The path winds through the forest, passing ancient oaks and moss-laden sycamores. In my backpack is a bear horn, but with the noise this group of teenagers is making, we’ll scare off any wildlife in the vicinity.
After twenty minutes, the narrow path from the farm meets the wider trail that will take us to Pine Creek Camp. To one side is a ring of oaks, and we stop for a few moments while the students film the forest.
With the dense trees blocking out the sky, it feels later than it is. I check my watch and pace impatiently. I’d rather get the kids back well before we lose daylight.
“Time to keep moving,” I say after five minutes.
The students put their phones away, apart from Justin, who has the DSLR. He’s pointing it at the canopy above us and turning in a slow circle.
“Come on, Justin,” Brooke chides him. “We have to keep moving.”
“Go on without me. I want to get this shot.”
“We can’t do that.” I step in. “Daylight’s fading, and we need to get you kids back.”
Reluctantly, Justin slings the camera over his shoulder, and we get moving.
The path leads straight back to camp, so I fall into step with Brooke. It’s the closest I’ve been to her since we almost kissed last night, and her proximity makes my pulse race. I will my body to calm as we walk together.
I’m still thinking about Dana today. I spent the afternoon with some of the other groups, and no one had the interviewing technique that she had. One girl interviewed a seasonal worker about their favorite types of fruit to pick. Another interviewed the landowner about the financial costs of having a community like this on his property. I didn’t see any of them get the emotional depth to their interviews that Dana got. And from what she told me, it’s all thanks to Brooke. The woman has performed miracles by getting the best out of Dana.
Not only is Brooke the most attractive woman I’ve ever seen, but she’s also damn good at her job. She cares about her students, and she’s taken the time with my daughter. I have a newfound respect for the woman who’s making a difference with these kids.
“Thank you for what you do here with the kids.”
She looks startled. “I’m just doing my job.”
“But it’s more than that. You saw something in Dana that I missed. I appreciate that.”
A warm smile spreads across her features. “That’s what I love about the job. When a student recognizes their potential and you watch them blossom into something they never knew they were capable of.”
We walk in silence for a few moments, listening to the chatter of the students.
A tree has fallen across the path; it looks like it’s been there for a while judging by the moss growing on the side of it. The students ahead of us are scrambling over the thick trunk. One of them is filming, and I wonder if anything happens in this class that doesn’t get filmed.
I slide over the log and reach back to help Brooke. I take her hand and steady her as she pulls herself over.
Her hand is warm in mine, and I don’t want to let it go. Dana has stopped to adjust her pack, and she gives me a pointed look. I drop Brooke’s hand and pretend like it didn’t set off a thousand spikes of heat in my body.
Dana falls into step with her friend, and I fall back with Brooke.
“Did you always want to be a teacher?”
“Ever since I remember.” Her expression softens. “My mom was a teacher. We moved around a lot with dad’s military career, so she did relief teaching.”
I imagine a young Brooke packing up her toys and moving. “That must have been hard.”
She smiles. “I got used to it. Mom always made it into an adventure. She loved the nomadic life, and I guess I learned to too.”
I notice a hitch in her voice. “Learned to?”
She chuckles. “I hated it when I was little. I hated leaving my friends and starting at a new school. But we did it so often, I just got used to it.”
The path narrows, and she runs her hands over the bark of an ancient tree as we pass. I feel she’s got more to say, and I don’t speak, just listen, like I watched Dana do today. Like she learned to do from Brooke.
“I got good at making friends quickly, good at figuring out what I needed to do to fit in with the other kids. But I never stayed long enough to really belong anywhere.”
She says it matter-of-factly, but it must have been lonely. It probably still is.
