“I accidentally grabbed your pencil by mistake.” He holds out the blue mechanical pencil toward me.
“Oh, thanks.” I take it from him. I have like a dozenmore of these in my locker, but it was nice of him to bring it back.
“It was almost out of lead, so I refilled it.” One side of his mouth hitches up. “And I added an eraser to the end since yours was about half gone. Can’t have our star forward going to class without a writing utensil. Go Knights!”
My pencil now has a stormtrooper eraser.
“Thanks, Caleb,” I say as he beams at me.
Lacey makes a squeaked noise of surprise as Caleb turns on his heel and jogs back in the same direction he came.
I open up my stance to Lacey. SayingI told youso feels like overkill, so I slide the pencil behind one ear and head off to class.
I don’t know what I’m going to do about Algebra II, but I feel a little rush of pleasure at watching Lacey eat her words.
Chapter Four
Lacey
“Dad, breakfast is ready!” I yell from the kitchen Friday morning as I pack my snack for after school. The smell of coffee wafts through the kitchen, and I breathe it in. Maybe that’s weird considering I don’t even like coffee, but there’s something about the smell that makes mornings at home feel complete.
I’m finished packing my lunch and double-checking I have everything I need for the day in my backpack and cheer bag before Dad finally walks into the room. He’s dressed for work, though I rarely see him out of work clothes, and carries a cardboard box against one hip, most likely filled with hardware or books from the office. Some days the only reason I know he’s slept is because I can smell his fresh aftershave.
Our miniature schnauzer, Burt, stands and greets him with a wag of his tail.
“Morning,” Dad says, voice strained like he hasn’t used it in too long. He clears his throat and then says, “It smells good in here.”
“I made omelets. Yours is still in the pan.” I tip my head toward the stove where I left his breakfast. “Fresh coffee is in the pot.”
He pauses to give Burt a scratch behind one ear and then walks straight toward me. I hold still as I wait for his usual top-of-the-head kiss. The familiarity of our routine never stops having a calming effect on me.
Dad drops the box on the counter next to me, then heads over to the coffeepot to pour himself a cup.
“Busy day?” he asks after he’s taken a sip.
“Yes. I have a student council meeting this morning, and cheerleading practice will probably run late. We need to finalize our new routine before next week’s home football game, and it’s still looking rough.”
Dad smiles as I talk. I doubt he ever pictured himself as the dad of a cheerleader, especially the head cheerleader. He doesn’t play or watch sports and the one time I tried to teach him a cheer he pulled something in his lower back.
He used to follow a few of the Michigan teams, college and professional, but over the years he’s retreated into work, and that hasn’t left time for much else. Still, he never makes me feel like he’s just placating me when I babble on about school or cheer. He cares…if only because he loves me.
“It’ll all come together,” he promises.
“It better.” I push away the hint of anxiety that tries to creep in. I have too many other things to worry about today. Cheerleading will have to wait. “I may be home late, but there are leftovers in the fridge from last night. Don’t forget to eat.”
He gives me a sheepish grin. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one to remind you to do these things?”
I don’t bother answering him, since we both know he needs the reminder, and I do not.
“What’s in the box?” I ask. “Another big client?”
Dad is a computer research scientist. Most of his work is algorithms and analyzing data, but sometimes clients send boxes of hardware for him to use and test.
A few years ago, he went into business for himself, bidding on contracts instead of working for one company. He is really good at it, judging by the amount of work he gets, but it takes a lot of his time, and he has a tendency to get lost in his research for hours, sometimes days.
“No.” He takes another sip of coffee and then clears his throat. “Some things of your mother’s I found in my closet. I thought you might want to look through it.”
A rush of sadness and longing passes through me so quickly I don’t have time to prepare for it.
