Chapter 19 Showcase
Showcase
Tinker stood inside the entrance of the gymnasium and watched what could only be described as controlled chaos.
He didn’t know if James had built it or they had rented it, but a raised T-shaped platform bisected the back half of the space.
Students were walking from one end to the other, striking a pose, turning, and going back the way they came.
One kid did a full three-sixty, posed, and took a selfie, causing the other students to stop and wait.
The kid behind him said something the first kid didn’t appreciate, and it looked like they were going to get physical before they both stopped, looked in the same direction, and glared at each other before walking back down the runway.
He expected one of them to shove the other, but they made it to the end before going their separate ways.
If he hadn’t seen the argument, he would’ve thought it was choreographed. Maybe it was—what did he know?
Abby stood at the end of the catwalk, watching the two walk away. He saw her shoulders rise with a deep inhalation, like she was breathing in patience instead of air.
He hadn’t had a chance to see her since the barbecue. They’d texted and spoken on the phone a couple of times, but she’d been tied up with the showcase, and he’d worked a couple of jobs for Leonidas in addition to finalizing the plan for the birthday party.
It’d been torture.
Her friend Lindsey power walked up to her, said something, then jogged back the way she came.
He was impressed. He’d never given much thought to what teachers did outside the classroom. He’d assumed they went home and graded papers.
“Isn’t stalking a crime?”
Tinker glanced at Olivia and smiled. “I’m watching, not stalking.”
“What’s the difference?” she asked.
“They don’t give stalkers cool visitor’s passes.” He tapped the badge clipped to his shirt.
She rolled her eyes. “Why are you here?”
“Moral support. Why are you here? Helping out?”
She shook her head. “I got here too late to do anything for the showcase. I said I’d help backstage for the theater part, but there was never anything for me to do.”
The way she said it and shrugged made him think there was more to it. “If theater kids are anything like they were when I was in high school, I wouldn’t take it personally. They’re more cliquey than any other social group.”
“They had theater when you were in school?”
She didn’t have to sound so surprised. “Yup. We even had color TV and cable.”
If eye-rolling was an Olympic sport, she’d be medaling.
“I’m not saying you’re old. I’m just surprised. This is the first school I’ve been to with an actual theater. The school in Kentucky didn’t even have a stage in the cafeteria.”
“Good save,” he said.
“Thanks.”
Three boys walked by them and the one closest said, “Hi, Olive Oil.” The boys laughed and kept walking.
Tinker stared after them. Probably not a good idea to beat the shit out of a bunch of middle schoolers. “Who was that?”
There went the eye roll. Definitely called for it that time. “Ugh. A kid from my math class and his gooner friends. They’re so cringe. Like calling me Olive Oil is original. I’m gonna sit over on the side and do my homework.”
He watched Olivia walk to the far side of the gym and sit against the wall. She didn’t talk to any of the kids she passed, and no one paid her any attention. Except the kid who’d called her Olive Oil. He was trying to play it cool, but he was definitely watching her.
Tinker remembered what it was like being twelve and liking a girl, thinking the way to get her to notice him while not being the laughingstock of his friend group was to be a complete jackass.
The kid’s friends left, leaving him alone, and Tinker took his chance.
“Hey. Kid.”
The kid was wide-eyed and glanced around, checking to see if Tinker was talking to him. Or looking for an escape. Maybe both.
“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and impart some wisdom. If you like Olivia, quit being a fuckwit—it’s not impressing her or anyone else. Figure out a way to tell her you like her without being an asshole.
“But if you are just a fuckwit.” He dropped his voice to barely a whisper. “Cut that shit out. You won’t like what happens if I find out you’re picking on the new kid to score cool points with your friends. Got it?”
“Ye—yes, sir.”
Tinker stared at the kid for several seconds to drive his point across.
He nodded once and left him to think whatever he wanted about what Tinker might do to him.
Not that Tinker would. He’d never hurt a kid.
But he looked scary enough to make the kid wonder, and he could teach Olivia a few things that would hurt the kid if it came down to it.
He spotted Abby at the edge of the stage.
She was alone, flipping through a sheaf of papers. “Hey.”
She glanced up, a look of surprise and, he hoped, pleasure on her face. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
From far away, she’d looked like the calm in the storm. Up close? She looked like one of those motivational posters that said “hang in there” with a picture of a cat dangling from a branch.
She was the cat.
“Came to see if you need help with anything,” he said.
She looked at her watch. “About a thousand things.”
“Start with one.”
It looked like she was about to say she didn’t know or there wasn’t anything he could do, but then asked, “Can you take Olivia home? She usually goes home with me, but I’m stuck here.
I feel bad she has to hang out with nothing to do.
I’d have my mom pick her up, but she has Will, and her car is in the shop.
She has a loaner, but she forgot to get his booster seat out of her car, and I didn’t leave my booster at his daycare this morning, so she can’t pick up Olivia because he can’t ride without a booster seat.
She didn’t tell me until after she’d already picked him up.
The daycare is only a few miles from her house, but I’m not comfortable with them driving across town—”
“I need your keys,” he said.
“What?” She stared at him blankly.
“Your car keys. I’m on my bike and I don’t have a spare helmet, so I need to borrow your car to drive Olivia home.”
She blinked several times. “Really?”
“You need her home, right?” he asked.
“I don’t need her home…”
He cocked a brow at her, and she trailed off. “Yes, that would be very helpful. Let me go get my keys.”
She hurried off and he shook his head. She’d learn when he offered, he meant it.
He headed over to where Olivia was sitting against the wall, knees drawn up, a book resting on them. “Hey, kid. You wanna get out of here?”
Olivia looked up. “I have to wait for Abby. Ms. Sue doesn’t have a seat for Will, so she can’t pick me up.”
“I got all that from Abby. She’s going to give me her keys so I can drive you home.”
“Oh. Then, yeah.” She shoved the book into her bag and stood, slinging it over her shoulder.
“Um, excuse me. Olivia?” The kid from earlier stood next to them.
“Yeah?” Suspicion was heavy in her voice. Tinker didn’t blame her—he wasn’t sure where this was going either.
“Um.” He glanced nervously at Tinker, then Olivia. “I was wondering if you’d be my partner for the Mathletics competition next month.”
Olivia frowned. “What’s the joke?”
“No joke. I’m serious. You’re really good at math and I think we could win.”
“How do you know I’m good at math?” she asked.
“I mean. You killed that quiz last week and you weren’t even here for most of it.”
“Why are you asking me now?”
“Uh, someone told me I should quit being a fu—fart head.” The kid cut a quick glance at Tinker again.
Olivia still looked skeptical, but said, “Sure…I guess.”
The kid’s face relaxed. “Oh. Cool. I’ll tell Ms. Stein on Monday.”
“Okay,” Olivia said.
They stood there for several uncomfortable seconds.
“Okay. Uh, bye. I’ll see you Monday. Bye.” He waved and walked away.
“Bye.” She watched him walk away. “That was weird.” She looked at Tinker. “Did you say something to him?”
“Just to stop being a fu—fart head.”
“Do you think he was serious?” she asked.
“He asked in front of me, so yeah.”
“Huh. Weird.”
Abby joined them and handed Tinker her keys.
“What time will you be done here?” he asked.
She looked at her watch. “Hopefully not later than nine. We’re going to do a basic cleanup and then break everything down tomorrow.”
“All right. I’ll bring your car back after I make sure Olivia is inside.”
“Okay. Thank you, again.”
“Ms. Day!!”
Abby glanced toward the voice. “I’m sorry, I need to go.” She touched his arm and rushed off to help a student who looked they were on the verge of tears.
He might owe all his teachers an apology.
Tinker marveled at the transformation that had happened in the time it’d taken him to drive Olivia home, swing by his place to change into slacks and a dress shirt, and return to the school.
Students, dressed in black pants or skirts and white shirts, stood just inside the main entrance and handed out programs. Artwork lined the hall and students and parents milled around each piece. A couple of adults with clipboards jotted notes as they looked at each piece.
He made his way to the atrium, which was also lined with artwork. An X-shaped partition divided the space into quarters.
Abby had changed into a deep blue dress that accentuated the dip of her waist and showed off her shapely legs to their full effect.
Once more he had the thought: he was fucked.
She was talking to a couple of people looking at a large sculpture on a tall square pedestal. She must have felt his stare, because she looked up, caught sight of him, and smiled. Excusing herself, she walked over to him.
“You look nice,” she said.
He took the opportunity to lean down and kiss her cheek. It wasn’t nearly enough but would have to do for where they were. “Thanks. I clean up good. You look really nice as well.”
She smiled. “Thank you. And thank you for taking Olivia home as well. I thought about calling a rideshare for her but wasn’t comfortable with it.”
“It’s no problem.” He dropped his voice. “Don’t suppose you have time to sneak off to the eraser room?”
She laughed. “No, sorry.”
“Damn. It was worth a shot.”
A trio of people with clipboards stood in front of one of the paintings. “Who are they?” he asked.
“Art college scouts,” she said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s a big deal for the seniors.” She pointed to a small group of older students along the wall of the atrium, wringing their hands, and craning their necks to try to see what the scouts were writing.
“One of them the artist?” he asked.
“The girl with the long hair in the polka-dot dress. She’s very talented. One of the scouts is from the Rhode Island School of Design. There’s another one here from the Royal College of Art in London, but I haven’t told any of the kids that—they’d freak out too much.”
“Wow. And these are your students?”
“Yeah. They are.” She said it softly, the pride evident in her voice.
“Where did you go to art school?” he asked.
“I went to NYU Institute of Fine Arts,” she said. “But for art history and restoration, not art itself.”
“Why not art itself?”
“I’m not that good.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Oh, believe it. Don’t get me wrong, I can draw and paint and sculpt. I’m technically very good. But artistically, I suck.”
“I don’t understand.”
She pulled him off to the side, allowing people access to the pictures they’d been standing in front of. “Okay. You said you make custom motorcycles.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the same as…this.” He gestured to the artwork around him.
“Do you design each motorcycle?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Do you create the motorcycle, or do you use mass-produced parts?”
“Depends on the bike. Parts of the frame I’ll make myself. The engine, I usually get factory made. I’m not looking to make a fuel injection system from scratch,” he said.
“But each frame is unique?”
“They all have the same basic parts, but design wise, each one is different in some way.”
She lifted a shoulder and smiled. “Then you’re creating art. Except your medium is metal.”
“Huh. I never thought of it that way. I just like making bikes that look cool.”
Abby gestured back to the students. “And they just want to create paintings or drawings that are cool.”
“But why do you say you suck artistically?”
“I don’t have a good imagination. I can’t imagine something and create it from nothing. I need a reference.” She grinned. “One of my art teachers told me I’d make a great forger if I ever wanted to pursue a life of crime.”
“Did they mean it as a compliment?” he asked.
“Yes and no. She meant it as I’m a good artist, but I’ll never be great.” She shrugged. “She wasn’t wrong.”
“And now you teach.”
Abby smiled. “Now I teach. I can teach the kids the technical aspects of creating art and give them the freedom and encouragement to be artistic.”
He could see her passion as she spoke and hear it in her voice. He remembered their first conversation when she asked him what he was passionate about. He saw the same spark he saw then, and it intrigued him just as much now.
“You glow, you know. When you talk about your art and your students.”
She blushed.
“I need to walk around and check on some of my students,” she said. “Are you sticking around for the theater showcase?”
“Uh…”
Abby laughed. “You don’t have to. I’m only staying because some of my kids designed the costumes, and I promised I’d help them backstage.”
“I’m going to look at some more of the art, but wander in the direction of the door,” he said.
“Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”
“Probably before then.” He’d tell her good night, just as he had for the last few weeks.
She smiled and left, looking back over her shoulder once before disappearing down a hall.
Tinker shoved his hands into his pockets and settled back on his heels. Yeah…he was fucked. And weirdly, he was okay with it.