Rock Bottom Girl(22)

Okay, maybe I was also a troublemaker.

“Me?” I squeaked.

“She said it would only take a minute. I’m Lois, by the way. I work in the front office.”

“Nice to meet you, Lois.”

Lois led the way into the office and pointed at the long wooden bench that I remembered was for troublemakers. “You can have a seat right there. She’ll be with you in a minute.”

Reluctantly, I sat. I tried to keep my focus on the floor. But the door opened, and I looked up. Jake was wearing nice-fitting khakis and a polo shirt somewhere between silver and blue. He’d shaved, trimmed his hair. But the ink down both his arms still said nothing but “bad boy.”

“Hey, Lo. Got anything in my mailbox?” he asked, juggling a cup of coffee and a file folder.

“Welcome back, Jake,” Lois said, hopping up from her desk to paw through a mailbox on the back wall. “Kids giving you a hard time yet?”

“Nah.”

He glanced my way and flashed me that dirty, bad boy grin. “Well, well. I’d say I didn’t expect to see you here, Mars. But I’d be lying.”

Lois handed him a few papers. “Oh, leave her alone. It’s her first day,” she clucked.

“I wasn’t sure if I was doing this right,” I said gesturing at the bench. “You had a lot more experience than me in the day.”

“Maybe sometime we can compare experiences,” he said with a wink. He left, and Lois picked up a fundraising flyer and fanned herself.

“If I was twenty years younger, not married, and more flexible…”

I knew the feeling.





13





Marley





Dr. Lindsay Eccles was a far less terrifying figure than I imagined. Instead of a stern dictator in a suit, she wore cargo pants and a sleek black shell top with purple reading glasses on top of her salt and pepper curls.

“Marley.” She greeted me with her hands extended, and I didn’t know what to do, so I took them both and made a weird little curtsy. Had I lost the ability to people? “So good of you to stop in. I just wanted to have a quick chat.”

“Sure, no problem,” I said, wiping my palms on the seat of my shorts.

Following her into the office, I was hit with a subtle citrusy scent. There were houseplants on every flat surface and a small fish tank crammed in a corner next to shelves holding books, art, and knickknacks.

It didn’t feel like the stern disciplinarian space my principal, Mr. Fester—who looked exactly as he sounded—occupied. He was old-school and of the belief that any expression of creativity was one step away from mutiny. I remember running into him at a trampoline park a few years after graduation and being shocked to realize that he had a family and grandkids…and a smile.

Principal Eccles sat behind her desk and gestured for me to do the same.

My bare thighs touched the vinyl upholstery of the chair, and I wondered if this was a trap to prove that my shorts were too short.

“I wanted to see if you had any questions or concerns for me with this being your first teaching position?”

First and last. I didn’t know a lot of things for certain, but this was one of them.

“Oh, um. Not so far,” I said. “Floyd has been really helpful.”

“Good,” she nodded, stirring her tea. “I heard that there was a small issue or two during your preseason practices.” She looked pointedly at the mostly faded bruise I’d covered up with foundation on my cheek.

I swallowed hard. Yeah, I almost gave thirty-two girls heat stroke, then vomited in front of them. Oh, yeah, and I got a black eye breaking up a fight that I didn’t prevent.

“It’s been a steep learning curve,” I said evasively.

Dr. Eccles smiled. “As long as you’re putting the safety of your students first. We can deal with just about anything else temporarily.”

I nodded. Not trusting myself to say the right thing.

“So you will?” She was looking at me, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“I will make their safety my priority,” I parroted. Somehow.

“I appreciate that. Along those lines, I believe that everyone deserves a second chance. And I’m assuming there won’t be any repeats of Homecoming 1998, will there?”

Most people weren’t brave enough to bring it up to my face. Most of them just whispered behind my back. Twenty years later, and you’d think the town would have something better to talk about. Damn Culpepper.

“There won’t be any repeats,” I promised.

“Excellent. One more thing. Milton Hostetter.”

I bit my lip. News certainly traveled fast in these walls.

“Yes. I met him this morning.”

“He’s not used to being disciplined. His mother might try to have a discussion with you. She’s quite protective of her sons. Don’t let her scare you off.”

My head was bobbing again. Now probably wasn’t the time to admit that she’d scared me off once already. “Thank you. I won’t,” I said.

There were miles between me and the old Marley. I’d shed most of my people-pleasing tendencies by the time I hit thirty. But I’d be lying if I said the idea of Amie Jo didn’t still terrify me. She’d been a holy terror at eighteen. I doubted that knocking on forty would have mellowed her.