I look down at my phone and give an unladylike snort. “Yep. Well, he’s responsive, if nothing else. Maybe this bodes well.” I blow out a quick breath and open up the new e-mail.
From: Sawyer Rivers <[email protected]>
To: Hadleigh Beckett <[email protected]>
Date: Monday, January 3, 2:28 PM
Subject: Re: Re: Meeting
Ms. Beckett,
Thanks for your response. Could you tell me where I should park?
Sawyer Rivers
My brow wrinkles in thought. “Maybe he’s just older than I first assumed. It’ll probably be some retiree working on starting his second career.”
“Could be, for sure. You know, Cal Jennings from the math department did that. He had a whole other career in the Army before he retired and went back to school to get his teaching license.”
I shrug, giving up on guessing. “I suppose I’ll find out tomorrow afternoon, huh?”
“Yep. This time tomorrow you’ll know exactly who you’re dealing with.” She narrows her gaze at me and pats my knee. “Breathe, Had. It’ll be fine.”
I nod. “Right. It’ll all be fine. Tomorrow I’ll know who this Sawyer person is.” As I shoot off another quick response, I wonder what I can do to prepare myself. The answer is nothing, really. Ugh. A bubble bath to calm me down, maybe? Take a nap with my kitten? I’m typically a very go, go, go personality; it’s great for getting things done but not so good for calming my nerves. I tuck my phone back in my purse and give Zoey my attention again.
Chapter 2
Sawyer
From: Hadleigh Beckett <[email protected]>
To: Sawyer Rivers <[email protected]>
Date: Monday, January 3, 2:31 PM
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Meeting
You can park just about anywhere after school is out, so long as the buses are out of the bus lane in front. I’ll wait for you in the main office.
Hadleigh Beckett
Hmm. I rub the scruff on my cheek, trying to analyze this woman’s responses to my questions. I have so much more I want to ask, but I guess it can wait until I’m there in person. I don’t want to overwhelm her before we’ve even met. I have a tendency to dig in and ask lots of questions when I’m really interested in something, and teaching is something I’m excited to start doing.
I wonder what this woman is like. With a name like Hadleigh, I’d assumed at first that she’d be a younger woman, but her curt responses make me think maybe she’s older. And really busy, hence my hesitation to ask too much too quickly. I’m nervous to find out who I’ll be working closely with for the next eight weeks. If we get along, it’ll be fine. If not, it’s going to be torture.
Whatever happens, it’s a little surreal to think after all these years as a student I’m shifting gears completely and will now be the one at the front of the classroom. I figure I should probably turn in early tonight to prepare myself—it’s not like I’ve been doing much partying lately, anyway.
The reality is, I’m desperate to get started so that I have something to occupy my mind. My hope is that this teaching placement will keep me busy enough to forget all about Tara. It’s been six months, and I still haven’t been able to move on.
Like a good roommate, Willow has been trying to distract me to the best of her ability—everything from coffee hangouts to karaoke—with no luck. I feel terrible because I’m a huge stick-in-the-fucking-mud lately, wanting nothing more than to stay home and read or binge watch things on TV. Just Netflix, no chill—not since Tara.
Anyway, Willow is a good sport about my recent bouts of moping. Some days I’m fine and able to put everything out of my head, but others—man, it hits me hard just what a fool I’d been. Everything about the way things ended makes me not want to try with anyone else ever again.
Willow and I have lived together since things blew up with Tara last summer. The original plan had been for me and Tara to live together this year. We were going to get a head start on our lives together, but that all went to shit real fast. And surprisingly, the moment I’d shown up heartbroken on Willow’s doorstep, we’d proven to be well-matched apartment-mates. Anytime I feel a little depressed, she makes me laugh. I do the shopping and cooking and she does all the tidying up and cleaning. It’s kind of a shame we don’t have any romantic feelings toward each other, because it would be so damn easy with her. We’ve never been together like that; never even entertained the idea. We are proof that men and women can, in fact, be just friends.
I glance up to where she stands in front of the sink, swaying to the beat of the music from her earbuds as she cleans the dinner dishes. When she starts to sing along, I wince, gritting my teeth together at her off-key singing. Dear God, can she not hear how bad that is? Obviously not. Nothing stops her from singing aloud—not my complaints or even the groans from the audience at karaoke night a few weeks ago. Listening to her is a small price to pay for her friendship and kindness though, so I deal with it when I have to and sometimes go find my own music to drown her out.
I speak loudly enough so she can hear me. “Hey, Willow.”
“Hmm?” She yanks one earbud out and continues to wiggle her hips to the music as she turns and winks at me. “What’s up?”
“I’ve got a meeting at three-thirty tomorrow and have no idea how long I’ll be. Leftovers for dinner okay with you?”
“I mean, yeah. We have spaghetti from two nights ago and tonight’s leftover tacos. No worries at all. I like leftovers.”
“I’ll figure out what to do after my first
