Page 98 of Love in Riverbend
Marilyn knows my hometown because it’s her hometown too. We both left after high school graduation, dusting the dirt from our shoes—or something like that—and vowing to move on to bigger and better places.
It’s not that Riverbend is bad.
It’s just Riverbend.
The same town where my grandparents lived, and my parents and brother live. It’s a town that is the same as it was when I was in grade school, middle school, and high school. Now, the middle-school principal called me about an opening for a seventh-grade teacher. Seeing as I’m about to graduate with my education degree, a job is something I need.
“I know. Right?” I nibble on my lower lip. “Mr. Sams is Cory Sams.” I say his name that way because when we were in grade school, he was in high school. And we both thought he was dreamy.
Marilyn nods. “Did I give you my undivided attention so you could take me through the Riverbend phone book?”
“Oh God. Do you think they still have a phone book?”
My friend laughs. “I’m not sure about the phone book. Yes, I know who Mr. Sams is. He’s your brother’s friend. I remember when all those guys would hang out at your house.”
I think back to that time. Nearly ten years younger than my brother, Ricky, I was always the pesky little sister.
“Do you think,” Marilyn asks, “that Mr. Sams knows you’re Ricky’s little sister?” The way she says little is drawn out, emphasizing the age gap.
“Seeing as my last name is Dunn, the same as my brother’s, I would say yes. Besides he started the conversation with small talk. All professional yet friendly.” I shrugged. “He knows.”
“You had an interview for Indianapolis schools, too. Didn’t you say it went well?”
Grabbing a throw pillow, I hug it in front of me. “Maybe I should be like you and go straight to grad school.” I could do that. If I wanted to take on more debt. My parents are as helpful as they can be, but I know that money is tight. I won’t be the reason they struggle.
Marilyn smiles. “And we could stay roommates. You could pay half the rent.” Her blue eyes open wide. “If you take the job in Riverbend, you can live at home.” She shakes her head at my eye roll. “I know. Think about the money you’d save.”
“That’s why I haven’t told Mom about the interview. I was thinking maybe you’d go with me, and we could stay at your parents’ or get a room somewhere. It’s springtime. There might be something happening.”
“First, it’s Little 500 weekend. There are no rooms to be had anywhere near Bloomington.”
“Oh. I didn’t think of that.” My smile grows. “That means there are probably parties in Bloomington. That campus is a lot wilder than Ball State.”
Marilyn rolls her eyes. “Of course, there are parties. Since when are you the partying type?”
“Since I’m hoping to fly under the radar in Riverbend. I don’t want anyone to know that I’m considering the position.”
“You think you could get into town and no one will know? Devan, this is Riverbend you’re talking about. I’d be surprised if Janet isn’t already picking out paint for your bedroom in anticipation of your return.”
Laying my head against the cushions, I stare up at the ceiling. “That’s Mom.” Another nibble of my lip and I move my gaze to my best friend. “Am I failing if I go back?”
“No,” she answers quickly. “You have nailed your classes. And your student teaching earned you multiple job offers.”
I spent last semester student teaching in Muncie, north of Indianapolis, in an accelerated private academy. I took the assignment because Marilyn and I both live in Muncie, attending Ball State University. Despite the funny name, it’s one of the best education colleges around.
“I’ve thought about it,” I say. “You’re moving to Bloomington for grad school and” —I think about our core group of friends— “everyone is moving somewhere. I guess I don’t want to be left here without my friends.”
“Indianapolis?”
“Ricky would tell me I’m being a baby, but the thing is, Indy is big. Bigger than Muncie and a lot bigger than Riverbend. The school system is huge, and from what I’ve read, underfunded. It seems like a lot of stress for my first job, worrying about where to live, lesson plans, and supplies.”
“When is your interview with Mr. Sams?”
My lips curl as I dip my chin, bat my eyelashes, and send my friend my most pleading expression. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? You know I have an eight a.m. facilitator group.
“You’re a senior. Who does that themselves?”
