Page 8 of Hate You, Maybe
Sports pretty much saved me when I was a kid, so I’ll do anything to make sure our school can keep up with Harvest High, our crosstown rivals. And that starts with landing this year’s grant money.
The science department scored the funding last year. Now they have brand-new equipment in every classroom. Bridgereven finagled a cadaver lab for AP Physiology. But there’s never a guarantee more funds will come, and the gym, the weight room, our playing fields, the locker rooms—everything—needs to be redone.
All this is to say, today’s meeting with Wilford is the most important of my career.
My gut goes tight, and a quick check of my fitness watch says my heart rate’s elevated. I’ve got a little time before I’m supposed to be at his office. So, I decide to keep my nerves busy by dropping by the custodian’s workroom to fill out a facilities request.
One of the fluorescent lights in the weight room is flickering again, and I’ve gotta let Gordon know. He’s the head custodian. Good guy. I try to help him out when I can. In fact, I’ve changed that same light already twice myself. By now, I’m pretty sure there’s something off with the electrical system.
Just more proof we need that funding.
Gordon’s workroom is in the same red-brick building that houses our administrators, attendance, and counseling offices. When I enter the building, Sayla Kroft’s already there at the far end of the hall. My pulse kicks up another notch even before she ducks into the workroom.
Exactly where I’m going.
Since she left the weight room, I’ve been wanting to say sorry for the whole button incident. The thing is,Iknow I wasn’t ogling her, but Ididmake that stupid joke about the boys in her theater class checking her out.
It’s the kind of thing I would’ve said to tease my sisters when I was an idiot teenager. So, probably not appropriate with a female coworker as an adult.
Cringing on the inside, I continue toward the custodial workroom, braced for battle. Hopefully, instead of killing me, Sayla will accept my apology. But as I reach the door, shebarrels out, practically slamming into my chest. She glances up and her eyes go wide. Then she takes a small step to the side, backing away from me.
“Hey, Kroft.” I rake a hand through my hair. She’s got her bag slung over one arm and she’s carrying a can of WD-40. “What I said to you earlier, in the weight room. I’m sorry. That wasn’t cool.”
“You’re right. It wasn’t.” She shifts her weight. “But I’m used to that by now.”
Hmm. She’s not making this easy on me, which I probably deserve. But at least I got to apologize. No more stupid jokes from now on. Maybe.
“So what’s with the WD-40?” I ask.
She glances down at the can. She’s got a new sweater on. The first one was orange. This one’s pink like her cheeks.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I noticed the side door to the gym is squeaking, so I thought I’d take care of it myself.”
“You?”
Her shoulders go stiff. “It’s not rocket science,” she says. “And Gordon and his team have so much on their plates taking care of this place. I’m just trying to do my part.”
“Wow.” I blink down at her, momentarily stunned, thinking about how I’ve tried to fix the light in the weight room more than once. It’s almost like Sayla and I have something in common. “That’s kind of you.”
“Iamkind,” she retorts. “It’s just thatsomepeople around here are too busy obsessing over triceps to notice.”
“Some people, huh?” I arch a brow. “Is that your way of admitting you’re obsessed with my triceps?”
“Ha!” Her blue eyes flash. “You wish.”
“Maybe I do.” I hitch my shoulders. So much for not making jokes.
“Well.” She sniffs. “I don’t have time to stand around chitchatting all day.”
I scratch my chin. “You must be in a real big hurry to fix that squeak in the gym, huh?”
“No, I’ll do that during my prep period,” she says. “Right now, I want to use the copier before the workroom gets too busy. Then I’m meeting with Mr. Wilford about this year’s grant. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m too busy to waste any more time with you.” As she pushes past my body, her sweet floral scent wafts over me.
But wait.
Did she just say she’s meeting with Larry Wilford about the grant?
Well, crap.
