Chapter 12
Mallorie Jade
I’m late.
It’s the first day of school, two weeks after the board meeting, and I’m already proving the ones who voted against me right.
My alarm didn’t go off, and now I’m scrambling to make it before the first bell. Between living at home, having the town looking over my shoulder, and being late to school, it feels like my teenage years all over again.
Running down the stairs of my childhood home, my steps falter when I see my mom standing at the bottom with her arms crossed and impatience written on her face.
I have to get my own place.
“Mom,” I greet once I’m standing on the bottom floor in front of her.
“You’re cutting it close,” She says, glancing at the dainty, expensive wristwatch.
“Yup, so I better not stick around to talk. See you. Love you. Bye.” My words are rushed as I slip around her and out the front door, and just as it’s about to click shut, I hear a whispered “good luck” come from the other side.
The time mocking me on my phone says I don’t have time to stop and analyze those whispered words, no matter how much I want to revel in them. I throw my backpack full of stuff into my passenger seat and speed out of the driveway like my life depends on it.
As my decisions always seem to go, though, it’s a bad one. I’m two minutes from the school when I see red and blue lights flashing in my rearview mirror.
Groaning, I slow down and pull to a stop on the shoulder of the road. I’ve never been in so much trouble with the police in my life—except for that one time—and really, that’s saying something because I was pretty ornery growing up. I liked to find trouble, or better yet, trouble liked to find me.
While I wait for the officer to approach my car, I busy myself with finding my license and registration. When I hear the knock on my window, I lean up and turn to face the officer.
The day gets exponentially worse when I realize it’s Hayes standing there, dressed in his police uniform and looking hot as sin. He can’t even have the decency to have the bags under his eyes that I have from losing sleep since the last time we were in each other’s presence. I wonder if he’s been thinking about Tanner as much as I have. The boy has been on my mind every day since I left. Maybe it’s my guilt over all the ways I failed Langston, but I can’t help but wonder if that sad look in Tanner’s eyes is a cry for help—and if it is, does he have anyone who will notice? His stepdad didn’t seem to.
Rolling down my window, I glare at the man who is bound and determined to get under my skin.
“I feel like you just sit and wait for my car to come by,” I grumble as I hand my license and registration over to him.
There’s a smirk on his face as he makes a show out of looking it over.
“Ma’am, do you have any weapons in the car?”
My fist tighten on the steering wheel. “Only my fist, Hayes Miller.”
That smirk grows wider, and then he says, “Wait here, ma’am.”
He saunters back to his car, and I watch him in my side mirror, gritting my teeth. He’s like a thorn in my side, digging deeper every time I see him.
After several minutes, which officially pushes me past my starting time, Hayes appears back at my window, handing my paperwork back to me.
His fingertips brush against mine as I take the papers from him, and a shock runs up my entire arm, zipping straight to my heart from the contact. Maybe I should have swung that tire iron at myself to knock some sense into me because there’s no way I should be letting myself feel any shocks when it comes to this man in front of me.
Looking up, I scowl at him, wondering how long this game of ours will go on.
His eyes are hooded under the ball cap on his head, making it impossible to get a read on him.
“Where are you heading off to so fast?” he asks, bracing his arm on top of my car and leaning down so his face is level with the window.
“None of your business.”
The smirk that hasn’t left his lips turns sinister, and dang it, if that doesn’t make me want to kiss him.
Something is seriously wrong with me.
There’s humor on his face as he stares down at me, but then it turns serious as he says, “I’ll let you off with a warning this time, but slow down. Some people want you around.”
He taps his hand on the top of my door and then walks away.
Sticking my head out the window, I yell, “Are you some people?”
But he doesn’t answer. He just throws his hand up and waves as he walks away.
“Jerk,” I mumble as I put my car back in gear and head to the school.
Two minutes later, I’m pulling into the parking lot, and I’m ten minutes late.
Grabbing my things, I rush out of the car and into the school’s front doors. The secretary at the front office greets me, and I can’t help but be thankful it wasn’t Lily. I don’t think I could have handled facing her this morning on top of everything else.
The nurse’s office is at the back of the main office, and after clocking in, I slip in there and close the door, taking my first deep breath of the day.
Ever since the day I pulled back into town, I’ve been drowning, which is saying something because I was drowning before. But I guess the truth is that I’ve been slowly slipping under the surface since Langston died. There’s a lead weight on my foot now, pulling me down faster. I’ve lost sight of who I am. I thought I would be able to find that again in my career as a nurse, but there are only so many tragedies one person can take. So, I came back home, and here I am, floundering again—searching for a place where all this hurt won’t suffocate me anymore.
I hope that place can be here—that I can do some good here.
______________________
After the rough start to my morning, the rest of the day has been blissfully slow. I don’t expect that to last as the school year continues and flu season hits, but for now, it’s nice. Plus, it’s nice getting to know the kids who see me. There are a couple I will see every day to help administer the medication, but the others I’ve seen today just came for your average bumps and bruises.
I’m typing notes into the laptop the school provided for me when there’s a knock at my office door.
“Come in,” I yell from the opposite side of the room.
The door creaks open, and Tanner steps into the room.
When he sees me, he swears, but he doesn’t leave. He stands in the doorway with his head tilted down, refusing to make eye contact with me.
First red flag.
“What can I help you with?” I ask, watching him.
“I—uh—have a headache. I was hoping I could get some medicine for it before it turns into a migraine,” he says, his young voice gruff like he would rather be anywhere than in this room with me right now.
“Sure,” I say, “let me just check your chart to make sure we have the right permissions from your parents.”
He nods and sits in the chair beside the door, waiting for me to check.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him while I look up his information. He has his head in his hands, rubbing at his temples. His color looks a little off—paler than I would like—but otherwise, he seems fine. He’s wearing black athletic shorts and a Benton Falls High School football shirt—ever the athlete—just like Langston.
Pulling my attention back to his chart, I read over the notes from last year. My brows dip the further I read. Mavis Jenkins was the nurse the previous year, but she retired. There’s something to be said about her organization, though, because she has every single time that Tanner visited for a headache during the year, signed and dated in his notes—and it’s a lot.
“Do you get headaches often, Tanner?” I ask as I click out of the notes and grab his prescribed medicine that is locked away in a cabinet above my head.
“Sometimes.”
Getting information out of this kid is like pulling teeth.
“Have you ever been to the doctor for them?”
“Sure. I went the first time I had a concussion.”
Second red flag.
“Did you ever do a follow-up with your doctor after that concussion?”
If I weren’t watching Tanner so closely, I would have missed the way his eyes flash to me for the tiniest of seconds before flicking back to his lap. Then he shrugs like the question is no big deal.
“Look,” he says, taking headphones out of his pocket and placing them in his ears. I don’t even think he has anything playing. He just wants to block me out, “can you just give me the medicine? I have a massive headache, and I can’t miss football practice tonight. I’m not good for much if I don’t make starter this year.”
And there’s the third red flag—this idea that his worth is merely the position he plays. The pit of my stomach drops to my toes.
“Maybe I can write you a note for football practice today. Coach Miller won’t kick you off as a starter just because you’re sick. He wants the healthiest players. Have you been having headaches over the summer?”
“Can you just mind your own business? I’m fine. It’s just a headache, lady,” he says, snatching the medicine out of my hand I have stretched towards him. He throws the pills in his mouth, swallows without a drink, and stomps toward the door, and I’m left watching after him with a sense of déjà vu that I desperately don’t want to feel.
As the door swings open and he starts to walk out, he runs directly into a girl waiting on the other side. Her arms flail, searching for something to grab onto, but only come up with air. Tanner’s hand shoots out, catching the girl by her waist before she hits the ground. In that one action, I see the boy that he has the potential to be, but once she’s on her feet, he grumbles, “Watch where you’re going next time.”
Then he’s gone, and the girl watches him leave. To her credit, she doesn’t let his gruffness deter her. With a bright smile, she steps into my office and claims, “That boy needs a little Jesus in his life. I think I’ll make that my mission this year.”
I bite the inside of my lip.
If it were that easy, then maybe God could forgive me for the mistakes I’ve made.
I keep that thought to myself, not wanting to ruin the girl’s hopes.
She takes her backpack off, sits it on a chair, and digs through it. After a few seconds of digging, she comes out with a slip of paper that’s no bigger than her hand.
“Here. You can have this.”
“What is it?” I ask, taking it from her.
“It’s a sticker.” Her grin takes up most of her face.
Looking down, I have to laugh when I see what it is. In my hand is a small band-aid sticker that reads “Jesus Heals.”
The girl is quirky, that’s for sure.
When my laughter is under control, I smile and ask, “What can I do for you today?”
Her sigh comes from the depths of her soul, and I know we will get along just fine. “It seems my monitor has expired. I hate changing it, so I was wondering if you could help me.”
She points to the white diabetes monitor on the back of her arm and winces.
“Sure,” I say, patting the seat beside my stool. “Why don’t you sit here so I can check it out? What’s your name, by the way?”
“Bella. It’s short for Isabella, but please don’t call me that. I might have to puke.”
I snort.
“We wouldn’t want that. It’s my least favorite thing to deal with, so Bella it is. I’m MJ, by the way.”
“Weird name—I like it.” Her voice is so sincere it’s impossible to be offended.
“It’s actually Mallorie Jade, but if you call me that, I might puke, too.”
Her grin is contagious.
Grabbing a pair of gloves, I snap them on and rip open an alcohol wipe. When I take her arm in my hand, she turns away, that smile slipping just a little, so I continue to talk and study her.
“You know, I think you’re right—that boy could use a friend like you.”
Her dark brown hair shadows most of her face since she’s turned away from where I’m changing out her monitor, but I can still see her lips curve higher into a smile.
“Oh, don’t you worry, I’m going to be his friend.”
And I believe her, too.