusiastically that time.
“Mr. Disson,” I say as he answers on his end.
“What do you want, Ms. Drake?” he snaps, and I can hear the dust spit from his crusty eighty-year-old lips.
“Annie Gaul is supposed to be in your English class right now, but she projectile vomited all over my room three minutes ago and is being sent to the nurse's office.”
“Sure she did,” Mr. Disson grunts.
“Are you calling me a liar?” I challenge him, and he says nothing.
“Excellent. Have a good afternoon.” I hang up the phone, “If you see him, give him a two-step wobble—sell the dizziness.” I laugh, and she cradles her notebook closer to her chest as she backs away to find a quiet spot to sit, as most of my senior class floods in and finds their own.
“Wow, creeping in on the second bell, how downright cool of you all…” I tease and push from my desk to start class.
“I want you all to make a card, including a poem for someone special in your life, and I expect to have twenty-one cards on my desk tomorrow addressed to me.” I joke, and the class gives me a few pity laughs.
“Get to work,” I say, and inhale to keep my hangover at bay.
I sit down, checking my cell phone to see a few missed messages from my Mom and a few from the girls. And one from my brother.
Reid
Mom’s being a nutcase again. Send help.
I stare at the message, and the headache only gets worse. It’s probably nothing, but I’d swing by the house before practice to check on him anyway. I set the phone face down, looking over the class once before laying my head on the desk and counting to ten to keep from vomiting.
"How does it feel?” Kaia turns my hand over in hers, “who taped this?”
“Uh,” I swallow, looking around the busy locker room. “Me.”
“Liar.” Her eyes snap to mine. “I’ve seen your tape jobs with my own eyes, and even with two good hands, you’re like an unattended toddler.” She narrows them on me, and I feel the burn from her glare.
"Stop it,” I grind out.
Kaia cocks her head to the side and gives me the look.
“Brighton.”
“I knew it!” She squeezes my hand, and I hiss at her. “You dirty slut,” she says, holding tighter. “Tell me what happened, right now!”
“Nothing, he cleaned the cuts, wrapped them up, and I blacked out on his couch,” I confess, “when I woke up, he was half-naked in the kitchen cooking me breakfast, and he helped me put my boots on. Did you know his hands were the size of two of mine?”
“Yes,” Kaia says instantly, “back up, half-naked?”
“Half. Naked.” I emphasize.
“God, I bet he’s fucking packing under that shirt. I’ve seen Boone. Those brothers are built for roughhousing with wild animals.” Kaia groans, letting go of my hand.
“Imagine a Discovery Channel show of just them, half-naked, wrestling bears.” I tease.
“They are bears.” She moans louder. “Wait, you said he put on your boots…” Kaia refocuses on the conversation.
“I tried…more than once to do it myself, but couldn’t get them on, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer!” I slump over and put my head against her shoulder. “Sunday is going to kill me.”
“For what? Her brother is a big boy.” Kaia laughs. “A very…very big boy.” The moaning returns, and I pinch her arm to make her stop. “Ow!” She slaps my hand, “You don’t have to tell her what happens in the upstairs of the Hollow, stays there.”
“I do, though,” I say, “he offered me shifts at the bar to help pay off the renovations that I’m going to have to do to the condo.”
“I’ve known those men since I was seven years old, and you got Bright on his knees, at your service and offering jobs?
” Kaia starts laughing like it's the funniest thing she’s ever heard, but I don’t find the humor in the situation.
“Never in my life did I think he was capable of being wrapped around someone’s finger; he probably keeps hunting knives in every pocket just to cut the strings and yet…
” She stares at me with big brown eyes and an expression on her sharp face that screams over exaggeration.
“It’s just a job, Killer,” I warn her before she starts to fantasize too much.
Once that starts, she’s impossible to reel in, her imagination takes hold, and she starts messing around in everyone’s business with plans that no one asked her to make.
“I know that look, it’s a couple shifts at the Hollow. ”
“For now,” Kaia hums, standing up and hauling me off the bench with one hand. “When’s your first shift?”
“After practice,” I say tightly.
“Sunday!” Kaia barks. “Rhea is starting at the Hollow tonight so she can drive you over for your shift instead of me!” she says, backing away and darting out of the locker room before it can explode.
“I’m going to kill her,” I grumble under my breath and turn to see Sunday, in all her adorable glory, looking at me, confused.
She finishes her braid as she closes the gap between us and makes a face.
“I needed to pick up a second job to help with the renos, and there was a bouncer position opening up. Brighton offered it to me tentatively…” I say, waiting for Sunday to flip out.
“Brighton?” She giggles at the way I say his name. “Kaia’s probably pissed ‘cause she’s asked a billion times and he always says no.” Sunday teases, “I, on the other hand, can’t believe it took this long to get a carpool buddy,” she squeals.
“So you’re not mad?” I ask, a little scared that she might be, and hiding it well.
“Reaper, this is going to be so much fun,” she says and skips from the locker room onto the field.
I join the rest of them on the field as Coach starts to give us the rundown of what the next couple of weeks will look like.
Kaia still leaves a space for Addy at her left, and it makes me a little sad to know it’ll always be there.
Adeline Sarah was our fastest, most determined, loving Hillcat.
It's always been the group of us, but she was offered a oppurtunity none of us would ever dream of turning down. Professional league. She left for California the summer before; it’s been nearly six months without her, but she is thriving in San Francisco on the team there.
We were all just trying to get used to the Addy-sized hole she left in our chosen family.
“Drake, what the hell happened?” Coach points to my hand, and I tuck it behind my back sheepishly with a tight smile on my face.
“Would you believe me if I told you that I fought a cougar to save a baby duck on the side of the road on the way to work this morning?” I ask, and she narrows her icy blue eyes on me. “Bar fight, at the Hollow.”
Coach sighs. “Please stop getting in fights on and off the field.”
Kaia groans, “It was at Sunday’s defence.”
Coach looks at all of us and raises an eyebrow; the implications of her repeating herself are clear.
No more fights. She runs practice hard, whether or not she’s trying to make me feel punished, the drills put me on my ass, and by the time the sun starts to set over the fields, I’m completely drained of life.
My arms and legs burn like I’ve been running for days, and my lungs are screaming for reprieve as the girls join me to stretch.
“I’m going to shower, and then we can head over?
” I say to Sunday, who gives me a quick nod and rolls over in the grass to stretch out her hips.
I climb from the ground, my muscles jelly as I struggle to get to the locker room.
Inside, it’s quiet, most of the players are still on the field, and I take the opportunity to get clean for the first time in twenty-four hours.
The water runs hot and feels good on my skin as I toss my fingers through my hair to loosen the braids and get the dirt out of each strand of pitch black hair.
I close my eyes, and Brighton, half-naked, flashes across my vision.
Shit. I open my eyes and stare at the faded teal tiles of the shower room wall, and then look around before closing them again to find him standing there.
The tattoo stretches across his back as he moves around the kitchen, and I continue to shower with my eyes closed to keep the image there a little longer. He turns and looks at me over his shoulder, and the door to the locker room slams shut, causing my eyes to shoot open.
I reach out and turn the handle to the right.
Cold. I need a cold shower.