The media studies room is tucked in a corner of the school, next to the music room. Rows of desks hold large monitors, and there’s an audio mixing desk in one corner. In another corner are light stands and other gear I can’t identify.
From behind a wooden desk, the teacher comes forward, and I stop in my tracks. She wears a floaty skirt that hugs her wide hips and a t-shirt with a band name on it I don’t recognize. She’s wearing flat sneakers and looks like she could be one of the students with her casual dress. Her blonde hair falls over a round face, which lights up when she sees Dana. Dana smiles back, the first expression I’ve seen on her face tonight that isn’t total boredom.
“Here’s my top student,” says the teacher.
But it’s not Dana I’m staring at. My gaze is transfixed on her teacher.
I’ve seen her around. Who could miss the new teacher in town? I just didn’t realize she was teaching media studies. Or that Dana was so interested.
Her gaze shifts from Dana to me, and I’m staring into deep blue eyes that sparkle like sun glinting off a lake.
“Hi,” she says, extending a delicate hand. “I’m Brooke Randal, Dana’s media studies teacher.”
I’m so lost in her eyes, in her smile, in the rosy cheeks and the aura of sunshine that emits from her, that it takes me a moment to realize she’s waiting for me to reply.
“Joel Norton.” My voice comes out like a grunt, harsh against her sunshine. “Dana’s dad.”
I take her offered hand and find it warm and soft. Her handshake is surprisingly firm, and I hold her hand a little too long.
Long enough for Dana to give me a poke in the ribs.
I drop Brooke’s hand and get a glare from Dana. “Stop being weird,” she mutters.
I look from my daughter to Brooke and snap myself back into the moment.
“You’re new at the school.” I’m stating the obvious, but this woman has me tongue-tied.
“I took the job at the start of the year.”
“I’ve seen you at the veteran’s center, Jake’s Retreat. I work up there. You came for the opening.”
I remember seeing her at the flag-raising; how distracted I was by her presence there.
“Work there?” She cocks her head at me. “I heard you set the entire place up.”
She’s heard of me and my work, and I like the hint of admiration in her voice. I stand up a little taller for the first time tonight. “It’s important work to me.”
“I grew up in a military family,” she says. “I like to honor the local servicemen and women wherever I go.”
I can’t hide my look of admiration, which gets me another poke from Dana.
“Dad, stop flirting,” she hisses loud enough for us both to hear.
Is that what I’m doing? It’s been so long since I noticed a woman that I’ve forgotten what that’s like. “We’re just having a conversation.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and I realize with horror that I’m blushing. A grown-ass man, caught out by his daughter. I’m glad the room has soft lighting.
“But we’re not here to talk about me, we’re here to talk about Dana,” Brooke says.
I take one of the wooden chairs by the desk, hoping my blush isn’t obvious, and prepare myself for the same speech I’ve heard all night. Then something Brooke said catches up in my brain.
“Did you say Dana’s top of the class?”
Brooke smiles widely and moves to perch on the front of her desk. I catch a whiff of her floral perfume, so feminine.
“Dana shines in this class. She’s focused, quick to learn any new technology we use, and shows a real aptitude for understanding different media.”
My mouth must be hanging open because Brooke laughs, a throaty chuckle that sets the hairs on my arms to tingling.
