Page 30 of With This Wish

Sun Valley, 1

Sydney Scott

Copyright © 2023

Sample Chapter

Amelia

Giddy anticipation courses through me as I step out of the spunky, cherry-red Kia Soul I have been driving since college. I grab my travel mug full of green tea that I carry with me always, and start making my way onto the grounds of Central High School. As I unlock the gate and begin the walk to the art room, my art room, I once again cannot believe this is my job. I’ve been teaching art at CHS for the last two years and every year it gets better and better.

I love being on campus before the year starts. We are two weeks away and there’s a potential energy here that gets my heart thrumming. It’s as if the buildings and everything else on the campus are preparing for the excitement and apprehension of new students, the enthusiasm and energy of teachers and staff, and the joy everyone feels at being reunited with old friends and familiar faces. It creates such a stimulating atmosphere that I can feel my fingers twitching with the need to draw, paint, create something, anything to capture this feeling, this moment.

The campus looks deserted and I seem to be the only one here, but that may just be because I am currently outside and it’s easily 97 degrees out. Summer weather in the central valley of California does not mess around and I am so glad I dressed accordingly in cutoff shorts, a pale-yellow puff-sleeve peasant top, and my long, honey-blonde hair in a high ponytail. The perfect ensemble for a hot summer day spent cleaning and organizing in a minimally air-conditioned room. Finally, I come up to the art room and open the door. I immediately look around and inhale deeply, taking in the sights and smells of one of my favorite places in the world. There is still artwork from last year’s students on the walls and I can scent paint, chalk, charcoal, and what is mostly likely a fine layer of dust from two months of disuse.

My eyes wander around and I am immediately taken back to my own high school experience in this very room. My high school experience was fairly typical. I was neither popular nor unpopular, awkward nor overly social, nor a star student or underachiever. I would say I was slightly average, except when it came to art. My parents would tell you that I’m amazingly talented and could take the world by storm, but they have always been my biggest cheerleaders. I have talent, that’s for sure, but what I lack in natural ability I make up for with the insane amount of passion I have for creating and instilling the desire to create in others as well. Nothing brings me joy like helping others find their inspiration.

It was that passion that led me to Ms. Solvesky’s art room during my freshmen year at Central High. I had always had an interest in sketching, and if my kindergarten teacher was right, I had an immense affinity for finger painting. But it was learning about different styles of art and techniques that started me down the road to making it a big part of my life. Ms. Solvesky was a wonderful teacher, she was passionate about art, but it was her ability to reach students that I admired. No matter the level of interest or talent, at the end of the day, just about every student walked away with a deeper appreciation of art in life. And in her classroom she implored us to celebrate that mistakes happen, but they’re all a part of the masterpiece.

That was probably the most important lesson she or anyone else taught me in my four years of high school. I took those words with me as I went off to the California Institute of Arts near San Francisco where I got my bachelor of arts in fine arts while taking a teacher accreditation program online at the same time. It was tough, but I pulled it off and was so happy Ms. Solvesky recommended me as her replacement when she retired two years ago. I still had to do a panel interview, but I think my mentor’s assurances and my former student status had a lot to do with my getting the job. Since then I’ve spent the school year trying my best to fill Ms. Solvesky’s shoes, and so far, I think I’ve done a pretty good job.

My head shakes as I clear my thoughts about the past and come back to the present. Grabbing my phone, I connect it to the sound system in my room. There’s nothing like good music to help stimulate creativity and in this case, there’s nothing like music to help make the job of checking supplies and cleaning a little more enjoyable. As I start blasting my 2000s pop music playlist, my body automatically responds by moving to the beat. As Beyoncé sings about being “Crazy in Love,” I shimmy and shake my way along the walls of my classroom, taking down old art and making room for new contributions. The pattern of me grooving along to the music as I clean and organize continues for the next hour or so and by the time No Doubt’s “Hella Good” comes on, I need a break. I make my way over and take a few sips of tea before I decide this song is just too good not to dance to and begin to sashay and lose myself in the music.

A loud knock on the door and a throat clearing is what brings me back into myself. I spin toward the door and am met with a sight I did not expect today. My lips part slightly and I inhale sharply. Standing at the entrance to my classroom is one of the most attractive men I have ever seen. Scratch that. He is absolutely the most attractive man I have ever seen. He stands there staring at me as the music switches over to Taylor Swift’s “You Belong with Me.” I wouldn’t say that this song playing while we stare into each other’s eyes is a cosmic sign from the universe, except it must be because I can already picture us super in love and married with babies.

He continues to stare for what feels like forever but is more likely two seconds before his brow furrows and he clears his throat again. This snaps me out of my love haze and I rush over to my phone to turn off the playlist. My body vibrates with an energy I’ve never felt before, and I know it has everything to do with the good-looking guy walking into my classroom. He takes a slow perusal of the walls and desks before his gaze lands back on me. He is tall, a bit above six feet if I had to guess, impeccably dressed in brown dress shoes, royal-blue slacks, and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. The top two buttons are undone giving me a peak at the smattering of dark hair on his tanned, brown skin. His jaw is strong and square and covered with a meticulously trimmed beard. His shiny black hair falls in short waves and curls at the nape of his neck. But it’s his eyes that draw me in. Smooth dark-chocolate orbs that I can’t stop staring at. I want to wade into those inky depths and learn all his secrets.

“Do you always listen to your music this loudly?” he asks abruptly.

God, his voice is low and smooth. All I can think about is how it would sound as he whispered sweet nothings in my ear. I blink slowly, trying to clear my mind, and realize he asked me a question.

“Was it loud? I guess I didn’t really notice.” I was too caught up in my daydreams about our future together.

“Probably due to all the jumping about.”

Jumping about? Oh, my famously less-than-stellar dance moves. My cheeks heat with blush and I look over at him, slightly embarrassed. “Just a quick dance break to restore some energy while I get my room ready.”

“Your room?”

“Yes, I’m Amelia Graham, the art teacher. And you are?” Please say, yours.

“Gabriel Hernandez, the new vice principal.” He crosses his arms over his chest in a move that signifies the authority of his position, but all I can concentrate on is the way the material of his shirt stretches across his biceps.

Offering my hand for a shake, I make sure to give him my brightest smile in hopes of putting one on his face in return. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I heard we would be getting a new administrator, but I didn’t know who got the job. Welcome to Central High.” And into what will surely be some very naughty recurring dreams if the way my libido is revving is any indication.

His large, warm hand engulfs mine and all that vibrating I felt earlier intensifies. I’m surprised I haven’t come out of my skin. Something about Mr. Hernandez has my body on high alert, and not just my lady parts. I feel a fluttering in my chest and I look into his eyes, wondering if he feels it too, only he drops my hand like it’s a cold fish and takes a step back. I guess I’m alone in what I’m feeling, but the more I look at him, the more I think he felt it too, but he’s scared. Then again, I have always been a hopeful romantic, so it could just be wishful thinking.

He glances around my classroom again, a look of concentration on his face. “You have a lot of art on the walls, a lot of stuff around the room.” He walks over to the pile of old artwork I have taken down already and lifts a few pages. “It’s a bit of disorganized chaos, no?”

I huff out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re joking.” No matter how I may be feeling about this man, no one is allowed to dis my art room. It’s my sanctuary.

“No. This room looks like a fire marshal’s nightmare.” The ridicule in his voice isn’t at all subtle, nor is it appreciated.

“Um, well, it’s a space designed to promote creativity, it kind of needs to have ‘stuff’ around to help encourage and inspire,” I say with just enough attitude to get displeasure at his assessment across.

He crosses his arms over his chest again. “And people can’t create in an organized environment?” he presents.

Damn, I wish I wasn’t such a glutton for good forearm porn because the flexing of his muscles under that brown skin is much too distracting. Holding fast to my annoyance at him, I try to get back on track. Matching his stance with my own arms crossed, I rebuke, “I didn’t say that, and this space is organized. Just because there are objects around the room and the walls aren’t stark white doesn’t mean it isn’t organized. I know where everything goes and more importantly, so do my students. I teach that part of the creative process in this room is cleaning up after ourselves to make the space ready for someone else.” I can feel a smug smile pulling at my lips and just as it’s about to make its appearance, a field mouse skitters across my floor and I shriek and jump on top of the nearest table.

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