Chapter One
Maya Gershawn
The Seaside Bar is quieter than I expected, which I don’t mind. Low lights, wood-paneled walls, a flickering neon sign above the bar that hums just enough to fill the silence between conversations. I find a stool near the end and check my phone. 6:02 p.m. Anne’s usually on time, but it’s fine. Two minutes isn’t late. Not really.
I tap the rim of my glass of water and glance toward the door again. I’ve been looking forward to this all week. A casual drink, just the two of us, to talk about next year’s plans. Maybe gush a little about the new mural I’ve been planning out.
Then I spot her. Anne Letty walks in wearing her usual navy cardigan and a loose bun that’s starting to fall. She looks tired, her blue eyes lacking their normal sparkle. Not in the way teachers look after a long day, but something else—something heavier. I wave her over, and she gives me a tight smile as she slides onto the stool next to mine.
“Traffic?” I ask.
“Main Street was a mess,” she mutters, setting her bag down.
“You want your usual?”
She nods. “Gin and tonic. Strong.”
I wave the bartender over to order two gin and tonics and raise a brow at her. “Long day?”
“You could say that.”
I laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, tonight we’re off duty. Just relaxing and catching up.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. That little crease between her brows is still there, deepening.
When our drinks arrive, I clink my glass against hers. “To the last few weeks of summer. And to the upcoming school year. I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a good one.” She just nods and takes a sip.
Undeterred by her pensive mood, I launch into my plan, the way I always do when I’m excited. “Okay, hear me out. What if I kick off the fall with a collaborative mural project? I’ve already scoped out the blank wall in the hallway outside the cafeteria. Each class could design a tile based on a theme—something like ‘What Belonging Means to Me.’ They’d get to brainstorm, sketch, paint. It’d be collaborative, reflective, and we’d have a permanent piece at the end. Something they see every day and say, ‘Hey,Ihelped make that.’ We could even?—”
“Maya.” She cuts me off.
I stop and notice that she’s not smiling. In fact, she’s grimacing. The kind of expression that looks like it hurts to hold. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
She exhales slowly, sets her drink down with a soft clink. “I wanted to meet you here to tell you something.”
My stomach flips. “O-kay,” I draw out the word cautiously.
She hesitates—Anne never hesitates. Then she looks me square in the eye. “I retired. Officially. At the beginning of the summer.”
I blink. “Wait. What?” That is not at all what I expected her to say.
“I know I should’ve told you sooner. I just… I wanted to wait until I knew who was replacing me.”
I sit back, stunned. “Youretired? But—youlovethat job. You’ve been at that school longer than anyone.”
“I do love it,” she says. “But my goddaughter had a baby in May. I was there for the birth. And as I held that little girl, I realized… I’ve spent my whole life showing up for other people’s kids. Maybe it’s time to show up for my own family now.”
I stare at her, trying to wrap my head around her news. “Wow. I mean, that’s beautiful, Anne. I get it. Really, you and your family deserve it. It’s just… I didn’t see this coming.”
She shrugs. “Not many people did. Not even me, to be honest. But I’ve had a good, long run and enjoyed it all. And now that I’m seventy, I think it’s time.”
I nod slowly, though my chest feels suddenly hollow. “So… who’s taking over?”
And there it is again—that grimace. “Trevor Delaney. The board picked him.”
The name doesn’t ring a bell. “Should I be concerned?”
Anne sighs. “He ran an elite charter school for years. The kind where parents with the most money and a lot of opinions call the shots. He’s… not who I would’ve chosen.”
