12. Penelope
twelve
penelope
“Welcome to the first—and hopefully last —Meadow-River-Ridge-Valley Wiffle Ball Game!”
A few people—including my traitorous group of friends—clap for Ant’s little speech. Okay, including me .
Sue me. I said I was mad at him, not that I was over him.
Besides, he looks so excitedly nervous that I can’t help but be excited with him. He stepped up to help Nathan in the AP role, and he already has a little project going. It’s one of the qualities that drew me to him in the first place. He lights up a room, no matter the reason. When Anthony is excited, everyone is excited.
Except for right now. People are, rightfully, a little grumbly to be playing wiffle ball. He and Nathan called it “Blended-Family Fun.” The second the email was sent, you could feel the culture in the building shift, but not for the reasons our two new fish-out-of-water administrators hoped it would. Everyone was suddenly on the same side, that was for sure—just not on the side of working together. It was more like everyone was pissed that Nathan and Anthony were taking away two hours of their freedom before the school year starts.
So, being the supportive roommate that I am—and, okay fine, after an elbow in the arm from Claire, who is here to support her man—I clap. For Nathan . My old roommate’s boyfriend. Not for Anthony. Never for Anthony.
They go around splitting up the teams—Ant and Nathan each a captain—and in the end, I at least get to be on the same team as Aaron and Juliet. I follow them to the side, taking my place at the end of the line to wait for my turn to bat.
“I’m going to need one of you to explain how this works,” I say, crossing my arms as Drake Lawson, one of our sixth grade teachers, hits the little white ball to send it soaring over the furthest person on the field and takes off running. Juliet takes the job of dumbing down the game of baseball for me.
“You get three swings-and-misses,” she says as we shuffle ahead in line. “If you don’t swing, and it isn’t hittable, it’s called a ball.”
I snort. “That’s a dumb name. It is a ball.”
“C’mon, Ellis! I thought you played college ball!” someone shouts from the front of the line. A Meadow Ridge teacher jogs to the base, and Anthony shakes his head as Juliet takes the plastic bat.
“What just happened?” I ask Aaron as Juliet takes the bat and her place at home plate.
“Ant beamed him,” Aaron laughs.
“He hit that guy with the ball?!”
“Yeah. In wiffle ball rules, if you get hit, you can either start your at-bat over or take first base.”
I cup my hands around my mouth. “Jules! Just get hit! Then you get to go to the first base for free!”
She looks over her shoulder at me and laughs, then tightens her grip on the bat. Ant doesn’t throw the ball to her though. He gazes over to me with a dazzling look in his eyes, his smile as bright as it had been that night on the beach, when he’d tossed his head back in laughter at something I’d said that he’d thought was funny.
It probably wasn’t that funny. But that night, he thought everything I said was spectacular. And I believed him.
Juliet ends up hitting the ball past three different people and makes it to first base, and Aaron blasts one over everyone, ending up with a home run. With no one else on the bases, I take the bat.
I live with Anthony Ellis. I will teach with him in the same classroom. But this is the first time in a long time I’ve actually looked him in the eye.
The eyes of a dazzling blue I could never quite capture in writing.
I catch myself as an author over-describing blue eyes like the differing stages of the ocean or changing shades of the sky. Ant’s eyes aren’t true blue. They’re a turquoise, shimmering aqua, like untouched waters in the most remote of places on earth. I haven’t seen a shade so stunning in all my life. It’s rare, just like that night we had together.
“Strike one!”
Sam, who is squatting behind me, startles me from my illicit daydream.
“I wasn’t even paying attention!” I argue.
“Gotta be quicker than that, Barker. Get your head in the game.”
Anthony winks, and I quickly fall in danger of freezing up again. Instead, I tighten my grip on the bat and put on my best mean face. Ant tosses the ball toward me, and I pinch my eyes shut as I swing with all my might, spinning myself in a circle on the point of my toe.
“Woof! I felt the breeze on that one.” Ant chirping me from the mound only fuels my determination to hit the damn ball.
“Put your hands together,” Sam whisper-yells from behind me as he tosses the ball back to Ant.
“Huh?”
“Your grip,” he clarifies. “Put your fists together. You’ll have more control over the bat.”
“Hey! No helping the other team, Ford!” Ant calls from the mound as I close the space between my fists so they’re connected. Would you look at that? I do feel more in control of this bat.
“I thought the whole point of this get-together was to be come more of a team!” he shouts back, then whispers to me, “Fists together. Don’t close your eyes this time. He isn’t throwing it that hard. You’ve got this, Pen.”
I have no idea how Sam expects me to “have this.” Anthony Ellis is bent at the waist, the arm that’s holding the ball cocked behind it, staring down his summer-sunburnt nose at me with a smug little cocky grin consuming him. And, in what should be an absolutely illegal move, he uses his free hand to turn his baseball hat backwards. Like, excuse you? Break my heart and then look good afterwards? I don’t think so.
“You’re going down , Penelope Jayne.”
Actually, you were the one who went down ? —
“Stop calling me by my legal name, or I’ll let the entire staff know that you have an Avengers shower curtain, Anthony Ellis.”
“I believe you just did,” he says, still wearing that amused smile. “Here comes the heat.”
He tosses it to me like a grandmother would, but the ball is entirely hittable. I swing with all my might, closing my eyes at the last second. But I hear the crack of plastic on plastic, Sam yelling Run, Barker! and I open my eyes to take off for the base.
Unfortunately, when I open my eyes, I also realize that the ball merely dribbled its way through the grass right to Ant. I book it down the grass line, faster still when I see that shit eating grin on his face spread like wildfire as he picks up the ball and runs right at me. He’s gaining on me, the arm with the ball stretched to capacity. I stop in my tracks, drop-step to my left, go around him the other way, and make it to the base before he can touch me.
“Illegal move!” he smirks. “You’re out.”
“ You’re an illegal move!”
With my fists at my sides, I stomp less than gracefully to the back of the line.
The next batter strikes out, and we have to go stand in the field, which is a terrible idea, because I can’t catch for shit. Sam tells Juliet and I to go stand in right field—apparently that’s where the least amount of balls are hit—and I get to chat with her while the guys handle the actual playing.
“When do we get to eat?” I whine. “I believe I was promised a hot dog.”
“No kidding.” A teacher from Meadow Ridge, who is also hanging in the outfield, shifts over to us. “I’m Amanda White. Seventh grade science.”
I introduce myself, as Juliet has already met her husband’s partner teacher. I don’t miss the way that Jules suddenly flits her left hand with the wedding band toward the sun as she waves at her husband who is now up to bat.
“How did everything go with your move?” I ask. “Are you all unpacked?”
“For the most part.” Suddenly, Sam cracks one out to the opposite side of the outfield that we’re standing in. The three of us watch as the ball sails and a bunch of macho dudes chase after it. “It was definitely hell having to lug everything over. I’m exhausted. I could be at home, but Ellis and your bozo principal stole my last Friday of freedom.”
She crosses her arms and snickers, lifting her brow as if trying to persuade us to join in on her taunting of Anthony and Nathan’s fun-tivity.
Okay. See, here’s the thing. I can make fun of Ant all I want. I have earned the privilege. But other people? Oh hell to the no.
“I mean, I’m having fun,” I say, backtracking on my earlier statement. “I just haven’t eaten since like, eleven this morning. I was finishing up some classroom prep so I don’t have to come in this weekend.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” she says, not getting the point. “I could be in my classroom, but instead, we’re out here playing wiffle ball.”
“You would have been in your classroom at five p.m. on a Friday?” Juliet chimes in, lifting her brow. “I thought you were exhausted.”
Jules eyes me slyly, and I can tell that she’s caught on. This woman came with the intent to burn bridges, but what she didn’t realize is that Juliet and I are on the same side. Amanda’s expression sours. She bites the inside of her cheek.
“Anyway. I think this is a great way to get to know people,” I say, despite the fact that my friend and I may have just made an enemy.
“Yeah, sure is. Maybe I’ll catch you guys by the food later.”
She says it as a statement and not a question, and I know without a doubt that, not only will we not see her later, but we’ll probably be the talk of segregating gossip with people from her old building within the hour. So much for this little activity bringing our staff together.
The game wraps up without a real score being kept, and Juliet and I regroup with Claire and Lucy while the guys start manning the grills.
“Ladies, this is Phyllis. She’s the social worker over at Meadow Ridge.”
Lucy introduces us to a woman whose grey pixie cut reminds me of a grandmother’s.
“Oooo, fancy! How’d you get a social work contract over at your building?” I ask after we exchange introductions.
“Most of the students with social work minutes in their IEPs are choiced to Meadow Ridge,” she explains.
“Which means we’ll have most of those kids in the split,” I nod.
“Yep. All of them, in fact. I’m excited to have Lucy on my team. It’s hard being the only SEL person on a staff.”
Lucy nods, then adds, “I’m going to be so spoiled this year. What am I going to do when you leave?”
“Use this as an excuse to add in the position for next year,” Phyllis says with a wink. We all immediately look to Claire, who will have her social work degree in time to finagle the much needed role.
“I don’t know if I can take the job if my man is the principal,” she reminds us.
“Take over for me at Meadow Ridge next year then,” Phyllis says. “I’m retiring.”
Claire’s eyes sparkle, and I can instantaneously see the wheels spinning. Everything she ever wanted—her dream job, dream man, all in the same city—coming to life.
While the rest of the group starts conniving different ways to get Claire on staff at Meadow Ridge for the next school year, I slide my phone out of my pocket, open the notes document for my book, and start adding ideas. Claire already knows about my secret life as a best-selling author—and was a fan before she knew that me and PJ Layne are one in the same. I’m sure she won’t mind being part inspiration for my character’s arc that I still haven’t figured out yet.
As I’m filling out my notes, I overhear a conversation from a pod of Meadow Ridge teachers.
“Who does Ellis think he is anyway? This is the same shit he tried pulling when he first started.”
The sound of Ant’s name has always been my siren song. I pretend to keep typing, then take a few casual steps toward their circle.
“He’s been on staff for, what, two years? Dude needs to know his place.”
Someone sighs, a few laugh, and then someone new says, “He’ll figure it out when he takes this circus train we’re on and lets it crash and burn.”
I can’t take it. He may have broken my heart, may have taken the delusional future I planned out for us in the course of a week of fantasy and crashed that straight in to the ground, but they don’t get to talk about him like this. If I’m known for anything, it’s my vocality.
“Gosh, aren’t you guys just so excited for the upcoming year?” I say it loud enough that both my circle of friends and the Meadow Ridge slanderers can hear. Eyeing Juliet, I subtly tilt my head toward the circle behind me and widen my eyes. She nods in understanding.
“Yeah, I think Nathan and Anthony make a great pair.”
She nods, and the rest of our little circle catches on. From the way I’m standing between the two groups, I can tell that the others have stopped talking to listen in.
“Anthony is a great leader in our building,” Phyllis chimes in. Score one for Phyllis! “There’s so much cliquiness, and he has done his best to bring our culture closer together since he came in. He will do well in a leadership role.”
I slide my gaze toward the Meadow Ridge crew, and can tell that they’re annoyed. At that moment, one of the guys shouts, “Food’s ready!” and everyone starts to disperse. I join my girls and sigh.
“Is it really cliquey by you guys, or were you just being nice?” I ask Phyllis. She smiles warmly.
“I speak the truth, honey. Anthony showed up two years ago with a smile on his face, and it was the first time I had any hope that the negativity in our building would finally be squashed.”
I swallow that like a milkshake of glass shards.
His smile had once done that to me too.
In fact, it’s doing it to me right now.
From over the grill, he waves to Phyllis, and must see me talking to her, because his gaze slides over to me and locks in. I’m entrapped by that turquoise tide pool, forced to watch the way that when he looks over to me, his smile flips to one of hope and wonder.
I can be nice without letting myself fall into the deep end again.
After we wrap up the evening, the girls and I stay to help clean up, insisting that the men head home—they put on this shindig, after all. I push through the garage as the summer sun is setting, and find the house quiet, save for the sound of his shower.
He comes into the living room later, as I’m reading on the couch in my pajamas. I don’t expect his flustered frustration. Something in my heart aches to fix it, but I let him lead.
“I’m uh… Gonna head to bed.”
Only, he doesn’t head to bed. Doesn’t move for a few beats. He sits down on the couch, sighing as he scrubs his hand over his slightly damp, unruly blonde hair. I mark the page in my book as he stares at the wall looking like he wants to say more.
“You okay?”
He hesitates, then lets out a sarcastic laugh. With his head hanging low, he tilts to look over at me.
“There were a lot of complaints about our wiffle ball picnic.”
He shrugs, and I can sense every single undercurrent that he isn’t saying.
I tried and I failed. I thought I did something good.
It’s everything he confessed to me on the beach that night, when our silly little game of spilling secrets had turned serious.
I know too much about this man, and at the same time, I know nothing at all.
All I know is that, despite the way my heart aches for how he hurt me, I want to wrap myself around him like a bandage and make him feel better.
“Well, fuck them then. I had a good time.”
He blinks, first in disbelief, then in thanks. His pinched smile quivers so slightly, I’m surprised I clock it.
“Even after Aaron burnt your hot dog?”
I roll my eyes and smile. “I made him make me a new one, didn’t I?”
His smile widens, like yawning after a good night’s sleep.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. This is going to take a lot of adjustment, and from what Phyllis tells me, your crew isn’t exactly easy to work with. It’ll be fine.”
“So, you met Phyllis?”
His smile is almost completely relaxed now, which eases something in me too.
“I did. Too bad she’s retiring. She seems like a good one to have around.”
“She is,” he nods, smiling wistfully. “She was one of the only people to show kindness when I first showed up.”
I want to know more. Want to pick apart why that little circle of Meadow Ridge bullies said so many cruel things about him. But I can’t. I cannot let my heart hope for him. We have one year together, and after that chapter closes, we can go back to leading our separate lives.
I nod, letting the awkward silence drown us, where once upon a time I would’ve done anything to fill it.
“Better get to bed, Mr. Interim-Administrator,” I tease on a shaky breath. I stand, intending to head to my bedroom just to put a door between us.
Ant smiles and nods, and before I can get out of the living room, his silky voice weasels its way into my blood stream.
“You know, if I wasn’t mistaken, I’d say you were being nice to me right now.”
I turn and lift a brow as my coat of armor.
“Doesn’t mean I’m not still pissed at you.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, PJ.”