“Hi, Mr. Mayor!” kids shout.
Will said he’d make his appearance later this afternoon. I turn around to rib him for not resisting the baby animals, but the words die in my throat. He’s red, something close to distress on his face, as he strides swiftly over.
“You aren’t answering your phone,” he huffs, ushering me away fromtiny ears.
I sweep my hand at the Jamboree. “We’ve been here. What’s going on?”
He cups my shoulder. “I’m not Dad.”
“You having a stroke? What’s going on?” I repeat.
“I don’t hate your girlfriend,” he says.
I poke his face. “Do you feel any numbness?”
He swats my hand away. “I just found out the school district, they’re having a special committee meeting right now.”
Even with Will’s agitation, my chest inflates at the mention of Brie’s interview. “I know.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. Dad’s on it.BothBeauforts. I don’t know how they managed it, but they?—”
Brie. She’s all alone with those vultures.
I don’t wait to hear another word as cold panic propels me in the direction of the parking lot.
“Cover for me,” I shout over my shoulder.
“Here!” Will shouts. “My car’s faster!”
He doesn’t have to add that no one pulls over the mayor’s car.
I turn around in time to catch his keys, and spot his Audi on the curb just ahead.
It’s a thirty minute drive to the building.
I get there in seventeen.
CHAPTER 54
BRIE
I shoveinto the ladies room, throw open a stall, and promptly vomit. The retching sounds echo off the tiles.
How do I keep surprising myself? Every time I think I’ve learned a lesson, I prove myself naive all over again. It’s like I learned nothing from what happened at Everett.
Then again, pride thrums deep in my chest at the way I stood up for myself back there. I never would’ve said those things six months ago.
When my body has calmed down, I flush and go to the sink to rinse my mouth. I glance at the mirror, startling at my appearance. Smudged eyes, clammy, pale skin, hair sticking to my forehead.
“What a mess,” I mutter, tying my hair back and splashing cold water on my face.
What am I going to do?I don’t regret telling the committee off, but now that my adrenaline’s faded, the stark reality of the situation hits me. I have student loans. A car payment.Hunger. Working at the diner is not a viable option. I need a real job, one with benefits andvacation days.
It’s an equation with no solution. I’m not qualified to do anything except teach. The committee won’t let me teach here in Blue Ridge. And I won’t leave Blue Ridge.
I swipe all these worries into a drawer in my mind and lock it. One obstacle at a time.
With a paper towel, I dry my face and take another look in the mirror. At least I resemble a human being again. Buttoning my jacket, I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and walk out of the bathroom, determined to stride straight for exit. I have to pass the meeting room to get there, and I refuse to let those bloodsuckers see me upset.
