“It’s always better if I go in person. You know they get it wrong half the time…” she says, her voice fading as she presumably leaves for the pharmacy.
The quiet falls again.
“C…olt,” Blake says and fuck, just hearing him trying to push out my name kills.
“It’s good,” I tell him. “Promise. We’ll find another way to impress Sara.”
“I—” he rasps. “You know Mom just?—”
I can’t do this right now.
“I need to go, bud. It’s almost time for practice and I don’t want to be late.”
“You…know I love…you?”
“Yeah,” I say, closing my eyes for a second. “You know I love you?” A beat. “Even though you’re a fucking pain in the ass?”
“Same, bro. Same.” He laughs and it still sounds rough.
But at least the pity is gone from his voice when we say our goodbyes.
Seven
Ky
“And the last item that we need to address is the topic of Adrian.”
I frown, set my notebook down on the edge of Holly desk and brace.
I don’t like the principal’s tone.
And Adrian is sick—has been sick his whole life but is really struggling this year. He’s only been in my class a handful of times in the couple of months school has been in session. The rest of the time he’s been at home.
Or in the hospital.
“What’s happened?” I ask, tightening my stomach muscles against what impact might be coming my way.
I know that bad things happen to good people—God, how I know that.
But not one of my kids.
He may not have spent a lot of time in my classroom in person, but he’s active in the digital one, a bright ball of joy on our Zoom calls, and truly a pleasure in his emails.
He’s just…good.
And I hope to God that Holly isn’t about to tell me that his special brand of good is leaving this world?—
“He’s coming back to school.”
I straighten, relief shooting through me so rapidly that my eyes start burning.
Blinking to prevent any pesky tears from escaping, I clear my throat and pick up my notebook, start writing as I say, “Okay, so what do we need to facilitate that? Our students are familiar with handwashing and masks, especially post-COVID, but is there anything else that he’ll need to be successful?”
The beat of quiet is long enough that my list of things I need to make my classroom safe—and how to get the students on board with supporting them—is finished, the scratching of my pen on the paper subsiding.
Then I’m back to bracing.
“What?” I ask quietly.
