Page 5 of The Thought of You

Karma is a relentless bitch with an excellent memory.

That has to be the only reason I’m currently being tortured.

I must’ve done many things karma deems awful, because I barely had time to finish my shower.

I snagged the sleeve of my sweater on a nail sticking out of my porch railing.

And I was only able to inhale half my dinner, during which, I nearly choked.

It’s all because of karma—and Owen freaking Conrad.

My foot twitches on the gas pedal as I fight my natural instincts, begging them to let me drive over the speed limit.

It’s homecoming week—aka one of the busiest times of the year for us as high school teachers—and I have to get to the float site to chaperone the sophomores. We can’t leave the students to their own devices, not with tools at play, per the rules of our educational system. I follow and respect the rules.

It’s why I agreed to fill in for Owen, the flake who doesn’t take his professional duties seriously.

We’re all hands on deck around the clock until next weekend. This requires hours outside of the classroom. This requires dedication and focus, and we must access the responsible parts of our brains to make this a success.

But clearly, Owen doesn’t comprehend any of that. He doesn’t seem to care about the importance of this at all. He wouldn’t catch a care if it was hurled at him from his beloved pitcher’s mound.

The irritating former baseball player, in a twist of fate, is now my frustrating co-worker.

I clutch the steering wheel as my tires roll to a stop in front of a dated barn with fading red paint on the outside.

I hop out of my car with a huff and race through the open sliding barn door, where I school my features against the oncoming grimace from the faint smell of must and a few other substances I don’t care to identify.

“I’m here,” I say, my breathless voice on edge as I tuck the dripping strands of hair behind my ear.

Gemma rushes up to me, her purse slung over her shoulder and eyes wide. “Thank you for coming so quickly. I don’t know what happened to Owen. He texted to let me know he’s running late, but that was twenty minutes ago.”

“He’s probably drooling over a baseball game, or distracted by a butterfly,” I toss back. It might be a cheap shot behind his back, but then again, it’s no different than the jabs I make to his face, which most around town consider to be quite handsome.

I might be the last living woman in Sapphire Creek who’s immune to his charms, and it’s a hill I’ll proudly die on.

“See you at school tomorrow.” Gemma ducks out of the barn to pick up her kid from her mother’s, leaving me alone with thirteen teenagers.

And a harmonica.

“What the…” I mutter as a few distinct notes of a bluesy song drift above the chatter of the sophomores.

I hug my arms around my midsection, blinking and taking stock of the students milling about the open space until I find the source of the music. A lanky kid with curly black hair is hunched onto his heels in one corner with a harmonica perched on a holder around his neck like headgear.

While playing perfectly, he also never misses a beat in stapling the chicken wire to the boards set up around the perimeter. I like this multitasking kid.

A trailer sits in the middle of the room like a centerpiece on a table. Built onto it is a grand float decked in our school colors of black and gold. We’re playing the Badgers next weekend for homecoming, so the sophomores had the idea to decorate a badger trapped in a kennel to amp up excitement for a win.

I didn’t need to assist in their creative process, either, not like I have for other classes. I’m happy to help, though; it’s what I do.

It’s why I’m here tonight.

Since I became an English teacher at Sapphire Creek High School, I’ve been called on a lot to lend a hand, and I’m usually stoked to be the go-to girl. I just prefer to dry my hair before being thrust into chaos.

The sophomores currently alternate between stuffing tissue paper into chicken wire and each other’s noses. I’d speak up to halt the nonsense, but they’re making such great progress this far in advance. I’ll let them have their fun for just a little while longer.

I step outside and suck back a healthy breath, enjoying the early evening air as the sun slowly sets, a stretch of fields between me and the horizon. Bursts of yellows, oranges, and pinks paint the sky, and the kid’s harmonica from inside pauses just long enough for me to hear the crickets singing their own tune.

But that’s not all I hear.

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