Page 22 of Catcher

“Of course. You sound tired. I don’t want you overdoing it, is all.”

“I’m good, Dad. Promise.”

Dad is quiet for a second before changing the subject. He doesn’t push, never does, and that’s what makes it harder.

“Well, your mom’s making pot roast tomorrow,” he says instead. “Thought we might kidnap you for dinner.”

A small smile tugs at my lips. “Kidnap sounds dramatic.”

“Only the best for you,” he replies. “Seven o’clock work for you?”

“Works for me. I’ll be there.”

Another pause, but it is softer this time. “You don’t have to work so hard, Button,” he says gently. “You know that, right? Your mom and I are here for you if you need some extra cash. Lord knows they don’t pay teachers enough.”

My throat tightens at the thought of my dad finding out about my brother and my financial situation. I can’t put that stress on them. Dad deserves to enjoy retirement, not spend money on messes caused by their son. I manage to keep my voice even. “I know you’d help, Daddy. Besides, tutoring the team is more of a favor for the coach.” That’s a partial lie.

“All right.” He sighs. “Get some rest. I love you.”

“I love you too. See you tomorrow. Hug Mom for me.”

After we hang up, I set my phone face down on the table. I tip my head back, close my eyes, and exhale slowly.

My dad has always had a way of seeing straight through me without demanding explanations. He loves me unconditionally. It’s the kind of love I’ve always believed in, and the kind I want.

By the time the final bell rings, my feet ache, and my head hurts. Still, I push forward since it’s my week for afternoon pickup in the car rider line.

“Hands to yourself, Jacob,” I call out. Then there is Sara, who insists on showing me what she colored in art class today. “Yes, I love your drawing, but put it back in your backpack, please. You wouldn’t want it to get lost.”

The car rider line is a slow yet steady blur of cars, trucks, minivans, and SUVs inching forward. I step into my spot, walkie-talkie in hand, and a smile on my face, the one that comes easily when kids are involved.

“Bye, Ms. Starling!” Lizzy waves both arms wildly from the back seat of a white Nissan, her face pressed against the window as her mom pulls away from the line.

Josh runs up beside me when his dad stops in front of the curb. “There you are,” I say, laughing as I guide him toward the open door. “Have a good afternoon, buddy.”

He beams up at me with a toothless grin. “I got on the color green today for good behavior.”

“I knew you would.” I wave to his dad and step back as the truck pulls away.

As the last car approaches, sweet, shy Brenna stops beside me and looks up at me with her innocent brown eyes. “You forgot to give me my sticker,” she accuses with her no-nonsense attitude.

“I know,” I tell her softly. “I owe you one tomorrow.”

She considers this, then nods. “Okay. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.”

Moments such as this remind me why I love what I do. The chaos, the noise, the sticky fingers, and endless questions all feel safe and predictable for at least a few hours each day.

I’m a Virgo to the core, craving structure and routine.

When the last car pulls away and the line finally clears, I breathe a sigh of relief and head toward the building. The parking lot is mostly empty now, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the pavement. Halfway to my car, an eerie feeling hits me. It’s that prickling awareness at the back of my neck, feeling as if eyes are tracking my every move. I slow, keys clutched between my fingers, and glance around casually. A few teachers linger near the entrance, chatting. The custodian pushes a trash bin toward the dumpster. Nothing seems out of place or threatening.

I shake it off. You’re tired, I tell myself.

Overtired brains conjure things not there. Still, I don’t linger, quickly unlocking my car and sliding inside, locking the doors the second I’m seated. The familiar click brings a small sense of relief. I rest my forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, breathing. Then my phone buzzes.

Promise: Girls’ night at the clubhouse Saturday. You in?