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)
“Break a leg,” I call out as she heads back toward the school, and she waves to us.
I can feel John’s hot stare as we return to the dock. “You sure you don’t want to help out?”
“Work with high school kids, some of whom are probably as horrible as I was?”
“Payback and all that.” John snickers. “Plus, you said those were some of the best years. Unless you only meant being with me.”
“That’s a given.” My stomach warms. “Sure, it was great to see her. She inspired me, helped me find something meaningful after I wrecked everything else.”
John stays silent as he helps me unmoor the boat, and once I steer us into the channel leading toward Sleepy Slip, he blurts, “I still think you should consider helping. Your whole face lit up when Ms. Hart mentioned it.”
I scoff. “Did not.”
“Sure did,” he lobs back. “I’ve only ever seen that expression when you’re fishing.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” I tease. “I light up for you too.”
His cheeks tinge pink. “Nice one.”
“I meant my heart, you dork.”
“Sure you did,” he deadpans.
By the time we’re back in my grandfather’s driveway, I’ve focused on Ms. Hart’s offer a little too much.
After we say our goodbyes and I head inside, I’m restless. Aaron is either finished for the day or out on a supply run, and it makes the house feel too empty. Though I’m glad he’s not here to see how out of sorts I am.
Once I’ve finished my lunch, I head to my car with the idea of driving to the bar and asking John if he needs help. Instead, my car steers toward the high school as if it has a mind of its own.
After the dismissal bell, I wait in the parking lot as the school empties of students and staff. Listening to the chatter outside my window, it’s evident things haven’t changed all that much since my graduation. Students still group together to gossip and share details about their lives. I can also spot the loners and outcasts like me, backpacks slung over their shoulders, relief in their expressions that another school day has ended.
Before I can question my motives even more, I’m out of the car and heading toward the building. I stop in the office and ask where to find Ms. Hart.
“Is she expecting you?” the school secretary asks.
“Yes.” I log my name in the visitor book, and then she hands me a name tag to adhere to my chest. I turn toward the hall, thankful she’s not someone who recognizes me.
But the principal does, which doesn’t surprise me since I spent so much time in that man’s office. “Micah Malone?”
I hold up my hands in case he thinks I’m up to some trouble. It’s an old habit that’s hard to break. “Principal Matthews.”
“Well, look at you. Our very own Hollywood star.”
I scratch the back of my neck. “Not exactly.”
“Regardless, I’m proud of you.” His smile seems genuine. “So, what brings you here?”
“Ms. Hart invited me to her practice for the spring festival.” My stomach sours under his scrutiny, and I lob the first excuse that comes to mind. “I happen to be in town because my grandfather passed away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll make my way to the auditorium now.”
I breathe out as I traverse the long hallway, memories flooding me: kids side-eyeing me as I leave the principal’s office yet again. Meeting John’s bright gaze as he waits for me outside the office door. He never lectured me, only offered his support and care, sometimes in the form of notes in my locker. Wish I’d saved those in my shoebox too. We might’ve gotten a kick out of reading them.
Pushing open the auditorium door, I suck in a breath upon seeing the space that used to represent independence, safety, creativity, and conviction but now seems stuffy and cramped in comparison to my lofty ideals. The students are onstage, Ms. Hart guiding them from down below, so I make my way to a row behind her.
The seat creaks as I sit, causing Ms. Hart to glance back at me. Her harried expression changes to one of surprise. She smiles, waves, then quiets the students.
“I’m impressed you’ve learned most of your lines,” she tells them, “so today we’re going to run through stage blocking. By the time dress rehearsal comes around, we need to know backward and forward not only our lines but our positions onstage.”
Most students look around warily, while a few seem confident.
“Let’s take it from the top.”
I smirk as most of them seem flustered and some downright confused about where to stand. A couple exit stage left, no doubt to reenter on cue, which is all part of making a play run smoothly. Without key movements during recited lines, it would all seem like chaos.