Page 18 of Writing On The Wall

“I’ll do my best.” I salute, trying to disguise my involuntary smile with sarcasm.

There’s really no reason for me to enter the school. But I’m still a sucker for punishment, because I can’t ignore the annoying urge to see her.

I’m just checking on her because Colton and Ember asked. That’s all.

Today will be our last day working at the school. All that’s left to do is attach the tarps to the poles. It’ll take a few more hours before we’re done, but I figured I may as well see how Miss Feisty Marsh is doing before I get all sweaty.

I peek my head into each classroom I pass, my steps faltering as I approach an open door bearing the nameMr. Jenkins. My jaw clenches, becauseMr. Toby Jenkinshas his scrawny arms wrapped around Ivy as she burrows cozily into his neck.

Well. Looks like I won’t be poking any tiny bears this morning.

I stomp back through the corridors and march outside to meet Marco.

“Lucked out, did ya?” He grins smugly.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve got thatI didn’t get to stir the pot and I’m sulkinglook.”

I scoff. “No way you can tell if someone’s face has that kind of look.”

“I’ve seen this one before.” He sniffs like he’s got me all figured out. “It’s an obvious lead-in to a trope.”

“What do you know abouttropes?”

“Only what I’ve learned from Reese Witherspoon movies. So…everything.”

“I don’t know what to do with that.” I blink at him, pursing my lips.

“I’m kidding. I only watchedSweet Home Alabama. The rest I learned from your books.”

“My books,” I repeat, unsure where he’s heading with this.

“Yeah, the ones you always hide under your seat. I read ‘em every now and again.”

“I don’t know what to do with that either.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, picking up a tarp. “I won’t tell anyone you’re a giant book nerd who reads old-timey books.”

I shrug. “Didn’t you hear? Reading is cool now.”

I’ve always been a reader, but that fact seems to throw people off. They never know how to connect the joking, good-time guy with someone who also loves books and staying home to read. My family doesn’t even know how deeply my love of books runs.

Marco scratches his chin, looking thoughtful. “You got any more?”

I can’t help the slow grin that splits across my face. “Yeah. I’ve got more.”

Marco and I spend the next two hours securing tarps to poles, just in time for the kids’s first recess. My shoulders and back ache with the satisfaction of honest, hard work.

I stretch my arm across my chest, loosening my muscles. As I turn, I catch sight of Ivy’s small figure framed in her classroom window. I continue flexing, and even from this distance, I can feel the intensity of her molten stare—until she abruptly pivots and vanishes from view.

Marco and I go out to the parking lot to load the last of our supplies after that. But my eyes can’t help drifting over to Ivy’s car. The backseat is still piled with random stuff.

I wait for Marco to drive away, stalling in my truck before eventually deciding to torture myself. I climb out, lumbering back into the school. It’s probably a good idea to let C.J. know we’re all done. I mean, I told her we’d be finished soon when I spoke to her earlier, but it would be rude not to say goodbye to my old principal, right?

I purposely take the route that goes past Ivy’s class, indulging in my self-inflicted torment. Then, she rushes out distractedly just as I approach her classroom door, a deep frown creasing her brow. She bumps into me, and her hands and forehead collide with my chest.

“Oof, sorry,” she mumbles, her face buried in my shirt.

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