I check my watch, and it’s fifteen minutes before we’re due to leave. Brooke seems to have her hands full, so I start loading the gear into the mini-bus. I start with the heavy gear and slide it into place, followed by the student’s bags.
The bell rings, and the kids who aren’t coming with us head to class, leaving a group of twelve students.
“Thanks for loading the gear.” Brooke gives me a grateful smile. “The driver disappeared to get coffee, and I haven’t seen him.”
She gives a small frown, but it turns into a smile as a man with a rumpled, brightly patterned shirt and loose shorts strolls around the corner holding a reusable coffee cup.
“Sorry.” He gives a sheepish smile to Brooke. “Got to talking to your history teacher. These mountains sure have some history.”
He opens his mouth to elaborate, but Brooke cuts him off with a smile. “No problem, Bruce. We’ll get the kids loaded, and we’re ready to go.”
Bruce climbs into the driver’s seat, and I give Brooke a questioning look, wondering who the guy in the beach shorts is. “Pine Creek sent their own mini-bus and driver. It’s part of the experience, apparently.”
I glance at the mini-bus. It’s a new model with a sleek design. Still, I like to check anything my daughter is riding in.
“Is this thing road worthy?”
She taps the glass and an up-to-date road certificate. “The first thing I checked.”
Brooke herds the kids onto the bus, and I wait for her to climb up before following. The bus is alive with chatter and laughter and that damn rap music.
“You want to ride up front with me or down back with the cool kids?”
I squint at the back where a group of boys has taken over the back seat. Dana sits about halfway down with her friend, absorbed in conversation. I briefly wonder what they’re talking about and why I’ve never met this friend before.
“I’m way past being cool.”
She smiles. “You could still pull it off.”
I chuckle and sink into the seat next to her. Our thighs brush, and I catch her floral scent and have to grip the edge of the seat. I’ve got four hours on this bus; I can’t go to pieces with the first thigh brush.
“Is that music going to play the entire time? I thought I left my days of sonic torture behind with the Navy.”
She gasps. “You were tortured?”
She looks so distraught that I regret my joke. “Only in training. Never for real.”
“Oh.” She frowns. “Let me guess, you were a SEAL?”
I’m surprised she found me out so easily. “What makes you say that?”
“Only special forces need that kind of training. It figures.”
She seems to know her stuff, and I’m about to ask more about it when the rap music blares some particularly offensive lyrics.
Brooke turns in her seat to face the students.
“Hey!”
Her voice carries above the din, and it takes a few moments, but the kids settle down and listen. The kid with the music even turns it down. She has respect among her students.
“We’ve got a four hour journey ahead of us. We’ll be stopping for lunch along the way. If you want to play music, I can hook up one device to the bus Bluetooth, but the music choice has to be by consensus, and nothing that us oldies will find offensive.”
“You’re not an oldie, miss,” one of the boys in the back calls out.
Brooke smiles, and I turn in my seat to see who it is that’s flirting with the teacher. It’s the lanky blond-haired boy with the speaker.
“But I am.” I turn in my seat to face the students, and there’s complete silence.
