Chapter 27
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
ALLY
“ T his looks great,” I told Carrie Layton as I stood over her shoulder, reviewing her page design for the sports section of the yearbook. She’d overlayed sheer images of students playing their sports on top of the requisite team photos. A baseball player’s bat making contact with the ball. A soccer player shooting a goal. A gymnast mid-somersault off the beam. The action shots in the background brought the team photos to life.
She’d devoted the next page spread to more action shots, each one with speech bubbles scattered around the photo with imagined crowd cheers and commentary: Great shot! Homer!
“I was trying to give it a little action, make it feel like the sports were happening,” Carrie said, assessing the page to see if she’d accomplished that.
“That’s how it feels. It’s a good choice aesthetically, as well. People will stop and look at these pages because they’re interesting,” I said.
“That’s what I’m hoping. Normally, people kind of skim past the sports pages because they’re just team photos, but these athletes work really hard. They deserve better.”
“They do.”
The bell had already rung, and with a glance at the clock on the wall, Carrie pushed her chair back and began organizing the art supplies in the bins on the desk. “I could do this all day. It’s my favorite class,” she said.
“Aw, I love having you in this class. You have a great eye.”
Carrie slung her backpack over one shoulder and smiled. “Thanks.” She hesitated for a second, then reached out and hugged me hard, hands balled into fists. Backing away just as quickly, she looked at the floor. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “You’re allowed to express emotions. We’re artists in here. That’s what art is for.”
Raising her gaze, she bit her lip and nodded. “I think so too.” Backing away as though she didn’t trust herself not to hug me again, she smiled once more. “I’ll be back during my free block tomorrow. Is that cool?” she asked.
“Yes. Great. See you then.”
I turned back to the art tables to straighten them up, expecting to hear the snick of the door latching behind her. Instead, I heard the approach of footsteps behind me.
Clay.
I turned expectantly, a smile already sneaking across my face at the thought of seeing him. Instead, I was greeted with Pindich’s smarmy smirk. Closing my eyes to block out the sight of him, I turned back to the tables.
“Hi there,” I said, hoping he’d stumbled into the wrong classroom.
“Ms. Dalbotten.” More of a statement than a greeting.
I went back to straightening up. I’d asked the students to leave computer printouts of the pages they’d been working on so I could look at them all together for consistency. Computers were awesome, but I still liked to see things on paper. For that reason, I was shuffling through assorted pages when Pindich came up behind me.
“Messy business,” he commented.
“Art gets messy,” I said, trying to hide my physical reaction when he came near me. It was hard not to shudder when he got closer than about five feet away. Almost like a force field radiated from him. A force field of sleaze.
He came closer than he needed to, peering over my shoulder at the pages I was straightening. I moved to the side so he could look without being in my physical space. I was so tired of him lurking closer than he should under the pretext that he just didn’t understand personal boundaries. He understood them, and he violated them on the daily.
“This is the yearbook?”
“Yes.” We were in the yearbook classroom. If it walked and talked like a duck...But I held my tongue and swallowed down all the snarky comments in favor of being cheerful and upbeat. “I love it when students make the yearbook their own instead of following the cut-and-paste template.” I fanned out the pages, hoping he’d say something appreciative about the work they’d done and we could move on.
“Template’s there for a reason,” he grumbled.
“We’re not deviating in any ways that will end up being problematic.”
He harrumphed. “We’ll see, won’t we?”
Was this why he’d ambled into my classroom, to warn me about taking liberties with the yearbook design? I was about to ask him when he perched on the edge of a desk facing me and crossed his arms over his chest. His legs stretched out almost far enough so for his feet to touch me, but he left about an inch of space between us. It had the effect of pinning me in place lest I move a fraction of an inch and make contact.
I shifted and put my hands behind me, which allowed me to hop up on another desk and create a little more distance.
“Yes, we shall see. I’m sure you’ll be happy with the result. Are you concerned? Do you want to see more of the pages?” I asked.
I would just shower him with sweetness until he agreed that our yearbook was the best-looking version we’d produced in years.
“No, no. That won’t be necessary. I trust you,” Pindich said.
“Great. Thank you.”
He crossed his feet at the ankles and stared me down. I wondered if his gaze was supposed to be intimidating because the dour expression on his face was anything but frightening.
“So I’m here in an unofficial capacity,” he began, watching me to gauge my reaction.
“Meaning what?” Was this where he’d put the moves on me? Tell me my job hinged on going on a date with him? People knew Clay and I were dating, so it would be silly for him to choose now, of all times, to hint at it.
If I hadn’t been making this list of possibilities in my mind, I may have been better prepared for the words that actually came out of Pindich’s mouth. But as it were, he left me flabbergasted when he said, “I assume your new boyfriend has kept you in the dark about the real reason he’s suddenly taken a girlfriend. And since you’re a smart woman, I assume that long before that, you questioned why Green Valley’s most notorious bachelor would be attracted to someone who, let’s just say, falls outside his normal type.”
So. Many. Words.
So many warring thoughts. My mind buzzed at the sense of doom in his words. And the implications that there was something I didn’t know.
In all the time we’d spent together, I’d gotten to know Clay in a way that ran contrary to his reputation. He’d told me why he stayed away from relationships and explained to me why I was different.
And yet...was there something I didn’t know? Of course, I questioned why he suddenly made a move after all these years. He’d never quite answered that question—why now? Was it just the coincidence of being thrown together on the retreat? I did fancy myself to be a smart woman.
I also felt defensive. About myself as someone worthy of Clay. About Clay as someone who was much more than his shallow reputation allowed people to see. But mostly, I felt defensive of our new relationship that didn’t deserve scrutiny from anyone else, especially not our school principal. It was none of his damned business.
“This is none of your damned business,” I said before I had a chance to edit my words.
Pindich’s surprise spread across his face like lukewarm cream cheese on a bagel. “Maybe, maybe not. But I like you, Ally, and I want the best for you. Selfishly, you being happy makes for a copacetic workplace.”
Oh, he was so full of crap. He knew he wasn’t making me happy right now with this tease of a scandalous story, yet he persisted with a smile on his face.
“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me at work,” I said. I didn’t want him to tell me more. The little he’d said already had me flushed and upset, but letting him see that would give him all the power. I needed to get out of here. Then I’d find Clay and he’d put an end to Pindich’s rumor, whatever it was. “I really should go.”
I scooted along the desk until I was far enough away from him to get up and make my way toward the door. But my bookbag and purse were stashed in a cubby at the back of the classroom, so I didn’t make it out the door before he leveled another verbal blow.
“Clay made a bet that he could get the Green Valley Spinster to fall for him.” He waited for my reaction and I did my best not to betray the heat rising in my veins, but my cheeks went rogue. “Didn’t know people called you that? Yeah. In case you thought he was interested in you for more noble reasons.”
I should have walked out of the room. I should not have let Principal Pindich see that he’d rattled me. But what we should do and what our brains and bodies direct us to do in a moment of crisis are rarely the same thing.
So I stopped before pushing the classroom door open and turned to face him. “Sorry, what?”
His face twitched. He was trying to suppress the world’s largest shit-eating grin.
“I think your hearing is fine, Ms. Dalbotten.” It annoyed me that he kept calling me Ms. Dalbotten, as though offering me some degree of respect. But I knew that was far from his intention. Normally, he called all faculty by their first names, even when he was referring to one of us in front of a student. Heck, the students called us by our first names half the time, even though they weren’t supposed to.
“It’s hard to know when you encouraged the district to go with the cheaper healthcare plan, Principal Pin Dick.”
He made the same face he always did when I drew out the syllables of his last name. It looked like he was smelling rotting cabbage and extruding it from his rear end at the same time. “Pi-en-deech,” he said with a strange accent. “It’s German. I shouldn’t have to remind you that accuracy is vital when you’re around today’s youth.”
“I never studied German. I’m unfamiliar with the pronunciation of certain words,” I said.
“It’s a matter of respect, making an effort. Which is why I call you by your proper name, with your chosen pronouns. Respect.”
No, this was his way of faking respect, as though he was providing information from one esteemed colleague to another. But Pindich always had an ulterior motive. In fact, I wondered if his insistence that I go on the retreat was somehow part of a larger plan. Not that he could have known Clay and I would fall for each other—on the contrary, he probably assumed I was the safest possible choice to throw in Clay’s romantic path because he’d never go for someone like me.
“I don’t know who he made the bet with, but I heard about it that night when the staff went to Genie’s. Thanks for the invitation, by the way. I just don’t want to see you get your feelings hurt when this all blows up.” He watched me for a reaction, and I did my best to school my features and give him nothing. “Which it will.”
He hadn’t budged from his position against the desk, as though he had all day to sit here until I gave him the reaction he wanted. I refused.
The one benefit of having been a wallflower for most of my life was that I didn’t allow myself to get bullied by jerks like Pindich because I had nothing to lose by standing my ground. Could they take away my social status? Not if I didn’t have any. Could they mess with my self-esteem? Not if I’d already been humbled. Could they make me doubt my intelligence? Nope, not ever.
Jerks like Pindich rarely understood this, so they kept on nudging, trying to get me to care about what they had to say.
I would not react. Instead, I calmly stared back at him, knowing he’d find nothing in my expression. “Who told you this?”
It certainly wasn’t the most important piece of information, but I did want to know the answer. In fact, it was the only thing I really wanted to know. He could have been making all of this up to mess with me. Get back at me—again—for turning down his advances over all these years.
And no, I wasn’t bulletproof.
A tiny part of me found it all too easy to believe what I felt certain most people knew to be true—Clay, with his pick of every woman in Green Valley, most certainly wouldn’t choose me.
Right?
“I was there that night, remember? Let’s leave it at that,” he said. If he’d had a mustache, no doubt he’d be twirling it.
I couldn’t shuffle through my various questions and insecurities in Pindich’s presence, and his beady-eyed stare was making me more uncomfortable by the minute. The best thing I could do was show little reaction to what he was telling me and go talk to Clay.
“Thanks for your concern, but you don’t have to worry about me.” I turned for the door, opened it, and stepped into the hallway before I heard Pindich’s final retort.
“Careful . . . ,” he warned. “I’d be careful if I were you.”
Giving him a final definitive glare, I responded, “I’m always careful.”
Then I let the door slam behind me.