Page 63 of Ready to Score

Franny’s eyes bulged as she forced herself back up into a seated position in response to the news. “What?”

The muscles in Will’s back and shoulders tensed up immediately. “She was selling one of the houses on the same street as my restaurant and came in for lunch with a client. That’s how we met. Then she told me that she’d been seeing this dude on and off for a few years. He was a fucking clown and she deserved better, and I told her so.”

“Did you guys have an affair?” Her metaphorical pearls were clutched.

“Of course not. You can’t start a relationship built on lies. I knew what I wanted with her almost immediately, so I just had to wait it out until she came to her senses and realized it too.”

“How long did that take?”

“The longest three weeks of my life.”

Franny groaned. “Three weeks is nothing compared to this.”

“It’s all the same torture when you can’t be with them.”

“I just don’t know what to do to get her head out of her ass.”

Will went about tying the big garbage bag of weeds closed. “Have you told her how you feel? What you want? Have you been clear about it?”

“Yes.”

“Then there’s nothing else for you to do,” he said. “Not until she comes back ready to tell you what she wants, what she needs too.”

She wrung her hands together in her lap, suddenly feeling even more defeated. The sun wasn’t so warm anymore, and a slight chill ran through her despite the considerable heat index in Columbia. “So I’m just supposed to wait around?”

“I didn’t say that. If you want to run around like a headless chicken in the meantime, nobody’s going to stop you. But the way I see it, it can be worth the wait. That three weeks could have turned into three months, and it still would have been worth it.”

“What if it isn’t worth it in the end, though? What if I do all that waiting just to get left behind again, Oppa?”

Will reached out and pulled Franny up by her shoulders and into his arms. One of his large, warm hands cradled the back of her head, and she breathed in the scent of soil and sweat on his T-shirt. Her brother was warm and familiar, deeply comforting and grounding. They didn’t hug very often either, but when they did, Franny was instantly transported back to light-filled memories of them in the back of their father’s car, the two convincing him to play the hip radio stations instead of listening to his books on tape. She thought about footraces down their cul-de-sac and covering for him when he snuck out in exchange for unlimited rides wherever she wanted to go. She wrapped her arms around his middle and squeezed him tightly.

When he finally spoke again, she felt the vibrations on her cheek. “No one would blame you for not wanting to risk it right now, Fran. Caroline treated you like shit. She sold you a dream and cashed out the first chance she got. But that didn’t have anything to do with you. You say this new girl is nothing like her, and if you truly believe that, then maybe it’s worth taking a second and being patient for it. And if it turns out that it wasn’t, well, I’ll be right here for you, just like I was the last time and will be all the times in the future.”

Franny snorted and pinched him on the shoulder. “If this doesn’t work out, there aren’t going to be any future fucking times. I’ll officially give up on love and put all my effort into becoming one of those beekeeping lesbians.”

“You hate bees.”

“I’ll learn not to.”

He laughed. “Well, why don’t we see how this pans out first before we start investing in a bunch of those space suit things they wear.”

“Bee suits, you absolute fool. They’re literally just calledbee suits.”

Freshman orientation at Greenbelt Senior High was quite the event by school standards. A few weeks before the start of the new school year, the incoming freshmen and their parents were invited in to meet with teachers and staff, get important information about the upcoming year, and learn the lay of the land. Never mind that almost every kid in the incoming class had at least one parent who’d attended the school at some point; Principal Coleman was big on first and lasting impressions.

Thankfully, teachers didn’t have to put on much of a show. All the admins and department heads were expected to attend the formal orientation in the auditorium with the families, and the rest of the freshman teaching staff waited in their rooms, doors open, for when the students did their first official classroom visit.

Franny had used much of her buzzing, anxious energy to get her classroom together before the event. The art room was big, with big black-top tables and paint-speckled floors. She’d covered the walls in the artworks of previous and current students and placed a bunch of printouts of her curriculum plan at the door for anyone to grab.

Wax melter plugged in, she sat back in her chair with her feet up on her desk and waited until she heard footsteps coming down the hall toward her room to square her shoulders and stand up.

Relief and annoyance flooded through her when she realized the steps belonged to one of her kids. It was Alonzo Holton, who was only fifteen but taller than she was by more than a few inches. The O-line left tackle was truly never without a smile. He was also, by Franny’s estimation, one of the best student artists she’d ever encountered.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, peeking around him only to find the space empty.

“Well, hello to you too, Coach,” he said sarcastically.

“I’m not a—”

---