Chapter 3
JELLY PAWS
MOLLY
The elementary school library is quiet other than the sound of my Roseville Elementary stamp against the pages of the new books stacked all over my counter.
The PTA drive for used books was a huge success, and almost everything was in mint condition.
For the last couple of days, I've stayed after school to catalog them, my afternoons busy with call numbers and barcodes and the sound of archival tape being pulled from the roll.
And when my library cart is full, I wheel around and fill our shelves happily, pleased as punch when I find a shelf nearly out of room.
I nearly have a full cart again, my last step in the process being my stamp, which is my favorite part.
This little stamp means it's home, here in a place where it'll be loved by innumerable kids over the course of its hopefully long life.
Assuming it doesn't get tagged by a rogue crayon or murdered by jelly fingers.
Even then, what a way to go.
Once I finish with the books, which should hopefully be tomorrow, I'll go back to working on goodies for the kids.
I've been busy designing all kinds of things--bookmarks, stickers, posters and the like--on top of cataloging the new books I've ordered, which have been coming in steadily for the last couple of weeks, thanks to cash donations from the PTA, as well as Cass's best friend, Jessa, who is a British Lady and didn't even blink at writing out a thousand dollar check.
I almost fainted when she handed it to me.
I tried to give it back, but she just laughed and told me to let her know if I needed more. More! Wild.
Open, stamp, close, stack. I enjoy the repetition of it, trying to not get so hypnotized that I forget to pull books I wanted to use for my table of New Adventures or to set aside for teachers I think might like them.
The library is smack in the middle of the school, the halls running by on either side of me like a giant H.
Small shelves line the walls, then down broad steps in tiers, the square center of the room sprinkled with tables for reading, researching, or mini lessons.
There's a corner for class story time and several reading nooks spread throughout the library.
A good ways above, a big skylight lets in the prettiest light, the glass frosted so we don't get roasted.
I couldn't have dreamed up a better place.
"You're here late," Cass says from the hall as she enters, smiling.
Disoriented, I blink at her and chuckle. "Oh gosh--it's almost six. No wonder I'm starving. It's just that I have all these books to catalog. It's an embarrassment of riches."
She laughs, her coppery red hair shining in the fading sunlight from above. "Perfect. You can get something to eat at The Horseshoe, if you want to come for happy hour."
When I smile, it comes all the way from my toes. How lucky am I to get to hang out with the town cool kids? I've never been cool a day in my life, at least not to anybody over the age of ten. "I'd love to. Thanks for the invite." I'm already packing up my things.
"I can't have you going home without chili cheese tots and a Shirley Temple, can I?"
"I don't know but I love you for caring about my tot intake." When my computer is shut down, I grab my bag and we head for the exit. My heart does a little flip when I ask, "Who all is coming?"
"Oh, the gang for sure, plus whatever ball players or firefighters happen to be around. Nothing fancy."
I'm not sure who I was hoping she'd say.
Wolf Daddy's face springs into my mind first. Tate, who hits on anything with a heartbeat will be there, I'm sure.
If my friend Carlin knows we're going, he'll be there too.
Maybe I'll text him, my sweet, nerdy friend.
He brings me something new to read, and we get to geek out on books and comics.
I try to bring him some too, but dang, he's always a step ahead of me.
I should put a few books in my car so I've got one to exchange with him next time.
Grey slips into my mind again, back to the spot he's been camped out in since practice the other day.
When he corrected be from behind, the heat of his body behind me was so intense, the size of him so imposing.
But when he nudged my feet apart with his foot?
Christ on a cracker, I almost lost my mind.
His hands are huge--when he adjusted my grip on the bat, my hands almost disappeared.
Seriously, I'm so touch starved that I'm even making something out of the coach coaching me.
He's been nothing but brisk and gruff and curt, bordering on rude.
For some reason, I find it cute.
I think it's definitely safe to say I have a crush on Coach. Never have I felt this kind of flittery, fluttery, stomach flippying attraction. Not like this. Like he's a magnet, and I'm made out of metal shavings--when he's close to me, every sliver leans in his direction.
Maybe I should join one of those cuddling groups, the kind where they meet up and just snuggle for a couple of hours to get their endorphins going.
I wonder if I'd chill out. Somehow, I doubt it.
I've been daydreaming about falling in love and getting ravaged ever since I found my mom's bodice rippers in a box under her bed at age twelve.
But my bodice remains heinously unripped.
Pristine even. I've never even kissed a guy.
Don't look at me like that--I don't know how it happened either.
I should probably blame books for keeping me inside.
And glasses for being glasses. And a desperate lack of hair styling products for my curl pattern.
Cass glances at me, her lips tilting in a smirk. "You sure got quiet. Anybody you're hoping to see?"
"Who, me? Psh. No." When I laugh it sounds so ridiculous, I flush.
She nudges my arm with hers, smiling broadly. "Oooh, liar--. who's the lucky guy? Carlin?"
He's the safe choice. I like him a lot, so much that he’s become one of my best friends. Just not enough for more than that. "We’re just friends,” I answer.
She gives me a look. “Does Carlin know you’re just friends?”
“Oh, he knows,” I say on a chuckle. “He’s not interested. He dates! Which is a relief, honestly. Feels like I’m off the hook.”
“I get it. I hate that we can’t just be friends with men without having to tiptoe around so they don’t get the wrong idea. The only guys I don’t feel like that about are our guys, but they’re like brothers to me. You know, other than my husband.”
We share a little laugh. “But really, he’s one of my closest friends. I'm real glad I have somebody to talk about books with."
"Hey-- I like books!"
"Yeah, but Carlin is another level."
At that, she laughs. "Fair enough. Plus, he's cute. He's actually beefed up a lot. You should have seen him last year."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. His mama made him join the team when he talked back to her for the last time in Klingon. She told him he had to join the baseball team or move out."
I snort a laugh, following her when she pushes through the double glass doors.
"Turns out, he actually likes playing ball. He even started working out with the guys and putting in extra time and everything. So cute. All right," she says when we reach the parking lot and we part ways. "See you there?"
"Yup. Where's Cricket?"
"My mom got her from school since I had to stay late. Free for the night, woohoo!"
"Woohoo!" I echo on my way to my car, giddy at the prospect of a night out as I climb in. But before I buckle my seatbelt, my phone rings with a video call.
"Hi, Mom," I sing, sticking my phone to the magnetized mount so I can drive.
"Hi, honey. How was your day?"
"Good! Busy." The car kicks to life, and I back out of my spot.
"You must be. You're at work late."
"There's always a ton to do. I'm sure I'll be working late a lot, but I don't mind. I'm too excited to mind."
She chuckles, her smile soft and pretty.
Everyone says we look alike, but I only see it a little when she wears her reading glasses.
Big brown eyes, button nose, and a wide mouth.
We look like cartoon characters. Babies love us.
But where Mom is gorgeous, I'm just cute.
There's not enough eyeliner in the world to change that.
"Well, don't work too hard. Don't want to get burned out. You don't work when you get home, do you?"
"Not if I can help it, though sometimes I goof around with this design program where I make fliers and stuff for school."
"Take tonight off! Have a bubble bath and read a book or something."
"Oh, I'm not working tonight! I'm actually headed to happy hour to meet Cass and her friends."
Boom, there's her frown, all worried and a little bit judgy. "At a bar?"
"Yes, Mom. At a bar. That I've been to. At least a dozen times."
"You're not drinking though, are you?"
My sigh is heavy and does little to vent my irritation. "No, but I will at some point, I'm sure."
"I just don't see why you need to. Especially if you're driving."
"Well, first of all, I wouldn't drink and drive.
And secondly, I'm a human being on planet Earth.
I'd like to get drunk at least once. It's called living!
" I'm cheery as all get out. I learned young that it's hard for them to fight with somebody who's smiling and practically singing their sentences.
It's her turn to sigh. "I guess that's fair enough. Will you let me know when you do?"
"Absolutely not," I say on a laugh. "You'll worry yourself sick. But I promise to tell you all about it after."
Her face is still all quirked, her nose wrinkled and lips downturned.
"Mama, tell me--did you do your very best raising me?"
"Of course, sweetie," she answers softly. "Everything I've done since you were born was with you in mind."
That's part of the problem. "Right. And did you teach me right from wrong? About integrity and empathy?"
"I hope so."
"You put the very best head on my shoulders that you could. Didn't you?"
"I did."
"Then you've gotta trust me. I'm not a kid. I'm not in high school, Mama--I'm twenty-four. What were you doing at twenty-four?"
"I was pregnant with you."
"Exactly. You were almost a mother. I think I have the good sense to handle having a drink."
This time when she sighs, it's resigned. "I know. You're right. I just thought it'd be easier, I guess. I hate that you moved so far away."
"It's three hours. Not so far."
"Farthest we've been apart. You'll come home for spring break still, right?"
"Promise." I pull up to the curb across the street from the Horseshoe and park the car. "Okay, Mom--I just got here. I love you so much, okay? Tell Daddy I said hi."
"All right, honey. Call me when you get home, okay?"
"Okay," I answer, smiling despite the obligation.
Because I'm about to meet Cass and her friends to hang out, and nothing can bring me down from that.