I can pretend Sienna’s not all day, but if there is one thing Principal Simpson is not, it’s an idiot.
“That’s right,” I confirm to remain cordial. “I’m hoping to earn you the most money by the end of the day.”
“Against the PTA moms?” She couldn’t sound more unimpressed if I told her I had Jesus on my side. “Ambitious.”
“Then you do remember me.”
She lets out a weak laugh, but it doesn’t reach her eyes or her human side. If there is anything about Principal Simpson that remains the same, it’s that she takes her power at the school very seriously.
“I remember you,” she confirms evenly. “And I do recall you flirting with every female in town.”
“If you call complimenting a woman when they look nice and how well they make my coffee in the morning, Mrs. Simpson, I’m guilty as charged.”
“You’re behaving then?”
“When’s the last time you heard my name running through the gossip mills?”
Answer: years.
However, Principal Simpson waits a few moments to rummage through her memory bank to think before confirming, “It’s been a while.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Simpson.” I gesture toward Sienna. “I was asking Miss Vesper if a position opened up yet for an assistant coach.”
“For what?”
“Football. I wanted to get Heath in.”
Her eyes widen a little. “You want—well…we don’t have it anymore.”
I frown. “What?”
“Coach Clay Henson retired two years ago.”
“And you never replaced him?” She shifts her weight, and I didn’t mean for my question to be so harsh, but this is a smalltown, and boys get restless as hell around here. “I’d love to help get that set back up.”
“How?” she asks. “We have no one who is qualified?—”
“Mrs. Simpson, it’s football. I’m not teaching the kids how to break an atom or write in cursive. Its structure. If it weren’t for football, I would’ve burnt half this town down.”
“You started a fire in Mrs. Wilson’s boutique.”
I roll my eyes because that hasn’t been proven. “She left a bunch of candles unattended. I was just there buying my mama a birthday present.”
“And…?”
Lord…
“And…I helped her put it out.”
“How did it start?”
“Are you accusing me of starting it, Mrs. Simpson?”
“I’m asking you if you had, and I’d be leaving you in the hands of my students with your wild nature and?—”
“I haven’t been in your school in two decades, Mrs. Simpson. And I have a son.”
The last bit of my statement seems to settle her down a bit before she finally bows her head. “I’d love to meet with you about this, Mr. Wolfe. And, if we can get something together and agree on terms, we can talk to the PTA moms about fundraising.”
