“I’ll fix this myself.” Avery continues removing the flooring, laying it in stacks so we can reuse it once we replace one of the planks.
“Yeah. What happened?”
He shakes his head. “It was my fault. I gave the guys the boxes but didn’t make sure they weren’t the same.”
Avery seems playful all the time, but he cares about his work. I’m usually harder on him because one day, I would like him to become a partner in this business with me. I don’t want all the hard decisions to be only on my shoulders forever. He still has a lot to learn, but he’s one of the fastest learners. These types of mistakes cost us time and money, though. Two things we don’t have.
“Get it fixed, and I’ll go pitch in with the others and make sure it doesn’t happen again.” My fist taps his shoulder as he kneels down, continuing to gently take the flooring apart. Thankfully, it hasn’t happened in a larger area, and it can be fixed within an hour or so, but it is going to set us back.
“Well, if you’re going to take over for me in the other room,we were just about to start a dance-off. You can go first. I know the guys will love to see you break it down.” He can’t hold back the smile from his face, knowing I would never be caught dead doing that.
I don’t doubt that’s exactly what they were getting ready to do. Avery always brings fun to the jobsite. I shake my head, grab a rubber mallet, and walk into the other room to lend a hand. It will be nice to get to do the physical work for once and not just the paperwork part of the job. A lot of the time, I miss being just one of the crew, especially being able to go home without thinking of how I’m going to bring in more money so the business doesn’t go under.
9
RYLEE: THEN
Rylee:15 years old
“Mom, Clay’s here.” I run down the stairs, grabbing my coat by the front door. Checking my hair in the mirror, I throw it up in a ponytail and make sure there’s nothing in my braces.
My mom walks up and wraps her arms around me. “Be safe, sweetie. Don’t distract Clayton while he drives. He’s still a new driver.”
I roll my eyes. “We’re only going to the football game.” Kneeling, I scratch Peanut on the head before leaving.
She winks. “I know.”
Jogging outside, I spot Clay sitting inside his truck, thrumming his fingers on the steering wheel. I open the door, and he’s listening to horrible new country music. He looks at me and chuckles as he sees my face scrunch.
“You’re trying to torture me.” I groan, laying my head against the headrest and looking at him. He motions his hand to the radio. I jump up and click through the stations. As soon as “Heroes” by Alesso comes on, I cheer. Clay smirks, shaking his head, and drives down the road as I belt out the song at the top of my lungs.
As Clayton pulls into the parking lot, the loud drums and trumpets from our school’s band blast through the air. Our school has a lot of spirit and likes to make sure the opposing team knows we won’t go down without a fight. I jump out of the truck and skip around to meet Clay on his side. He moves slower than I do, taking in the commotion from the football players running out onto the field and the cheerleaders doing cartwheels and backflips. We walk toward the side of the field to watch the game.
Our team gets another touchdown, and I throw my arms in the air as I cheer with my classmates. I peek over my shoulder and expect to see Clayton, but he’s nowhere to be found. Knowing him, he got overwhelmed and is at the track field, working out his anxiety, but he should have told me he was leaving. The farther I get from the football game, the less I hear the cheers from the fans. I turn the corner around the bleachers and find one lone person running as fast as he physically can around the track, and I can tell he’s in the zone by the way he doesn’t look around. His focus is only on the asphalt beneath his feet.
“Clayton!” I yell, making him slow his pace. “You can’t go to the track and run during the football game.” Putting my hands on my hips, I glare as he walks toward me, panting. “You left me alone.” I point a finger at his face.
He shrugs.
“No.” I wag my finger. “No shrugging.” I soften my tone. “What happened? Why did you need to run?” I want him to share what’s going on in his thick head with me, not close off. He rubs the back of his neck and readjusts his hat. All signs that he’s uncomfortable. I’ve gotten good at picking up his tells.
“It got to be a lot.” He looks in the distance at all the people attending the football game.
I follow his eyes and nod. “Okay. You should have told me. I have my book in my bag.” It’s our thing. If he needs a break, I siton the side as he runs and gets a clear head. I don’t come to these events to be with other people.
His eyes meet mine again. “You were having fun. I wasn’t going to pull you away for my issue.”
“Clay, we’ve had this discussion before.” Walking to him, I wrap an arm around his waist, and we walk the track together. “You don’t have an issue, and I’m here to hang out with you.” I bump my hip into his leg.
“Okay, Ry,” he says, squeezing my shoulder.
We walk the track in comfortable silence, looking up at the sky.
Glancing my way, he says, “I’ll race you.”
“That would be pretty dumb. I don’t run, and you run a bazillion miles every day.” My eyes squint at the setting sun to look up at him. His expression looks as if he’s up to something before a smile stretches across his face. Hooking his fingers in the top of my hair, right next to my ponytail, I stop walking and glare. “Don’t you dare.”
His face lights up even more with the challenge. With a quick tug of his fingers, he yells, “Speed bump!” And takes off running.
