Page 85 of Hot Shot

Shelby is sitting sideways in the armchair, her long legs hanging off one arm. I have no idea how she’s comfortable like that, but she’s relaxed and happy and laughing, so somehow she managed it. She looks like a supermodel—I’m not even exaggerating. If she had ever given a shit about such things, she could have gotten an agent and ended up on Paris runways. At nearly six feet tall, she’s lean and fit with legs that don’t quit. So beautifully tanned by hours in the sun that sometimes I force her to take her socks off just to make me feel a little better about myself. The sock tan isfierce. She has the cutest little nose and light hair, but her eyes are almost exactly the same shade of amber as Wilder’s, a shock of whiskey gold against her tan, lightly freckled nose and cheeks.

How every straight man in the county isn’t beating her door down is beyond me. Not that she has time to date—she teaches English and coaches Varsity softball, assistant coaches the rec league, and somehow finds time to dispatch part time. That is, outside of April and May when she’s busy with the softball season.

Currently, we’re laughing at teaching stories, the last of which was about a suspicious vibration in a student’s purse that thankfully ended up being a phone. If she hadn’t said,Please,God, let that be a phone, the kids might not have died laughing, and she might not have justdied.

“Shakespeare is always funny, though,” she continues. “We read aloud in class a lot, and there are always laughs during the first scene inRomeo and Julietwhen Capulet says, ‘Give me my long sword, ho!’” She raises her hand in the air like she’s holding a sword. “InHamletonce, someone read a line from Ophelia, ‘To speak of horrors—he comes before me.’ And one of the boys was like, ‘Damn, that’s messed up.’”

“Protect that boy,” I say on a laugh.

“Oh, or when Claudius says, ‘Oh, yet defend me, friends; I am but hurt!’ but they always say itbutthurt.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know how you do it all. I only have one job and I can’t keep up with my grading and lesson plans. Meanwhile, you’re workingallthe jobs.”

She laughs, undoing her ponytail and shaking out her hair. “Yeah, and I’m never home, I barely sleep, and I’mprettysure I have what I’mprettysure is the beginning of an ulcer. You’ll get the hang of it. Seriously, the first year is the hardest. Once you have it all set, it gets easier. I mean, think about it—you have no resources, so you have to scrounge everything you teach up from scratch. You’ll build up a bank, though, so planning will get easier every year. Statistically, most teachers quit in their first couple of years because it’s fuckingtough. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

I sigh. “Maybe I should ask Cheryl if she has any resources I can use. Or is that like…frowned upon?”

“Definitely ask her. I’m sure in elementary it’ll be a little friendlier but…well, don’t be surprised if she doesn’t want to help. I don’t know why everyone’s so territorial. It’s crazy to me that new teachers are thrown to the wolves without anything but their degrees and some state guidelines to follow. Look, yourgoal for this year is easy—survive. That’s it. That’s all you have to do.”

I snort. “Tall order, Shelbs. It’s possible I’ll die by homework avalanche before Christmas break.”

She turns, her legs gracefully swinging in front of her. “We can help with grading. Wilder can too.”

“Really? He doesn’t need like…training or anything?”

She laughs. “It’s first grade, Cass. He can manage. Where is it? We can work on it together.”

I make a face. “Why do you look excited about it?”

“Because I’m sick to death of reading high schoolers’ terrible AI English papers. The thought of going over first grade spelling sounds like a vacation.”

“I’m too beat tonight. Please, don’t bother with it.”

“Is it in here?” she asks over my school bag. “I really don’t mind.” Ignoring my protests and slapping my hand when I try to stop her, she pulls a stack of papers and a couple of red markers from the pocket of my bag. She splits it and hands half to Jessa, who looks at her glass of wine, sighs, and sets it down to take the homework instead.

“Well, now I feel bad.” I stick out my hand for my share.

“Nope, we’ll do this and it’ll at least put a dent in it. Conserve your strength so you can attack it this weekend. Wilder will be off to help. Put that man to work.” She makes a whip crack sound as she sits.

“He already does so much.”

Shelby gives me a look. “He’s off two full days for every one he works. Trust me, he has time.”

“I know, but he’s also figuring out how to be a dad and dealing with custody and everything.”

It’s Jessa’s turn to make a face at me, and I’m pinned to the couch by both of their gazes.

“And you have nothing to figure out or deal with?” she asks.

“I mean, I do, but it feels trivial by comparison.”

“You are currently pretend married to your ex and navigatingmotherhood,” Jessa points out.

“On top of your first year of teaching,” Shelby adds. “I’m with Jess. None of that is trivial. What exactlyisWilder doing?”

I swirl my wine around its glass, trying not to frown. “He takes Cricket to all her appointments when he’s off work. And practices and therapy. He does the laundry, too. Plus, he’s just so good with her—if she needs anything, he’s there for her. For both of us, really. It’s weird how easy it is for him.”

Shelby doesn’t seem to agree. “He’s always been a doer. When he sees a need, he fills it, and will happily suffer so someone he loves doesn’t have to. It’s what makes him such a good leader too—everyone knows they can count on him. He always comes through. So it doesn’t surprise me at all that it at leastlookseasy for him. Having a kid is practically catnip. And with Cricket being soCricket? He never stood a chance.”

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