“Millie!” Connor growls.
“But seriously, girl, how do you get your hair to shine like that?” Millie continues, completely undeterred by her brother’s attempts to shush her.
My hand unconsciously goes to my ponytail. “Good genes?”
She sighs. “I’d kill to have dark hair.” She’s quiet for all of two seconds before she speaks again. “You’re here for the volleyball position, right?”
My steps falter. How does she know that? “Yes?”
“Thank goodness. The girls need a good coach this time. I’ll introduce you to the principal. You are going to love coaching; the students are all so wonderful.”
Millie continues to fill the silence with her exuberance for life as we walk through the school, and I purposely avoid everything about Connor’s existence. Especially the delicious scent I’m one hundred percent sure cannot possibly belong to him. He must have changed his cologne since we worked together. He never used to smellthatgood or that…manly. Not like I made a habit of smelling my nemesis or anything.
Halfway down the next hall, Connor ducks into a classroom on the left, while Millie pulls me into the one on the right. She tells me to take a seat while she gets her lesson set up. I still have twenty minutes until I am supposed to meet with the principal, so I do as I’m told while I wait for the shock to wear off. Why would Connor and his sister volunteer here? This has to be a bad omen, right? Nothing good happens when the devil shows up. Pressure builds at the base of my skull, and I focus on rubbing small circles there. It’s fine. Everything is fine.
Kids start trickling into the classroom, one by one, until there are eight students in all.
It seems like a small amount to me, but Millie is excited to see each one, addressing them by name and asking about their moms, dads, the cheer team, and even one’s pet scorpion—I could have heard that one wrong.
I glance at the clock. Millie said she would introduce me to the principal soon.
When is soon?
My knee bounces. This is ridiculous, it’s not like she’s my teacher and I need her permission to leave. I’ll just go find him myself. I scoot out of my chair, and Millie must sense the movement because she shoots me a look that says “stay right there or else.” I slouch back into my seat and she returns her focus to the kids with a winning smile. She’s kind of scary.
Are these kids here of their own free will?
Millie starts her lesson, and I stay silent in the back, listening to her lecture on children. It’s good. Intriguing even. And the picture of that tiny chubby baby, adorable. Now I want one.
Laughter echoes through the hall. I ignore it the first time, but each time it happens, the kids in the class perk up like a pack of puppies ready to go play.
That sound of joy and glee cannot be coming from Connor’s room.
“Miss Millie, can we go to Connor’s now?” one kid asks.
Millie doesn’t seem bothered by the request like I would be. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait until after this video?” She flicks to the next slide where an infant’s face is twisted and contorted in a scream so intense the child’s face is nearly purple.
I cringe, remembering Crew like that a time or two, and the PTSD hits me full force.
“No way.” A kid in the front row bolts from his seat and straight out the door. I slide to the edge of my chair. Perhaps I’ll follow him—
“Fine.” Millie shuts down the presentation. “I guess little things like kids can wait.”
The sarcasm is lost on them, and they trail after each other out the door.
I can’t help my curiosity about the strange sounds coming from Connor’s room.
What on earth is he doing in there?
I follow the kids but stop outside the door where Connor won’t spot me. He has the class set up in a mock trial, with more than enough kids on the jury to fill an actual courtroom.
“And what’s your rebuttal, Ms. Tate?” Connor asks from the makeshift judge’s stand.
I thought he was going for realistic. No sane person would ever let him take the judge’s stand.
“It wasn’t French fries that killed the ship captain,” the girl says, strutting around the room with as much confidence as a seasoned lawyer. “It was…the duster.”
The room erupts.
