Page 9 of The Coworker
“Tim,” I mutter, “stop it.”
He rubs his chin. The freckles have mostly faded in the last few years, partially because he’s careful to stay out of the sun. But I miss Tim’s freckles. The freckles were adorable. Without them and now half a head taller than I am, he’s become handsome, but he’s not adorable anymore. Moreover, he seems like a different person. A different kid from the one I spent the summers with, running screaming through the sprinklers in his backyard.
“Shane’s a jerk,” he declares.
“Oh, come on…”
“He is,” Tim snaps. “Him and all his football buddies are a bunch of bullies. I can’t believe you don’t see it, Brooke.”
I shift between my feet in Tim’s yard, which is muddy from the moisture in the air. The air is heavy and damp, and I can feel my hair starting to curl. The forecast called for heavy rain and thunderstorms tonight, and Chelsea and I are intending to reach the farmhouse before it begins. So I should get a move on, but I hate the judgment on Tim’s face, and I’m desperate to prove him wrong. He doesn’t know Shane the way I do. I used to think Shane was a jerk, but he’s not. He’s a good guy, and I really like him. Ilopehim. Tim just can’t see it. I wish he could.
“If you got to know Shane,” I say, “I bet you’d like him.”
Tim snorts and shakes his head.
“Listen,” I say, “you should come tonight.”
He narrows his eyes. “Come where?”
The words spill out before I can overthink them. “We’re meeting at Shane’s house tonight. His mom is going to be out of town. It’s going to be me and Shane and Chelsea and Brandon.” I raise an eyebrow hopefully. “And you?”
“Sorry, I’m going to pass.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun! Just tell your parents you went to Jordan’s house—they’ll never check. We’re all going to spend the night.”
Tim tilts his head to the side, considering it. He used to make that same expression when we were little kids. It used to be so easy back then. I would go over to Tim’s house and there was no discussion about boyfriends or bullies or any of that. I would come over and we wouldplay. And back then, I felt like it would always be that way. It felt like Tim and I would always be friends that way.
Tim was the one who bought me the snowflake necklace I always wear. He got it for me for my tenth birthday, because one of our favorite things to do together was play in the snow—sledding, building snowmen, having snowball fights—whenever it snowed, the first thing I would do was tug on my boots and snowsuit and head over to Tim’s house. The necklace was the first genuine piece of jewelry anyone had ever gotten for me. Considering I’ve had it on every day since then and it hasn’t turned my neck green, I suspect he must have spent a fortune on it. He was probably saving all year to buy it for me.
“Fine,” he says. “Why not?”
Vaguely, I’m aware of the fact that Tim never, ever says no to me. But I try not to think about it. There are certain aspects of my relationship with the boy next door that it’s better not to analyze too deeply.
“That’s great!” I clap my hands together. “Chelsea is picking me up at a quarter after seven. We’ll swing by to get you after.”
Tim could not possibly look less excited about this. “Fine.”
Tim thinks the whole thing is a mistake, but he’s wrong. He’s going to have a great time tonight, and I’ll prove to him that Shane is a good guy. And I’ll tell Chelsea to bring along a girl for him as well. After all, may as well show him a good time.
Chapter 5
PRESENT DAY
If it were socially acceptable, Josh would hide between my legs.
But he’s ten years old, so instead, he is standing close to me, his fingers clinging to my shirt sleeve, still reluctant to join the crowd of kids who will be in his fifth-grade class. His teacher, Mrs. Conway, shoots me a sympathetic look. She seems nice enough—a seasoned teacher in her forties who looks like she’s skilled at keeping the class in line. She wasn’t around when I was a student at the school, but I suspect she must have started soon after.
“He’ll be fine, Ms. Sullivan,” she assures me. “I promise I’ll keep a close eye on him.”
“Thank you,” I say.
It doesn’t escape me that she called meMs. Sullivan rather thanMrs. Sullivan. Does she know I’m a single parent? Does she know Josh doesn’t have a father in the picture? Does she know the whole sordid story? People do talk in towns like this, even though my parents did everything they could to conceal my pregnancy.
And if she knows, then maybe all the other parents know. And then the kids will know. And then the name-calling will start all over again.
No, I’m being paranoid. Josh will be fine.
The excited buzz of children is interrupted by the shrill sound of a bell ringing through the air. The first day of school has officially begun. It takes all my self-restraint to keep from crushing Josh in an embarrassing bear hug. He’s a bit small for his age, just up to the level of my shoulder, and he still sometimes seems painfully young. Too young to face something scary like a classroom of strangers who all know each other from the last five years of school.
