Connor
It’s the final week of summer and the gym is packed. The new school year can’t come soon enough. I’ve spent the last nine weeks fending off my recently graduated students who think it’s appropriate to hit on me now that they’ve graduated.
Spoiler alert: It’s not.
But worse than being hit on by someone who needed my permission to go to the bathroom less than three months ago is enduring the weekly inquisition from Mrs. Hadley and her friends.
Every Sunday, they’re at the gym for the Senior Fit class and for any gossip they can weasel out of unsuspecting patrons. And by the way the three grey-haired ladies are stalking towards my bench, it looks like I’m their target today.
“Connor, dear, did I see you walking a young lady to her car at the farmer’s market yesterday?”
“Was it Maria?” Mrs. Lopez asks. “With the big hair?”
“She’s such a nice girl,” Mrs. Saunders clucks. “She used to help me teach Sunday school.”
They circle my bench like three hungry sharks who feed solely on small-town gossip.
Exhaling slowly, I set down my weights and take one earbud out, knowing they’ll keep standing there until I acknowledge them.
“Yes, I walked someone to their car.”
Their collective eyes light up.
“No, it wasn’t Maria. No, it wasn’t a date. And, to answer the question that I know is coming next, I don’t want you to set me up with any of your granddaughters.”
All three ladies visibly deflate as I pop my ear bud back in.
“I’ve got a grandson, too!” Mrs. Lopez stammers out. “If that’s more your style.”
I can’t stifle my laugh.
“I appreciate it, ladies, but I don’t need your help. I’ve got my dating life under control.”
That’s a lie. My dating life is nonexistent, and they know it.
I love Ridgecrest. The landscape is picturesque, the community is welcoming, and most of my favorite people live within the city limits. The pace is slow and steady, with a charm that’s really hard to stay away from for too long. I have no complaints about living in my hometown, most days.
But when you’ve either known everyone since kindergarten or taught them Shakespeare, the dating pool starts to get a little small.
Mrs. Saunders peers at me over the frames of her glasses.
“Sweetie, I’m not so sure about that.”
They size me up one more time with pity in their eyes, then scurry away like vultures on the hunt for their next target to poach.
Earbuds securely back in place, I thumb the volume up on my phone and try to get back in the zone to finish my workout.
I’ve got last minute prep to do over at the high school because, despite my assertion, I was on a very lackluster first date yesterday and ran out of time for all the first-day-of-school planning I need to get done.
I’m nearly finished with my workout when a tall, dark-haired woman pushes through the front doors of the gym. She zeros in on me, leaving a trail of gawking nineteen year old boys in her wake.
Caroline Brighton.
Classmates, turned best friends, to now coworkers. We joke that we know too much about each other to date. We tried it once, in high school, and that date ended in an awkward attempt at a kiss that we both swore to never mention again.
I nod in greeting, a hint of irritation slipping into my voice.
“Caroline, how nice of you to join me. A little too late, though. The wolf pack over there already grilled me about my date yesterday. They’re getting more vicious, I swear.”
“It’s your boyish good looks that draw them in. I hear they call you Prince Charming behind your back… I don’t see it personally,” she says with a shrug.
I don’t know about boyish good looks, but I do make an effort to keep my fade looking sharp. And the torturous marathon training I’ve come to love might contribute to their gawking. But at this point I think Mrs. Hadley’s obsession with me has more to do with pity than anything else.
Caroline plops down cross-legged on the gym mat beside me and pulls out her phone, clearly no intention of working out.
“I’ve got some very interesting information.” she teases, shaking her phone at me. “Have you seen the latest email from Rutledge?”
Our principal got a little email-happy this summer. The correlation between becoming an empty-nester and an over-communicator really should be studied.
Caroline and I made a drinking game out of the incessant emails, but I think it is going to have to be retired after one season because we ended up a little too far past tipsy one too many times, thanks to Mrs. Rutledge’s propensity for the words student-led and engagement.
“I haven’t checked my emails since I was in the building yesterday. What’s she up in arms about now? If she makes me give up my office after I just moved in, I swear I’m gonna quit.”
Caroline raises a brow at my empty threat. It would take a lot more than being booted from my nice new office to get me to leave Ridgecrest High, and we both know it.
“She’s hired someone as an assistant for Mrs. Crane.”
“Okay…” I grunt, turning to rack my weights. “I really don’t care about drama in the choir department.”
“Take a wild guess who it is.”
Catching her eye in the mirror, she beams up at me like the crazy Cheshire Cat.
“Caroline, why would I know? Go ahead and tell me if it’s so damn juicy.”
I grab the final pair of dumbbells I need for my last set and return to Caroline grinning up at me from her place on the mat. Cocking my brow, I wait for her to give up the dramatic pause.
“Delaney James.”
The whole gym reverberates with the sound of my weights hitting the ground.
Delaney James, the ultra famous pop star with a rebellious streak splashed all over tabloid headlines.
Delaney James, the former Ridgecrest resident until her rise to superstardom eight years ago.
Delaney James, my old next door neighbor and childhood best friend.
My Delaney James.