Page 61 of Second Chance Ex
I know Joey’s under a lot of pressure to try and prove himself during his rookie year with the Sacramento Grizzlies. Not only was he selected in the first round, but he also signed the biggest four-year contract for any defensive rookie in NFL history. It doesn’t matter that he won the Chuck Bednarik award, or that he was a finalist for the Heisman in his senior year; the media is having a field day trying to tear Joey Tanner down, and I hate that he’s already seeing the bad side to being one of the best. Fame is doing a number on my guy, and I wish I could be there by his side as he finds his feet.
Staring at my phone, I scroll idly through Instagram when the device vibrates in my hand. I startle, and my hopes are immediately high thinking it’s Joey, but that hope fades when I see Maddy’s name on the screen.
“Hey,” I answer, trying not to sound disappointed.
“HeyMiss. Watson!”
I giggle.
“How are you feeling before your first day?”
“Oh my god, I’m so nervous,” I groan. “I’ve been sick twice. Like, physically sick.”
“What?” Madison guffaws. “That’s not like you, P. You’ve been prepared for this day ever since eighth grade when you declared in front of our entire home room that you were going to be a teacher. Remember when you tried to convince Mr. Rowley to let you take over roll call for a week?”
I grin at the memory. “Man, I was such a nerd… how did I not get wedgied at least once?”
“Because you were friends with me, obvs,” Madisonsays without missing a beat, and I imagine her flicking her hair.
I laugh, rolling my eyes. I mean, she’s not wrong.
“Well, I just wanted to wish you luck for your first day. Not that you need it, of course. And call me later to tell me all about it!”
“Okay, I will.”
“Love you,” she sings into the phone.
I quickly end the call before she can start with the annoying kissy sounds, and as I stare down at the black screen, I heave a resigned sigh. He’s not going to call. But I’m sure he’ll text me later. He’s probably just caught up in the gym, or some other training session.
Glancing at my reflection in the rearview mirror, I offer myself a quick pep-talk.
Maddy was right; I was born to do this. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been ready for this since I was old enough to set my stuffed animals up at makeshift desks in my bedroom and pretend to take class, ever since I asked my parents for a white board when I was eleven, so I could practice my teacher-handwriting.
“You’ve got this, Miss. Watson,” I tell my reflection.
And then, with a deep, fortifying breath, I grab my things and force myself out of the car.They’re ten-year olds; how hard can it be?
So,it turns out I don’tgot thisat all. And that’s made abundantly clear as I lie on the bed in the school nurse’s office with a cool wash cloth draped over my forehead and a thermometer in my mouth.
Everything was going swimmingly. The kids werehanging on to every single word of my lesson. The teacher, Sandy, a lovely middle-aged woman, sat at the back of the class, smiling and nodding along, even offering me the occasional encouraging thumbs up. I had every little human in the palm of my hand. Thesweatypalm of my hand. In fact, it wasn’t just my palm; my whole body was sweaty. I could feel beads of sweat rolling down my back, my chest, in between my breasts. I assumed it was just nerves. But then I started getting foggy in the head, stumbling a little as if I were drunk.
It all happened so quick. One minute, I was killing it up there, talking to the kids about Ulysses S. Grant; the next thing I know, I’m on my knees, hurling regurgitated graham crackers into the waste paper basket to the tune of twenty-two squealing ten-year olds. I am never going to live this down.
“Maybe it was something I ate,” I ponder out loud while the school nurse fans me with a few sheets of printer paper.
“Maybe I’m coming down with the flu,” I venture, glancing at her in the hope to see some kind of confirmation that I’m at least not dying like I currently feel like I might be.
“Is there any chance you might be pregnant, honey?” the nurse asks.
“No. absolutely not,” I scoff. I don’t add that it’s highly impossible since, not only have I been religiously taking the pill since I was fourteen, but I haven’t had sex in forever on account of Joey being consumed by football. Sure, he’s closer now that he’s based in Sacramento, but he might as well still live in Ohio for as often as I get to see him in the flesh.
“I’m going to prescribe bed rest, and a visit to thestudent health center.” The kind woman offers me a stern, no-bullshit look. “And you can’t come back here for forty-eight hours after your last expulsion. We can’t risk the little ones catching whatever it is you’ve got.”
I nod, moving to sit up, but my head grows heavy again and I sag back down.
“There’s no one who can come pick you up?” She arches one brow.
I shake my head.
