Chapter 6
I’d taken the job, and now I was back in the room where a peppermint had almost taken me out. The setup looked completely
different—no catered garlic meat on skewers, no adult chatter, no women swooning over Gabe. Just tables, chairs, and a bunch
of kids ranging from ten to eighteen, claiming the space like it belonged to them. Which, honestly, it did. One of the boys
was standing in front of the room, reading what I recognized to be Paul Dunbar’s poem “Slow Through the Dark.”
“Slow moves the pageant of a climbing race;
Their footsteps drag far, far below the height,
And, unprevailing by their utmost might,
Seem faltering downward from each hard won place.
No strange, swift-sprung exception we; we trace . . .”
His voice was shaky, but he had good intonation. The uncertainty in his eyes tugged at my heart. I hadn’t seen that look in
a student’s eyes in a long time. Over ten years.
“A devious way thro’ dim, uncertain light,—
Our hope, through the long vistaed years, a sight
Of that our Captain’s soul sees face to face.”
I slipped into the first chair I reached. It creaked and garnered the attention of everyone in the room. The teen faltered
again.
The back of a head rose from below the table at the front. It was Gabe. He said, “Pull your breath from your belly.”
Gabe had gotten a haircut. It was shaved down, nearly bald to the scalp. It was a dramatic change from the coiled curls that
I’d admired and coveted the last time I saw him.
Gabe stood and placed his hand on his tightly packed stomach. “One more time from here.”
The boy read again. When he came to the end, Gabe raised his hand to begin a slow clap that the other students mimicked.
Gabe’s eyes found mine. His lips parted and then closed like he was fighting a smile. He returned his attention to the student.
Cupping his hand over the boy’s shoulder, he said, “Great job, Malachi.”
Malachi grinned and charged the empty chair in front of him. Gabe returned his attention to the group. “So now that you see
what it’s like to read someone else’s poem, I want you all to practice putting emotion in your own poems.”
One of the girls threw her hand up, and Gabe nodded for her to speak. “What if I don’t wanna write a poem?”
“Poetry writing is a part of the summer program. You’re going to be required to write one or two in high school.” He folded
his arms across his chest. “Now it’s time to work on your essays, and I told you I was bringing in someone new.” He nodded
in my direction, and all eyes—about sixteen sets—were on me. “Everyone, meet Miss Alexandra. She has told me that you all
may call her Miss Alex.”
I stood and cleared my throat. I looked down at my linen suit and sandals and wished I’d worn jeans and a T-shirt like my first mind told me to, since that was what everyone in the room was wearing except the few kids who wore sweats.
One of the girls frowned. “Are you a new volunteer?”
“Don’t be stupid, Kamesha. He told us he was getting somebody else for his job,” one of the other girls replied.
Those were fighting words, and hand on hip, neck rolling, Kamesha rose to them. “Who you calling stupid?”
Gabe clapped his hands. “Hey.” He paused until he had their attention. “Nobody is stupid. Miss Alex is taking over for me.
She’s in charge of the writing program.”
The kids didn’t say anything. They were too busy checking me out. If a pin hit the floor, I’d hear it crash.
Gabe continued, “Miss Alex is a writer. She’s published almost thirty novels.”
Admiration by most was instant. Eyes widened, with a few of the students expressing themselves verbally with wows. The others
were not so impressed.
Teenagers.
I’d been one once, so although I couldn’t imagine not being excited to meet an author, it was cool. It was tutoring. They
probably weren’t all here because they wanted to be. I stepped forward until the front of my thighs met the table.
“I’m also a former reading teacher, so I hope between the writing and the teaching, I can help.”
“Do you know anything about drama?” Kamesha asked. She was all hair with a tremendous Afro and old-school black cherry lipstick.
Her T-shirt read Peace, Love, and Soul, and she wore cutoff jeans and flip-flops. She looked like she’d come right out of
the Soul Train line. Too cute.
“Do you mean like acting? I was in the drama club when I was in high school.”
She reared her head back and planted her hands on super-curvy hips. This girl was built like a twenty-two-year-old. Her poor
parents. “How long ago was that?”
“Kamesha.” Gabe gave her a pointed look.
“I’m just sayin’. The new writer in residence was going to start a drama club. Now she’s not coming. We need a drama club.
I want to be an actress so I can go to the real Hollywood in Los Angeles, or at least to Atlanta.”
“Being rude won’t get you out of Ravenel,” Gabe said, his eyebrows lifted high like he’d had enough of her mouth.
“It works for celebrities,” Kamesha replied, twirling the bangles on her wrists.
“After they’re famous,” one of the boys replied, chuckling. “Which you’ll never be.” He and another boy high-fived on the matter.
Kamesha rolled her neck again harder, if that was possible. “At least I want to be something other than a D student.”
Laughter rolled through the room.
“All right, all right. Let’s do better than putting each other down. That’s not what we do here, and you know it,” Gabe said.
“I want apologies.”
After a moment, the offenders mumbled their sorries.
Gabe put a hand to his ear and pulled it forward. “And those who laughed.”
The other kids gave me their rapt attention. “I’m sorry,” one said.
“Look, you all know I’m leaving. My dates are solid. They can’t be changed. You need to make a good impression on Miss Alex.”
Gabe’s eyes met mine, and they begged for forgiveness.
It was quiet for a moment before one of the other students broke the ice. “Why did you stop being a teacher?”
“I wrote a few books, and I loved it so much, I stopped teaching so I could do it all the time.”
“It must be nice not to have to work so hard,” one of the kids said.
“Excuse me,” Gabe interjected, chuckling. “What makes you think writing isn’t hard work?”
“I don’t know.” The offender shrugged. “You work at home.”
“People can work hard at home,” Gabe said. “Now, as I was saying”—his eyes slipped to mine again—“Miss Alex is here. She may
want to change things . . . add things . . . take things away, but that’s going to be her call.”
“Add drama,” Kamesha whispered, firm on the matter.
Gabe’s face told me everything I needed to know. He wanted these kids to have a drama club. Now I felt like I needed to learn
how to be a drama coach. I’d been bamboozled by dimples.
Gabe said, “You all know what to do. Help each other. Miss Alex and I will be in the office.”
The kids stood and broke into small groups as they left the conference room. The walls were glass, so my eyes followed them
down the hall until they reached a series of rooms. One door opened at a time, and they divided up and disappeared behind
them.
“It’s not always like that.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes at him. “You’re a horrible liar.”
He chuckled. “I mean, not really.”
“They weren’t that bad. I’ve dealt with some teens at church.” I checked out the room. Gabe raised a hand toward the door.
“Shall we go to the office?”
He led the way to an office a few steps from where we’d been.
“They aren’t going to take long. As soon as one of them hits a bump in the road, they’ll be in here, so we’d better get started,” he said.
“Am I supposed to be running a drama club?”
Gabe shrugged. “Only if you want.”
“I’m temporary, so as you recruit again, maybe you can find someone with more experience.”
“Maybe I will.” He looked at me for a long moment. Something steady and unspoken in his gaze made my chest tighten—as if he’d
already decided I belonged here.
I cleared my throat. “Do you enjoy working as the director?”
“I do. There are also some great volunteers.”
“I met Taylor last week.”
“Did you?” The corner of Gabe’s mouth turned up in a little smile. “She’s been with us for a few months. I did a big volunteer
recruitment thing because we didn’t have enough help. We have a few steady people now.”
Gabe logged into a computer and had me fill out a New Hire screen with my personal information while he busied himself with
paperwork on the other end of the desk. When I was finished, I pushed my chair away from the desk.
“Ready for me?” he asked.
I cocked my head and stared at him. That question did not enter my brain the right way.
“Alex.” His voice broke through my thoughts about him.
Embarrassing.
“I’m done.”
He came around behind me, scrolled down, entered a pin, and pressed Send. A PDF popped up. “Let me just scan through it to
make sure everything is complete.”
He read over my shoulder. “Alexandra Chambers,” he said, frowning. “Have you gotten married?”
Not an appropriate question for a boss, but I let it slide. He had known me as Wesley for a long time. “Wesley is my pen name. Chambers is my legal name.”
“Oh,” he said. He looked farther down. “And your emergency contact is your mother.” He paused for a few seconds before saying,
“Rebecca Chambers.”
“Yes,” I said. “You met her at your event.”
Something about him was off, but he said, “Of course, I remember.” A few seconds went by with him staring at the screen, but
he didn’t look like he was reading anymore.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, curious about his strange manner. His face had completely changed. Maybe he was concerned that
I lived on James Island, but that was what the cabin was for. “Do I need to explain something?”
“No.” He smiled forcibly, then clicked on the file to close my application. He turned to pick up a notebook, lingered for
a moment, and then sat next to me. This time when he smiled, he looked like himself. “Let’s go through the program.”
Basically, the job was to give weekly writing assignments and help the students with their final submissions. If they needed