Fastball (Wilde Players Dirty Romance) (23 page)

The confusion must be flashing on my face like neon.

The woman clarifies it. “Since my name is Anna, I had this brainiac idea that instead of just Grandma, I'd have her call me Grandma Anna, but she couldn't get that mouthful out, so it turned into her Banana. It's gotten better. I used to be her Big Banana. Nice, huh? I'm the brunt of many jokes.”

I cover my mouth to stop the rush of laugher that threatens.

“So, you're the grandmother, then?”

“Yes, my son is out of town, so I have parenting duties until tomorrow. Oh, I nearly forgot. Can you accept texts during school hours? He's so nervous about not being here for her first day, so I told him I'd run interference, but he'd love a text or two from you, if at all possible today.”

It makes my heart happy to see a parent so involved. After all the horror stories I've heard during my student teaching about how parents don't care anymore, I'm thrilled about this.

“We encourage parents to email, but in this case, I'll be happy to text him. I can't imagine how worried he is. Can you leave me his number?”

She quickly hands me a note with a name and number on it. “I'll let him know you'll text and tell him your name.”

“Perfect. Are you ready, English, to start your education?”

She gives me her little hand, and before we head inside the room, she yells out, “Banana, tell Daddy I'm under the rainbow today.”

“Okay, Munchkin, I will.” She gives English a smile and a thumbs-up. I guess “under the rainbow” is a good thing, then.

When we walk inside, all things good turn topsy-turvy and the classroom is mayhem. Students are running wild, chasing each other, and yelling like they are on the playground. I need to take control. I waste no time in walking to the front of the class and clapping my hands. It does no good. Then I say, “Students, take your seats.” No response. You'd think it was a free-for-all. I stick my fingers in my mouth and let the biggest, loudest whistle loose. If there's one thing I can do, it's whistle.

They all come to a freezing halt and turn to me.

“Did I not ask you to remain in your seats?”

They nod.

“When I ask you a question, I expect you to respond with words, not gestures. That means you either say, 'Yes, Miss Monroe or no, Miss Monroe.' Is that clear?”

“Yes, Miss Monroe.”

“So, did I not give clear instructions that you were to remain in your seats?”

“Yes, Miss Monroe.”

I sweep my arm in front of me, asking, “Is this remaining in your seats?”

“No, Miss Monroe.”

“And that's really quite a shame because I had a special treat for all of you today, but since we've only been in class for fifteen minutes, and you can't seem to follow my instructions in this short period of time, it looks like there will be no treats for anyone today.”

“Oh, Miss Monroe, we're sorry. We didn't think you'd care,” a little girl pipes up.

“All of you take your seats, please.” I wait for them to be seated and show English to her desk. Once everyone is sitting, I say, “I do care. If I didn't, I wouldn't have said to stay seated in the first place. And … if you have any doubt or question my instructions, all you have to do is check with me.”

English raises her hand.

“Yes, English.”

With a big grin, she asks, “Since I wasn't bad, can I get a treat?”

I can already tell this child is quite clever.

“We'll see. But first, what I'd like to do is go around the room and have everyone say their names so we can all get to know each other.”

Sometime during the hectic morning, I remember to send a text to Beckley Bridges.

Your mother asked me to let you know how English's first day is going, and I'm happy to report she's doing very well. Feel free to text me back at any time. Sheridan Monroe

I anticipate a quick response since Anna indicated how nervous he was about his daughter's first day of school, but I hear nothing. Maybe he was busy and didn't see it, so I let it go. I check my phone an hour later, when I'm able to break away from my team of tiny monsters, and still no answer. It makes me wonder if he ever got the text, so I send him another.

Hi, Mr. Bridges, it's Sheridan Monroe, English's teacher. Just checking in to let you know the day is going well for her. She hasn't missed a beat and is already making friends.

There isn't time for me to wait for a reply. The students are raising Cain about something, and when I check, English is in the middle of the altercation. She's telling all the boys she can “take them down because she's a tomboy.”

“Okay, we'll have none of that in here. That's not nice talk, English.”

English stomps her foot and says, “He pushed me, Miss Monroe, and I told him not to do that anymore, but he did it again. My daddy told me not to allow anyone to bully me.”

And how do you argue with that?

“Jordan, did you push English?”

“No.”

Someone is lying, and I need to find out.

“Okay, one of you isn't telling the truth. Who in this room saw what happened?”

Melanie, a dark-haired shy girl, steps forward. “They both are.”

So now I have the equivalent of a soap opera taking place.

“Melanie, can you tell me what happened?”

She bobs her head up and down. “He pushed her, and she said to stop. And then she said she could take all the boys in here down.”

I look at English, and her lower lip sticks out. She wears the badge of guilt quite well.

“So let this be a lesson. There will be no bullying in this classroom, or on the playground by either boys or girls. Does each of you understand me?”

A chorus of “Yes, Miss Monroe,” comes back to me.

“Good. So this time, no punishment will take place, but if this happens again, I'll be forced to report it to the principal.” A sea of solemn faces greets me.

The rest of the day passes without event, and at the end of the day, I walk my students to the exit. When I return to my desk, I check my phone and notice I never received a response from Mr. Bridges. So much for the caring father I had him pegged for.

And that's how my first day of school goes.

And here’s a first look at
Catching Fireflies

(Coming Soon)

Catching Fireflies by Terri E. Laine

(unedited and subject to change)

ONE

Chance

One call had fucked my night and not in the way I hoped. Kicking an empty beer can, I watched it skitter across the ground before coming to a stop, pointed accusingly at me. Annoyance made me want to kick it again, especially since no one was there to witness my tantrum. Everyone was inside where the party still raged on. It had yet to spill outside, where I'd stepped away from all the noise to answer my phone.

Through the back door, I entered the house again with the cell gripped tightly in my hand. Smells assaulted me as I searched for her. Alcohol and sweat, which hadn't bothered me earlier, hit me like a sledgehammer. My hand fisted further, but the damn phone didn't break, which was probably a good thing. I didn't have enough money to replace it if I'd crushed it into bits.

Frustration fueled my pace and I tried to gain control over it. This was my one night with her. Fridays were for sports, football, basketball, or baseball depending on the season. Saturdays belonged to us.

I talked to a teammate of mine first before I found her standing with her friends. Before I approached, I thought about how I would disappoint her yet again.

With no more time to waste, I strode over and reached for her arm. “Can I talk to you?”

Her eyes danced and I could tell she'd been drinking too much, which only aggravated me more. She smiled at her friends before telling them, “I'll be back in a minute.”

I led her to a quieter spot down a hall and stared into her eyes for long seconds. “How much have you been drinking?”

She shrugged. “Don't be mad. It was just one. What's the problem anyway?”

Mad didn't cover it. She was lying, but I didn't have time to argue. “I have to go. Dan can give us a ride if you want me to drop you off first.”

“What happened?” she asked, eyes still glazed and unfocused.

“My dad.” It wasn't a full sentence, but it explained everything.

“He's…” She didn't bother to complete that sentence.

I nodded. “We should head outside. Dan isn't drunk yet, and I want him to drop us off before he gets to that point.”

“It must be bad if you're willing to ask him for a ride.”

It was. Money didn't flow from my pockets. And I would have to give Dan gas money. We'd caught a ride from another couple, but they'd disappeared almost as soon as we'd arrived. I wouldn't leave her stranded.

“You go ahead. I'll find a ride.” The strong whiff of alcohol on her breath made me wary. “Don't you trust me?” she asked when I just stared at her.

We'd been a couple since ninth grade. Almost four years together. I did trust her, though I didn't like the idea of leaving her there to drink. She must have sensed my concern because she rattled off all the reasons why she'd be fine with her besties there to watch over her and get her home. Out of time with Dan yanking my chain, I left.

I waited outside in the heat despite the cover of darkness. Dan pulled up and I got in. I told him where to take me and closed my eyes while I processed my circumstances. I cursed my mom for the millionth time for leaving us, leaving him, and leaving me to act as the parent.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the familiar bar. I gave Dan probably more cash than the gas he'd used and he left. I studied the pink neon lights on the signage and resigned myself to what came next. Not quite eighteen, I shouldn't have been able to gain entrance to the titty bar, but they knew me. The bouncer waved me in without checking my ID.

Stale air assaulted my nose that smelled almost like the party with the addition of vomit and other things I didn't want to think about.

Not two steps in, a bare chested girl I recognized as someone who'd been two years ahead of me in school walked by. “Hey, Chance,” she said, trying to sound sexy and giving me a once-over. I barely gave her tits a passing glance as I swept my gaze over the bar in search of my father.

Still, I tipped my head to her out of politeness. However, I didn't get the opportunity to respond before I heard my dad's boisterous voice over the music that blared in the background.

“What do you mean I can't get any more goddamn beer?”

The girl gave me a pitying smile before walking off with her tray of drinks to serve. I moved to intervene with my father before the bouncers were called in to haul him out.

“Dad,” I called out once I was in hearing distance of him.

Bleary eyes turned in my direction.

“Chance,” he said, sounding unsure if he saw me, even though I was a foot away from him.

“Yeah, it's me. Let's get home.”

I nodded at the bartender who'd called me. He held out some keys, which I snagged.

“Is your mother home?” Dad asked pitifully.

“Something like that.” Mom wasn't there and probably never would be again. But I'd say what I had to in order to get him to leave without a fight.

He gave me the saddest fucking smile, half full of hope and the other half filled with the knowledge I was lying.

We left the little establishment that claimed all of Dad's paycheck if I didn't remind him to pay bills and buy groceries first.

“Your mother came home?” he asked as we stepped out into the night. “I knew she still loved us. She just needed time.”

Time she hadn't given him or me. She left without a second glance, without a call to at least check on me. Eight birthdays had gone by and I hadn't heard a word from her. And I hated her for it.

Using the keys I'd gotten from the bartender, I drove his truck. At home, after tucking him in bed as he muttered questions about where Mom was, I headed to my room. I beat my fist on the mattress out of aggravation and longing. As much as I hated Mom, her being there would solve so much. Dad might become Dad again. And I could hang out with my girl with no worries he would drink himself dead or worse, get behind the wheel and kill someone.

I thought about calling Lindsey. She had the ability to talk me off the ledge. But I decided against it. I did, however, text her to make sure she'd made it home okay. Her one word reply meant she was probably being grilled by her parents. So I dropped back on my pillow and called for sleep, which didn't come easily.

Late the next day, Dad, sober again, gave me a thoughtful look when I finally emerged from my room. “Where are you rushing off to? Are you going to see that girl of yours?”

“Yeah, I'm borrowing your truck. I hope you don't mind.”

He shifted on his feet. “Be mindful of your heart, Chance.”

What he didn't say was 'I don't want you to end up like me.'

“She's nothing like Mom,” I said before leaving the house.

His craggy smile and pensive demeanor had been unnerving. I fingered the box in my pocket, wondering what I planned to do with the promise there. My so-called friends considered me pussy whipped and hers labeled us love struck and love stupid. I didn't care what any of them said. She'd been my best friend and the first person I wanted to share anything with.

Her parents' car wasn't parked there when I arrived. Nerves shot through me. Was this it? Had she called me over because she was finally ready? Hell, I'd been ready for the last four years. But I'd waited…waited because she was worth it.

“Hey.” I'd spoken cautiously, because I couldn't read her expression.

“Hey,” she answered back.

Usually, she'd tackled me with a hug and more likely a kiss. Her standing there barely able to meet my eye clued me in that something was up.

“Are your parents home?”

She shook her head, but I hadn't expected her answer to be different.

“What's up?” I asked, shoving my hand back in my pocket to feel the box or maybe just to do something besides reach out for her.

If today was the day, I didn't want to spook her more than she already was.

“I want to talk to you about something.”