Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
We hear a bell ring, and soon enough, kids file out of the building on their lunch break.
As a group of students get settled at one of the many picnic benches, Micah steps closer. “Excuse me, does Ms. Hart still work here?”
“Yep,” one of the girls replies, then points toward the nearby parking lot. “That’s her car.”
“And there she is!” another student exclaims, and we see her, her shoulder-length black hair now mixed with gray.
Micah sucks in a breath as if his past has come full circle.
24
MICAH
I panic when the student flags Ms. Hart over to us.
“No, you don’t have to—” I take a step back, but John is behind me, and his chest feels like a column of solid piling from the underside of a dock.
The moment she recognizes me, her face splits into a grin. “Micah Malone? Is that you?”
I dip my head as all the students in the vicinity turn to stare. “Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s so good to see you.” Her legs eat up the distance, and she pulls me into a firm hug. Her vanilla scent stirs up so many warm memories—the late practices, her unwavering support, John’s love inspiring me to be better, the flowers Mrs. McCoy presented me with after performances, even as it felt silly to want them so much.
“You too,” I croak out because I admit seeing my old drama teacher is one of the highlights of this visit.
When we draw away, she glances over my shoulder. “What a pleasant surprise to see the both of you.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” John replies, stepping forward.
She eyes the two of us, seemingly with a different question on her lips than the one she asks. “So, what brings you to town?”
“My grandfather passed away.”
She frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good man.”
“He was, thanks.” I shift awkwardly. “So I’m only tying up loose ends.”
She pats my shoulder. “Must feel overwhelming. Does this mean I might see you around?”
“I don’t have an exact departure date. It depends on—”
“Will your visit extend to the spring festival?” she asks in a high-pitched tone.
I’m momentarily confused as to why she’s asking me, but then I remember the drama department is traditionally part of the entertainment. “Are they still putting that on?”
“Of course,” John says with a smirk. “It’s one of Aqua Vista’s highlights.”
I smile at the memory of starring in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Whereas other schools might’ve performed it around Halloween, the town’s tradition is the spring. My grandfather would say welcome to the quirkiness of Aqua Vista. “I might still be haunted by the headless horseman. It was too realistic.”
Ms. Hart grins. “All our props are a bit worse for wear, but they still do the trick.”
I mock-shiver. “I have no doubt.”
“It’s really all about the acting.” She winks. “And you are probably the best Ichabod Crane we’ve ever had.”
My cheeks feel hot. “I don’t know about that.”
John nudges me, and I think about his words—believe in yourself. “But thanks. Those were some of the best years of my life.”
I’d been part of a small theater production in LA, and though I enjoyed it, I never pursued another role because it didn’t quite quench my soul like it had in high school. I thought for sure Hollywood would provide that for me, but I’d been wrong on that front too.
“I might be around for the festival. It depends on how fast my grandfather’s house sells.” Not that I have to be around for the actual sale because of Chuck’s involvement, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. “If so, I’ll be sure to catch the show.”
“Feel like helping pre-production?” Her pleading eyes meet mine. “I mean, if you’re not too busy.”
“Help with what?”
She glances toward the high school. “Our cast this year is quite chaotic. My assistant went on maternity leave, and, well, you were once my star student who went off to Hollywood, so maybe you could offer some pointers?”
My heart balloons, but my gut churns, making me feel disoriented—and a bit petrified. I don’t need anything else anchoring me to this place. Besides, what could I actually offer her or those kids? I’m still trying to get my own act together, so to speak.
“With everything I have going on, I…I’m not sure if I’ll have the time. I’m sorry.”
“Are you sure about that?” John asks, and I throw him a pointed look.
“Yes, of course,” Ms. Hart says. “I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. Guess I was feeling a little stressed and a lot nostalgic.” Her face flushes with regret. “But if you ever want to visit your old stomping grounds, we rehearse most days after school.”
I think of the stage and the costume closet, which all felt so magical years ago. “I appreciate that.”
“Good luck with everything, Micah. Maybe I’ll see you around.”