“I agree.” He rests his chin on his hand, staring ahead. Danny has as many memories as I do, and Florida has no doubt resurrected them. He clears his throat before re-entering the conversation. “It sounds to me like a kid messing with her teacher on the first day. She had no way of knowing you had a connection to Florida.”
“You’re right,” I say, feeling foolish that I let the interaction bother me as much as it has.
“When do you see Dr. Walters again?”
Dr. Walters is the only other Victory Hills resident who knows about my childhood. Ever since Brian did what he did, I knew therapy would be a lifelong commitment. I used to visit counselors more frequently. Now I visit Dr. Walters twice a month, as a precautionary measure.
“I go tomorrow.”
“Maybe you can talk with her about it.” He tenses his jaw, immediately regretting his wording. Danny knows I don’t want to feel like there’s something wrong with me just because there was something wrong with Brian. At the same time, we all left the situation with scars. Danny has a therapist, too.
“Yeah, I will,” I say, forcing a smile. I have no intention of mentioning Zoey to Dr. Walters, but I want Danny to know he didn’t offend me by suggesting it. “I’m just ready for the semester to be over. I’m not bouncing back from break like I normally do.”
“You teachers are so spoiled. You only work nine months out of the year, and yet you’re always counting the days until your next vacation.”
“Yeah, well.” I stand and walk toward him at the other end of the table. “At least you’ll be enjoying this one with me.” I lean forward, and we kiss.
Five
Now
Normally, I’m an exceptional planner, but occasionally I make mistakes. I had to cancel my appointment with Dr. Walters, realizing I had previously signed up for gate duty on the same afternoon. She didn’t mind, agreeing to meet next Tuesday.
Our staff isn’t very big. There are about sixty teachers, but a long list of scheduled sports events. We divvy them up, taking turns selling tickets at the gate. Tonight, I’m selling admission to the track and field meet.
The first twenty minutes is always immensely boring. After that, parents start trudging in more consistently. Some are strangers, some I’ve met before because I’ve had their children in class. Our locker rooms are indoors, so it’s several minutes before the team takes the field, their coach behind them.
“Afternoon, Della,” says Coach Gabe, walking toward my table. He hands over paperwork for me to give the referees when they arrive.
“Good luck,” I say.
“We’re probably going to need it,” he says, under his breath. “This isn’t a big rivalry, but they’ve got some good athletes. Our kids will enjoy the practice, if nothing else.”
“I’ll watch what I can,” I say, not sure what else to offer. I don’t know much about sports. Track, especially, has always struck me as odd. It’s a team sport, with each event racking up a certain set of points, but most achievements are individual. There must be a level of ego involved. Be the fastest. Be the best. Win the race.
“After about an hour, you can head out,” Gabe says. “Everyone who is coming should be here by then.”
On the field, I recognize several current and former students. They’re wearing the same royal blue tops, with gold stripes on the sides. Darcy is in the grass sinking into a lunge position. Because the team is co-ed, Adam is nearby, leaning against the gate and gripping his toes. Zoey approaches him, her raven hair dancing in the subtle breeze.
“Is that Zoey Peterson on the field?”
“Yeah,” Gabe says, lifting his chin. “I wasn’t keen on adding another member to the team this late in the year, but Principal Bowles asked me to make an exception. I’m glad I did. She practiced with us the week of spring break. The girl is fast as hell.”
That explains why Zoey has adjusted seamlessly in the past three days. While she’s new to me, Coach Gabe and her teammates have known Zoey over a week. If she is good at sports, it won’t be difficult for her to make friends at Victory Hills.
“It must be nice to get a good addition this late in the season,” I say. It’s no secret the track team loses more meets than they win. Most athletes only sign up to stay in shape while their primary sports are in off-season.
“Some of my existing members are giving her a hard time about taking their spots. Light hazing.” He rolls his eyes and readjusts his cap. “They’ll sing a different tune if she helps us land a win.” Without saying goodbye, he toots his whistle and jogs toward the track.
I’m a dedicated teacher, but I slack when it comes to supporting school events. Some of my co-workers are different, like Marge. She’s constantly chaperoning trips and sponsoring lock-ins. She’s the type of teacher our students will remember ten years from now. My students will remember the stories we read, maybe a few lively discussions, but my face will blur into unrecognizability by the time they graduate college. And I’m fine with that. I actively try to be forgettable.
An hour later, my assumptions about the team dynamics are confirmed when I see the visiting team has won most events. That
