Page 100 of One More Chapter

“Are you guys talking books?” she asks, taking a Tupperware container from her lunch bag and sliding it into the microwave.

We all tense, but Lucy says, “Yeah, do you read at all?”

Ever the includer, our sweet Lucy is.

“When I can. I’m more into thrillers. Sounds like you ladies are into that trashy romance that’s all over the internet nowadays.”

Amanda didn’t give us a very good first impression during the wiffle ball night, and Sam hasn’t had great things to say about her since. It seems like she either doesn’t know how to make friends, or really isn’t looking to in the first place.

“I love a good romance,” Juliet says. “The smuttier the better. Gets me out of my head for a little while.”

Amanda snorts. “Don’t you have a husband for that?”

“If you’re asking if my husband benefits from my reading, then absolutely he does.”

Her face screws up, and I hide my snicker in the whir of the copier. The microwave dings, and Amanda makes a hasty exit. When the door snicks shut, we all let out sighs.

“Sam says she’s awful,” Juliet moans. “I feel so bad for him. She contradicts what he says almost out of spite. He’s doing his best not to give in, but he’s about to lose his mind.”

“I wonder how she was in her own building?” Lucy asks. “Pen, could you do some digging? Maybe ask Ant?”

Just the mention of his name stirs up butterflies in my chest.

“Yeah, I can check. He hasn’t really been home most nights though. He’s been working on his house.”

I take my warm, dead tree from the copy machine and hug it close to me.Ah. Like bread fresh from the oven.

“I’ll see if I can catch him. I’m usually in the writing cave when he rolls in.”

Yeah, but he texts me on my way home so I can wrap up my chapter and be naked in his bed in the fifteen minutes it takes him to get across town.

We wrap up lunch, and as I’m dropping off my copies on my desk, I get a call to my classroom phone from Nathan. Apparently, Mr. Davisdidmake good on his threat to call my supervisor. I sigh, roll my head back and forth on my shoulders, and head to the office where they have Mr. Davis on hold.

I’m stunned when Anthony is there too.

“I had Caden on my baseball team last year,” he supplies when I take a seat. “I figure, if worse comes to worst, he might take my advice as his coach and start checking his email.”

He offers me a tight lipped smile, and then I turn to Nathan.

“Mr. Davis has stated that his son received a D in your class, and you are refusing to let him make up the work. He is adamantly upset because a D disqualifies Caden from trying out for baseball after break.”

Ah. There it is.

“I’m assuming you contacted him several times before we got to this point?”

“You know it.” I lift my brow and hand him my laptop, pulled up to my communication log. He takes a second to read it over, then nods, and says, “This will be quick.”

“Mr. Davis, hello. This is Nathan Harding, interim principal at River Valley/Meadow Ridge. Here with me are the interim assistant principal, Anthony Ellis, as well as Caden’s math teacher, Ms. Penelope Barker.”

He lets Mr. Davis bark out complaints, orders, and a few empty threats, essentially letting him get everything off his chest. Then, Nathan gives him the same speech I did. He even goes so far as to cite my syllabusandthe district policy on make-up work, all of which I followed. But Mr. Davis still isn’t having it. That’s when Ant steps in.

“Listen, Chuck. I’m going to level with you. Caden had this problem last season, and I did everything in my power to make sure he kept his grades up—but it tookyoubeing on the other end to get us to that point. If he’s going to have any chance of playing, his grades have to come first. That means doing his homework, taking Ms. Barker up on her offers of study hall and lunch—which she gives upfreely, might I add—and getting the work done.”

Oh. I should not be horny at work. But this man standing up for me to a parent is really doing it for me.

The call ends with a compromise—Caden Davis has to do lunch tutoring three days a week until his grades hold steady, and if he has a C+ average by the time tryouts roll around in February, he’ll be allowed to suit up. When Nathan hangs up, I slump in my chair, and Ant does a full body exhale, deflating like a balloon. I hide my giggle behind my hand.

“His dad was a pill last year, but the poor kid’s mom died a few years back. Dad doesn’t quite know how to handle all of the things she used to manage. I think he’s a good candidate for the program. Nate, are you okay with me following up with Dad later this week to get the okay? I think Sam could be a good mentor.”

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