“Good work, ladies!” I sit up in my chair, my legs still propped up on the leg rest.
Claire glares at me before falling flat on her back, her stomach rippling with her gasping breaths. Birdie groans into her arms that are stretched across her face, and Tess lies on her stomach with the cold hardwood floor aggressively squishing her cheek, attempting to blow her sweaty fringe bangs off her face.Hard work. These girls are the definition of it.
“Have you told Malcolm?” Emma redirects me back to the phone pressed against my ear. “About the second date, I mean.”
I hum in response, glancing around to make sure the question wasn’t heard through the tiny speaker squished against my ear—unlikely, but you can’t be too sure. Teenagers have an otherworldly knack for finding out hidden secrets—especiallytheseteenagers. And trying to be discreet around the girls is becoming painfully challenging the longer we are here.
Close proximity to Malcolm has never been an issue. But the last few days, I have been drawn to him more and more. I don’t know what to make of it. I just know resisting him or not thinking about him is becoming near impossible.
It’s like my dog, Dolly Parton, with any new squeaky toy. She doesn’t have a clue what makes it squeak, but she can’t contain herself when she sees it, tail wagging furiously, chasing it like there’s no tomorrow.
That’s who I’m acting like. Dolly Parton.
And Malcolm is my squeaky toy.
And just like Dolly, I have no idea what’s making himsqueakto me. But he is.
“What did he say?” she asks as a loud bang happens in the background followed by a whispered curse word and shuffling footsteps.
Gnawing at my thumbnail, I think back to the very short and unenthused response I received when I told Malcolm about my dinner plans this evening.
“Good luck,” I deadpan.
The hasty shuffling stops on the other end of the phone. “That’s it?” she asks, just as dumbfounded as I was when I received his text. I give another hum, not as lively as the last, sounding more like ahumph. “Well, then…” She pauses contemplatively. “That’s very grown up of him.” Her words are unconvincing.
“Uh-huh, very.” Another deadpan because I don’t know what to make of it. And based on Emma’s hesitation, she doesn’t either. We all know how Malcolm feels about Eric. Even when he had to work with him, they never got along, which was awful for me. My boyfriend and best friend tolerating each other at family gatherings was less than ideal.
“Coach, can we get out of here now?” The floor squishes Tess’s cheeks so much her words morph together, sounding likecahweegetouttahurrnow.
“Yes. Go get cleaned up, and we’ll head to the beach!”
The mention of the beach is enough to resurrect the dead as the girls squeal, jump up from the floor, and race out of the gym.
“I guess he isn’t too worried about it,” I say to Emma once I’m alone. “I mean, I don’t want him to be worried. I guess I was just expecting more than a two-word response. Something more than justgood luck.” Emma snorts on the other end of the phone when I mimic Malcolm’s deep voice.
I walk out of the gym into the sweltering sun and struggle to adjust my eyes to the bright light. The hotel is just a few minutes’ walk from the gym, and seeing as I don’t have time to get a good run in this week, I try to get my steps in when I can. The girls are already out of sight as I make my way down the small walkway. Palm trees line one side of the path, blocking half of my body from the blazing sun, and the other side meets the road where a variety of vehicles weave in and out of parking lots on their way to the beach. Little shops sit neatly across the road, their doors ajar, allowing the hot air to whip in and out of theirestablishments. Odd but comforting similarities spring up as I walk past—little nods that remind me of Glendale.
The smell of fried food catches my attention when I’m a block from the hotel. My stomach growls in protest when I try to ignore the smells of fried dough, cinnamon sugar, and coffee—with a hint of garlic, which is…interesting.
Coming to a halt at the stop sign near the hotel, I turn to face the smells. A small sign hangs outside of a shop,half off all pastries,and I’m immediately sold.
“Ms. Stanley!” Sarah Kim sits at a table outside of the glorious little shop—another sign to venture in there and eat my weight in buttery goodness—a pile of books sitting in the chair opposite her.
“Hi, Sarah!” I motion to her, waiting for my moment to cross the street safely. That’s just what I need, to get hit by a car in front of my student, traumatizing her for life. Reaching for the shop door, I notice she doesn’t have anything to pair with her pile of books. No coffee, no croissant, not even water. An interesting little duck, she is.
“Care to join me?” I gesture toward the door.
She beams at the invitation, scooping up her books and following me inside. The cold air jolts me awake, shivers traveling down my arms and legs. By her shaking, I can tell Sarah regrets leaving her warm seat outside. A couple snags the only empty table, sending her into a mini frenzy as she huffs, circles around, and gives up in finding another seat.
“I’ll wait for you outside.” Her teeth chatter and arms shake like we’re in the Arctic. “Can you get me a hot chocolate?” she asks over her shoulder as she hoists her books closer to her chest and pries the door open with her free hand.
My phone buzzes as I place our order. A text from my mom moves across my screen, and my gut swirls, nausea moving up my throat. She’s probably asking for something. Last time Iheard from her was after four months of radio silence, and she needed me to pick up something from the post office before it was returned to the sender. Apparently, the knock-off Manolo Blahnik shoes just had to be purchased while she was out of the country.
Mom:Spoke to Lola, I’m sorry I missed the party. I’ll try to make the next one!
I chew on my thumbnail, down to the bit almost, before responding.
It’s alright, maybe next time.
