Dawson has been good to me. He offered me a chance at starting over. I haven’t told him why I wanted this job or why I came to Black Mountain. Nobody needs to know that.
“Mr. Dawson,” I greet, offering him my hand, which he accepts and we shake. Strong, confident, and commanding. That’s what my father used to tell me. It’s what he would say when he taught me how to be a man, but even in his teachings, he failed to educate me on just how life can go horribly wrong when you least expect it. “Good to hear that. I’m always happy to help new students who are interested in history. Do you have her file?”
“Yes,” Dawson acknowledges as he hands over the folder, which I set on the desk to go through later. “Just keep in mind, she’s living with an aunt here in town,” he whispers, lowering his tone even though there are no other people around us. I have a free period before the last class of the day comes in, which has allowed me some quiet time. “We want to ensure she’s comfortable and no mention of her father who has passed on.”
“That’s not a problem at all. I know how it feels to be in that situation, so I’ll be thoughtful when addressing her. Do you know what happened?” I ask, my brows furrowing in worry.
“Her mother informed us that it was a home invasion. Quite scary if you ask me. That’s why I can never live in a city. Prefer the smaller town myself,” Dawson confesses with a deep, resounding tone. “If you need anything,” he cautions, lowering his tone further as the bell rings. “Like I said, my door is always open.”
He shakes my hand once more before he disappears, and I’m left to ponder his words. The girl must be broken inside. Losing a parent isn’t easy, especially when you’re meant to be finishing your final year in school. Focus is imperative.
I may only be thirty, which is probably considered old by most of my students, but I love what I do. I’ll ensure she studies hard and she passes her exams. A strict regimen will hopefully set her on the right path. And until I meet her, I can’t tell if she’ll be a handful or not.
Hopefully, the latter.
I’m a teacher first, and I’m not here to make friends, but I hope our mutual heartache will allow her to trust me. Last year was difficult. The students here are mostly wealthy brats who grew up with a silver spoon in their mouths. Since she hasn’t been a resident of Black Mountain for long, perhaps she’ll be different.
At least, I hope she will.
I pull out my cell phone, tapping out a message to a friend I’ve been seeing. We were meant to meet up tonight, but right now, the only thing I can think about is going home and spending the night alone to read through the details from my private investigator.
Dating isn’t something I do. Women are there for a reason—to enjoy for an evening, and when the morning comes, they can leave without me worrying about getting myself into a relationship. Loneliness is something I’ve become accustomed to. Most times, it doesn’t bother me, but there are nights I feel it. Right down to my bones.
Shaking my head to clear it of the worry, I grab the stack of papers and move around the class as I set them down on the desks. Today, we’ll be focusing on our first lesson of the year, where I’m able to get into the students’ minds.
I’m sure they’ll be unhappy with getting a paper to write on their first day, but it will hopefully allow me to get into their minds and find out what makes them tick. Thankfully, Dawson has given me free reign on my subject, and I can teach in my own way.
I promised myself I will keep myself busy while at work and only focus on finding my father’s murderer in my private time. And today is the day my plan slowly comes into play. I’ve come to Black Mountain for a reason. And I’ll make sure it’s not a wasted opportunity.
Back at the front of the class, I take out the textbook and place it on my desk along with a notebook and a couple of pens. The register with the names of the students lies waiting for me, but I don’t pick it up. Not yet. I want to learn about them before I see their names. Something about judging people just by the family name doesn’t sit well with me. Even though it’s how I was raised, I never want to do it to my class.
My father always made sure he knew who my friends were. Last names meant more to us than anything else. And loyalty was a currency we had to barter with, even if we hated each other. The rules we learned as children were so strict it felt as if we were imprisoned, but it was all our father could do to keep us safe.
At college, things changed. I had moved away from being a Donati in Miami and instead became a student nobody knew. And Black Mountain has become a town I can find myself in. Where I can learn who I really am.
The door creaks open as the loud, chattering students file into class, some still staring at phone screens, others focused on their friends, yet others rushing through the entrance to grab a desk of choice. Chastising myself for not having time to look at the folder, I shove it into my drawer for later.
I move to the exit once everyone has seated themselves. I’m about to shut the door when a student crashes into me, slamming right into my chest. When I look down, I note how small she is. Delicate. Possibly five-five, which puts her chest height with me. Her hair
