Chapter One
FAITH
Istraightened the papers on the short table, built for my adorable second graders’ height. Coach Peters — Hillsdale’s most eligible bachelor and one of my second-grade student’s father, would be in my classroom any minute and I was going to barf.
I wiped my hands off on my pencil skirt as my eyes flicked to the door.
Adults are terrifying. Parent teacher conferences stressed me out for days, but meeting with parents outside those guidelines… nightmare inducing.
And if that wasn’t enough to fray the nerves, I was hardcore crushing on Danny’s dad, who was Henry Cavill yummy with a happy-go-lucky Ted Lasso type attitude.
The man hardly noticed me, let alone talked to me. The few times he did, my mouth went dry, and I lost all coherent thought. Last month he wished me a happy birthday weekend at parent pickup (yes, I was wearing the standard elementary birthday crown), I said, “You too…” and no, we do not share a birthday.
I glanced up at the analog clock above the whiteboard. He wasten minutes late, and I didn’t know whether to be annoyed or grateful.
I stood and paced back and forth, trying to expel the antsy energy. I flexed my fingers and counted to three as I inhaled and exhaled. A panic attack right now would be beyond embarrassing, which meant my body was happily prepping for one.
I will not puke. I will not puke.
I looked over to Danny’s desk and pictured his bright blue eyes and stoic expression.
I knew what it was like to not quite fit in, and to struggle in certain social situations. I rolled the fidget ring on my right ring finger. The birthday present from Marissa, my close friend, was trying its best to ground me and not let me spiral.
Doing this right before Thanksgiving break was maybe a bad choice; but the bonus was I wouldn’t see anyone for at least a week once I was done. I was exhausted and ready for it. Baking and bubble baths were high on my wish list.
I checked the clock. Fifteen minutes late. The high school Gymnasium was a few minutes walk away. The entire K-12 school campus wasn’t more than a five to ten-minute walk.
I’d never lived anywhere that was small enough to have K-12 all together. The school campus was a hodge podge assortment of new add-ons, portables, and buildings that dated back to the early 1900s. It felt a bit like walking through time as you went from one end of the campus to the other.
My classroom was in the oldest section. But the heat worked, and the large windows let in plenty of sunshine, so I didn’t mind.
Do I wait longer?My stomach flipped at the thought of rescheduling this meeting again. Despite knowing it was coming for weeks, I still wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.
‘Excuse me, but I’m pretty sure your child is neurodivergent.’ Was hardly a pleasant conversation starter, more like straight into confrontation land.
My favorite.
My hands shook, and I flexed my fingers again.
Almost twenty minutes late. I rubbed my eyes. I would give him till thirty, and then I was bailing. A bubble bath, and panic attacks for that matter, could only be put off for so long.
There was a loud knock on the door, the kind that announced a jovial presence, dun duh duh dun dun… DUN DUN.
Mr. Peters came bursting in, wearing an enormous grin. He weaved around thankful leaves that hung from the ceiling.
“Sorry I’m late, Ms. Lyons.”
I flinched. How many times did I need to ask everyone in this town not to call me by my new last name. The parent - teacher conference we had was months ago, but still.
He shook off his coach jacket with Hillsdale’s colors of maroon and gold, showing a fitted dark T-shirt and large forearms underneath.
I reminded my brain to make sure I didn’t drool and I tried to focus.
“It’s the first week of basketball practice, we ran longer than expected, and then Mom was late grabbing Danny from my office.” He shrugged and chuckled. Waves of a carefree attitude rolled off his massive shoulders. “Anyway, I rushed over from the high school gym as fast as I could.”
He paused, waiting for a response.
I shook my head, hoping to restart my thoughts. I held out my hand. “Please call me Faith, Mr. Peters.” His hand dwarfed mine in a handshake.
