Page 2 of Guys Can't Write Romance
“Miss Fields,” came another small voice, snapping Daisy from her musings. She looked up to see little Becky Campbell standing in front of her desk, picking at something in her hair. “Can you get this gum out of my hair? Mikey Williams put it there.”
Meanwhile, across town...
Dodgeballs whizzed like comets across the inside of a school gymnasium, nailing kids with the occasional sharp ‘yelp’ and ‘ow.’
From his seat in the bleachers, 29-year-old Chad McKenzie looked up periodically from his writing pad to make sure none of the kids in his fifth-grade P.E. class got killed.
“No aiming for the head, Kowalski,” Chad called out to one of the boys, who had just nailed another kid in the head with a ball.
“Sorry, Coach,” fifth-grader Brett Kowalski hollered back.
“I think I have a concussion, Coach,” groaned the kid who’d been beaned in the head.
“Let’s have a look,” Chad said, tossing his notepad onto the bleacher and heading over to the kid. He held the kid’s head, turning it from side to side, then held up a finger. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Uh… one?” the kid said.
“You’ll live.”
“Sweet!” the kid said as he ran back into the crossfire of dodgeballs.
“But if you start seeing double of everything,” Chad hollered after the kid, “just lie on the floor until the room stops spinning.”
“Got it,” the kid called back, giving Chad a thumbs up.
Chad went back to the bleachers and began flipping through the pages of his latest masterpiece of mayhem and horror. This one had a slime monster chasing spring break coeds; not to be confused with the zombies chasing spring break coeds in his last book.
Writing was more than just a hobby for Chad, it was his outlet; his not-so-secret rebellion. He got to scare people with his books, and have fun doing it; and fun was high on Chad’s priorities list. It’s what made him so popular with the kids in his P.E. classes and the little league baseball team he coached. They all saw shameless, unapologetic fun as an indispensable part of life.
‘Adulting,’ a word that gave Chad the hives, would come soon enough. At least, that’s what everyone kept telling him. But Chad was in no rush.
“Coach McKenzie!” came a girl’s voice. He looked up to see Lina Harper heading his way. “Kowalski’s cheating! He’s hiding behind Susan and using her as a shield.”
“Not cool, Kowalski,” Chad called out across the gym. “No human shields! Unless you’re under a zombie attack.”
“Right, Coach!” Kowalski called back, easing out from behind the girl.
“Thank you!” Lina said, then hurried back onto the court. A moment later, Kowalski got nailed with a loud whump.
“Nice shot, Stephens,” Chad called out with a grin.
When the gym clock buzzed, signaling the end of class, a collective groan arose from the kids. Chad blew his whistle. “Alright, team! Bring it in! Dodgeballs down. No, Kowalski, that doesn’t mean chuck it one last time.”
The kids walked over and gathered around him.
“Okay, solid game today,” Chad said. “Lots of good dodging out there. And best of all, no concussions. Quick round of applause for keeping it mostly injury-free!”
The kids broke into applause.
“Now, hit the showers, so the rest of your teachers don’t hate me. Too much.”
With a squeak of sneakers on the floor, the kids headed off to the locker rooms.
As Chad reached for his notepad, his phone buzzed with an incoming text. It was a reminder from Liz, one of the members of his writers’ group. As usual, she threw in a teaser at the end.
‘Writers’ group 2nite. Big announcement from Mags.’
These writers’ group meetings were a fun break in the middle of the week. Several of the group’s older members were making a living as full-time writers, and usually had some helpful suggestions on his stories (when they weren’t rolling their eyes at his latest cockamamie monsters). But the real treat was Daisy Fields, the uptight first-grade teacher who wrote romance novels she could market as insomnia cures. Her stories, featuring interchangeable male leads with the personality of a dishcloth, were literally where fun goes to die. And of course, she had choice words to say about his little works of genius. It always made for an interesting evening.
