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“You’re still going out with him?”
Michael was an orthopedic surgeon in Lafayette, and I had doubts that he was anything close to a good match for Finn. He was too cerebral and orderly. Finn needed someone a little disorganized and spontaneous and fun. Like me. But with a penis.
Although lately, I hadn’t been much fun at all. I’d been more of a Negative Nelly. And I wasn’t quite sure why. It’s like I was stuck in a permanent PMS mood.
Finn turned, walking backward to say with dramatic effect, “He’ssohot, Beatrice. I can’t help it.”
“Ugh. You need more than a pretty face, but I’ll let you crash and burn again since you’re dead set on it.”
“Love you, too,” he called before disappearing into the auditorium. Then he popped his head back out. “Oh, and have fun at rehearsal,” he crooned before ducking back inside, laughing. Cackling, really, like the witch he was.
“Suck it,” I called back.
Because he was my best friend, I couldn’t help confessing that I was nervous about the kissing scenes at lunch today. Finn had his own ideas about why I was nervous. Not because I would be putting my mouth on the mouth of someone I swore to myself to detest, but because I actually had the secret hots for Bennett.
Ignoring that possible and loathsome idea, I drove out of the back parking lot. At the school’s side entrance, my student Trace was sitting on the curb, playing a game or something on his phone.
Frowning, I pulled up and rolled down the passenger side window. He looked up.
“Hey!” I said cheerily, not wanting my stress about him being stuck after school again with no way home to show in my voice. “Need a ride?”
Trace didn’t live even remotely on my way home. He lived well outside city limits in the rural part of the parish with his single mom and three younger brothers.
I’d also taught Trace his freshman year and assisted with several of Finn’s school plays, where Trace played many roles. I knew he had a hard home life, a mom who worked multiple low-paying jobs that never made ends meet. And I knew that Trace often came to school hungry.
He could’ve eaten breakfast and lunch for free, but it seemed his pride prevented him from eating breakfast. His friends never did since they came from homes where there was always enough food on the table, so he went hungry and pretended he didn’t need the free breakfast.
I recognized this in Trace because I was him once upon a time. When my father first left us, Mom had been a stay-at-home mother. Suddenly, she had to find a job to raise two young girls on a minimum-wage salary by herself. That cold feeling of helplessness and occasional hunger permanently stained my heart permanently. It never leaves, even when you grow up, get a college degree, and earn a stable income.
So obviously, it wasn’t in the curriculum that I offer snacks—muffins, donuts, ham-n-cheese croissants—to those who correctly answered questions to my literature trivia game a couple days a week. It was a way for me to feed students like Trace that wouldn’t bruise their pride.
And yeah, I’d given him a ride home a time or two since his mother couldn’t afford a car or insurance for him yet.
“Nah,” smiled Trace. “Mom said she’d be here in a minute.” His gaze moved to the driveway leading into the school parking lot. “There she is.” He stood and smiled as his mom wheeled the fifteen-year-old Nissan around beside my car.
She rolled the window down and waved at me. “I am so sorry! The teller who was supposed to take my place was late, and my boss wouldn’t let me leave.”
She looked frantic, and my heart squeezed at the obvious stress and guilt weighing this woman down at not being able to be everywhere at once.
So I put my acting skills to good use. “No worries at all.” I waved it off. “You know Trace is my favorite student.” Then I turned a sharp look at him as he rounded the car and waited outside while I talked to his mom. I pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare repeat that in class. I’ll deny it.”
He chuckled, his cute face lighting up. “I won’t, Ms. B.”
I loved it when he called me that above all my students. An affectionate nickname they gave me freshman year.
“All right then. Y’all have a good night. Don’t forget your chapters to read for homework, Trace.”
He smiled as he folded his tall frame into the passenger seat, then I headed out.
I loved teaching for two reasons. One, I loved literature. But two, I loved kids more. Especially kids like Trace. If I could inspire him in any way and give him the skills and confidence to go out and achieve those goals, then I’ve done something good and worthy with my time and talent.
My mind was still buzzing with what I could pick up for tomorrow morning’s trivia game as I rolled into the parking lot behind the BPAL building. I always got enough treats for three winners in each class. I hadn’t been to Broussard’s Fresh Market yet, but maybe I needed to head over and see what I could get for my kiddos.
Pretending my pulse didn’t lurch at the sight of Bennett on stage like it had every rehearsal this week, I sashayed down the aisle and dropped my purse onto a chair in the front row. Taking my script, I stepped onto the stage where Peter talked animatedly with Meredith and Frank.
Because I was forcing myself not to stare at Bennett, I missed the fact that the stage manager Brittany was close-talking with him at first. Bennett wore a polite smile, nodding as she was going on about costumes.
“I’m a really good seamstress, so even if I have to make something special to fit your shoulders—” She put her hand on his bicep.
