Page 14 of Awakening the Sheriff

“The principal made him write a paper?”

“On child labor laws in the early and mid-nineteenth century. I think he wanted to make the point that Byron doesn’t have it that bad.”

I chuckled. “Pretty sure Byron saw it differently.”

“He did.”

“So…” I stuck my hands into my pockets. “Are you here by yourself, or are you waiting for someone?”

Keaton cast his eyes at the floor. “By myself. Milton had a birthday party, and Byron is in his room all day, so I figured I’d treat myself to a nice meal.”

His son was probably at the same birthday party as Violet. “Come sit with us. I’m here with a group of friends.”

He looked up. “I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t mean it.”

“Don’t you need to check with them?”

I made a dismissive gesture with my hand. “They’ll be fine with it. Come on, meet some new people.”

He hesitated a little longer, then nodded. “If you’re sure it’s not a problem.”

“Not at all.”

As I walked back to our table, Keaton followed me. When we approached, conversations hushed. “Guys, this is Keaton Perry, the new English teacher. He’ll be joining us. Keaton, these are my friends, Marnin, York, Tiago, Cas, and Tomás.”

Keaton’s eyes widened, probably because he recognized Tiago and Tomás, and he held up his hand for a little wave. “Hi, everyone. Thanks for letting me join.”

“Of course.” Tiago pushed his chair to the right to make room for one more chair. “The more, the merrier.”

Marnin grabbed an extra chair from the table next to us, put it down to my right, and signaled Keaton to sit. Whether because their jobs as models required them to be social or because they’d been born with those skills, the Banner twins excelled at making small talk. Within minutes, Keaton had put in his order and was chatting about poetry and song lyrics, of all things. Thank god I’d listened to my gut when I saw him sitting alone at a table and asked him to join us.

“Some songs are cliché upon cliché, but others are beautiful. Taylor Swift, for example, is a wordsmith,” Keaton said to Tiago, leaning forward, his brown eyes sparkling. “And have you ever read Eminem’s song lyrics?”

Tiago hesitated, then looked at Cas, who sent him an encouraging nod. “I’m dyslexic, so reading is hard, but I let my phone read stuff to me.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. That was the first time Tiago had been open about his reading struggles. We’d all known it back in high school, but he’d never mentioned it in front of us. What a massive step he’d taken. No doubt Cas’s influence. The guy was so good for him.

“That’s reading too,” Keaton said.

“You think so?”

“To define reading as strictly processing written words is ableist. People who listen to audiobooks instead of reading them on paper or in e-book format are still reading.”

Tiago’s face lit up, and his sheer joy hit me deep. Keaton had no clue how sensitive Tiago was about his dyslexia, and I could’ve kissed him for affirming it. “I’ll make sure to listen better to his lyrics sometime,” Tiago said, returning to their previous topic.

“You should. He’s one of the best rappers of all time, if you ask me.”

Keaton’s enthusiasm was infectious. “I wouldn’t expect an English teacher to appreciate rap music,” I said.

“I love poetry, and good rap is poetry, just in a specific form. What Eminem does is incredible. Few rappers have his skills to not only rhyme but also have it make sense, both in content and in the beat.” He laughed self-consciously. “Sorry, I got a little carried away. Poetry is a passion of mine, but I didn’t mean to dominate the conversation.”

“It was interesting,” Tiago said. “I’ve never looked at rap music like that.”

Keaton shifted in his seat. “What do you do for a living, Cas?”

I was sure we all recognized the question as an attempt to change the topic and get the attention off him, but no one commented on it.

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