by Sydney Logan
I was ‘settling in,’ as my neighbors called it, and I loved the routine of it all.
On Friday afternoon, I was sitting in the kitchen and answering an e-mail from Monica when Lucas appeared in the doorway.
“You need to come outside,” he said with an excited grin on his face.
“Okay.” I clicked send and closed my laptop. He was still grinning as he motioned for me to follow him out onto the porch.
“Close your eyes.”
“Are you insane? I’ll fall down the steps if I close my eyes.”
Lucas slipped his fingers through mine. “I won’t let you fall. Now, close them.”
He gently pulled me along the porch and guided me down the front steps. When my feet reached the sidewalk, he released my hand and placed both palms on my shoulders.
“Turn around and open your eyes,” Lucas murmured.
“You know, I’m getting a distinct feeling of déjà vu.”
He laughed. “Just do it.”
The sun was blinding, but it wasn’t so bright that I couldn’t see the lovely blue house with white shutters.
Just then, a thunderous cheer erupted from behind us, and I spun around to find the football team, along with Tommy and Aubrey, gathered around the bus. Everyone looked so proud, and I had no idea I was crying until I felt a tear trickle down my cheek.
“What do you think?” Lucas asked softly.
I took another long look at my beautiful house before smiling up at him.
“I think I’m finally home.”
Chapter 7
“I’m Miss Bray, and welcome to English literature.”
I’d practiced my intro in my head for weeks now, but as I stood before my first period class and actually said the words aloud, I realized just how inconsequential they really were.
They didn’t care.
They weren’t impolite or unkind. A few had actually smiled in my direction while I passed out the syllabus. They were simply seniors. School was the last place they wanted to be and they were more than ready to get through their final year of high school. English literature was an unfortunate roadblock in their journey to graduation, so I was automatically perceived as the enemy.
Because I was nervous, I’d already decided to keep today’s lecture to a minimum, so we discussed the syllabus and I highlighted a few projects I would be assigning throughout the year. There were a few questions—mostly from the football players who, surprisingly enough, sat in the first two rows—and I assigned a short writing exercise to fill up the rest of the class period.
“Just write me a short autobiography,” I announced to the class as they shuffled through their backpacks in search of pen and paper. Some muttered they couldn’t believe they had to work on the first day of school, but I ignored them while I walked up and down the aisles of desks.
“You look especially lovely today, Miss Bray.”
I grinned down at Matt. “And you have especially lovely handwriting. I have to ask. Why are my first two rows filled with football players?”
“Coach requires it.”
“Coach thinks we won’t pay attention if we sit anywhere else,” Patrick said. I couldn’t remember which position he played. Running back, maybe. “How’s that porch, Miss Bray?”
I smiled at him. “The porch is great. It needs some new rocking chairs, I think, but it’s beautiful. You guys did a great job restoring it.”
The bell rang, and one class flowed seamlessly to the next. By the time lunch rolled around, I was starving and ready to get off my feet. I collapsed into my chair just as Lucas walked inside the classroom.
“Still alive?”
“Barely. My feet are killing me.”
He leaned against my desk. “Well, that’s because you’re forcing your toes into those god-awful heels.” Looking down at my shoes, he allowed his eyes to linger just a bit longer than necessary.
Men.
“You love my shoes.”
“Yes, I do.” He pulled a chair closer to my desk and placed a sandwich bag on top of it. “It’s from the cafeteria. I’ve been assured their peanut butter and jelly is the best.”
Over lunch, we talked to each other about our mornings, and we agreed it was great Tommy required his football team to sit near the front of the class. Lucas’s second period class had been the worst, which wasn’t unexpected considering they were freshmen.
Lucas finished his sandwich and tossed the bag into my trashcan. “They try so hard to be cool. I’ve never taught freshmen, but I had no idea they could be so immature.”
“At least they’ll talk to you. I could barely get my seniors to say a word.”
“Be thankful.” He smirked.
Suddenly, his expression softened. “How are you doing, really?”
Even though he didn’t know why, he had to know I’d be anxious about today.
“I’m good,” I replied honestly. “I was nervous this morning, but it’s been okay so far. What about you?”
“I’m good, too. At least the kids are respectful here. If my biggest problem is a bunch of loud-mouthed freshmen, then I’ll consider this school year a success.”
The bell rang, and we both groaned.
“I’d forgotten how quickly time flies during lunch.”
“And your planning period!” We both laughed as he rose from his seat. “Thanks for lunch. That was sweet of you.”
“I’m a sweet guy,” Lucas said with a heart-stopping grin. “Have a good rest of the day.”
My fourth and final class of the day was more energetic and far more curious than the previous ones. I was happy to see two familiar faces as both Matt and Patrick dutifully took their seats in the front row. They probably needed an elective and assumed creative writing would be an easy course.
“You’re originally from Sycamore Falls?” A student asked after I’d finished going over the syllabus.
“Yes, I am.”
“And you came back?” Howie was another football player. “What would possess you to come back to this place?”
I smiled because, once upon a time, I’d been just like them. I had been so ready to leave this town behind and venture out into the world. It would have been hard for me to believe someone would actually escape and willingly return.
“Sycamore Falls isn’t so bad,” I said, knowing they’d disagree. The class didn’t disappoint, and the debate continued until I finally told them to write their thoughts about their hometown in a two-hundred word essay due on Wednesday.
A redhead in the back promptly raised her hand. “Do we have to read these aloud?”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea! Yes, please plan to read these aloud on Wednesday.”
The groans were deafening.
After class was dismissed, I tiredly slumped into my chair. Kicking off my heels, I wiggled my toes and then breathed a sigh of relief.
I did it.
I had survived the first day of school, and I’d done it without a panic attack, a flashback, or one single tear.
I spent my afternoon sitting in my living room, listening to 80s monster ballads on my iPod®, and grading my first period autobiographies. I was humming along with Bon Jovi when I heard a thunderous knock coming from the kitchen. Tossing my pen and papers aside, I raced toward the back door.
“Hey,” I said, smiling at my unexpected visitor. He was wearing his Sycamore Panthers pullover. Mabel had been right. The medium really did fit him perfectly.
“Hey you. I’ve been knocking forever.”
I laughed, pulling the buds from my ears. “Sorry, I was just grading papers.”
“It’s okay.” He shuffled his feet nervously. “Would you sit on the porch with me?”
I smiled. He loved my porch almost as much as I did. Happy to leave my grading behind, I followed him outside, letting the screen door slam behind me.
“Don’t get mad, but I bought you something.”
He stepped aside, and there, hanging from the beams, was a beautiful porc
h swing rocking gently in the breeze.
“Oh . . .” I whispered in amazement.
“They were on clearance down at the hardware store,” Lucas explained. “I know you talked about getting some new rocking chairs, but I saw this and thought maybe . . .”
I couldn’t believe it. Growing up, I’d always wanted a swing, but Grandma didn’t like them. She’d always preferred her old wicker rocking chairs.
“If it matters, you can just consider it a thank you for the pullover.”
“Lucas, that sweatshirt was twenty bucks.”
Laughing quietly, he sat down on the porch swing, pushing off gently with his legs. “Aubrey told me you’d probably fight me, which is why I installed it before I knocked on your door. I was afraid you’d hear the drill. Lucky for me, you had your iPod buds planted in your ears.”
It was far too expensive of a gift, and I knew I shouldn’t accept it. It was also the most amazing gift anyone had ever given me, and it was beautiful and looked perfect on my porch.
I was so torn.
“Just come sit with me, Sarah.”
Unable to resist, I sat down beside him on the swing. He smiled at me, and together, we pushed. The creaking sound of the chains and wood was quite possibly the most tranquil sound I’d ever heard. Closing my eyes, I relaxed against the seat of the swing as we swayed.
“You love it,” Lucas said softly.
“How can you tell?”
“You’re smiling.”
Sighing contently, my eyes fluttered open as I slid my hand along the smooth wood.
“Thank you,” I finally whispered, “but you really shouldn’t have. It’s too much.”
“Not if it makes you happy.”
His bright blue eyes gazed into mine, and we shared a smile.
I was happy, and I knew, deep in my heart, that it had absolutely nothing to do with the porch swing.
“My hometown is the boringest place in the world,” Howie announced while reading his oral presentation of the writing class. He received a few “amens” and I had to bite my tongue to keep from reminding him that ‘boringest’ wasn’t a word. It was just the first assignment, and I’d told them I was grading on content and not grammar.
I had to bite hard.
Most of the essays had been much of the same—full of bad grammar and negative perceptions about their hometown. The sad fact was everything they’d stated in their presentations was true. Sycamore Falls wasn’t culturally diverse and our movie theater did have three screens. The nearest big city was over an hour away, and Internet access was spotty in some areas of the county.
It was all true, and I told them as I walked around to the front of my desk.
“You’re right. Sycamore Falls is very sheltered from the rest of the world.”
Caleb, a quiet student in the third row raised his hand. “So, Miss Bray, if everything we’ve said is true, why did you come back?”
At that moment, twenty pairs of curious, expectant eyes turned my way. This class was just too intelligent and inquisitive. It wouldn’t take long before one of them asked their parents, or searched the web, and that’s when I’d be asked the questions I really didn’t want to answer.
“Because, sometimes, you need sheltering,” I replied softly.
Thankfully, the bell rang, and the students groaned with disappointment when I dismissed them for the day. I had just sat down at my desk when I heard a quiet voice echo from the front row.
“Miss Bray?”
I looked up to find Matt staring at me, his deep brown eyes sad and distant.
“Yes, Matt?”
“Do you think it’s possible we’re too sheltered from the rest of the world?”
I smiled softly and closed my lesson planner.
“I thought the exact thing when I was your age.”
“But not now?”
I sighed and leaned back against my chair. “This might surprise you, but Sycamore Falls isn’t nearly as sheltered as it used to be.”
“Maybe not materialistically,” Matt said with a shrug, “but what about socially? Did you hear about the all-district punter from Nashville whose parents wanted to move here to work at the clinic? His dad is a pediatrician. They even bought a house in town. They were here for one week, Miss Bray. One week.”
“Why just a week?”
“Because Sycamore Falls didn’t roll out the welcoming mat for a black family,” Matt said quietly.
I wasn’t surprised. A quick glance around my classroom proved nothing had changed when it came to diversity in Sycamore Falls.
“People form opinions, and it can be hard to get them to change their minds. Unfortunately, it happens everywhere.” I offered him a sad smile. “You know, Matt, you could have written about this in today’s assignment. This would have been a fantastic class discussion.”
He chuckled, but it wasn’t a humorous laugh.
“Right,” he mumbled. “Don’t you know, Miss Bray? Teenagers are the most opinionated of all, especially if you don’t conform to the norm. You can’t be different. Not if you want to be accepted, anyway.”
Matt slumped in his desk, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was really bothering him. As the quarterback of the football team, the boy was worshipped at Sycamore High. Girls flocked to him and he was obviously the most popular guy on the team.
“Are you saying you’re different, Matt?”
His expression turned somber.
“I’m the high school quarterback who’s dating the captain of the cheerleading squad. I am the biggest walking stereotype, and I play my role every single day.”
I was so confused, but I didn’t get the chance to dig deeper. Aubrey suddenly appeared in my doorway, asking if I was ready to go. With the first football game in two days, Tommy was spending extra time on the field, leaving Aubrey alone most nights. I’d invited her and the baby over for dinner and an 80s movie marathon.
“I’m going to be late for practice,” Matt muttered, grabbing his jacket and books. “See you later, Miss Bray.” He muttered a polite hello to Aubrey and ran out the door.
“That looked serious. What’s up with him?”
“I wish I knew,” I said, gathering today’s papers and stuffing them into my bag.
“No grading tonight! We have a date with Ferris Bueller, remember?”
I grinned. “Yes, I remember, but if I don’t get them graded before Friday, I might not get to go to the football game, and we know what a tragedy that would be.”
“Oh, you’re going to the football game.” Aubrey grabbed me by the hand and led me out the classroom door. “If you think I’m spending another football season sitting in those stands by myself, you’ve seriously lost your mind.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “Were you always this bossy? I really don’t remember this side of you at all.”
Aubrey ignored my question and hooked her arm through mine as we walked down the hallway. “Besides, we have to talk about boys.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Really? Because there’s a new swing hanging from your front porch that would suggest otherwise.”
Sighing in defeat, I linked my arm through hers and accepted my fate.
Chapter 8
“I’ve never seen so much green.”
It was true. Our side of the stadium was packed with fans wearing their Sycamore green hoodies for the first football game of the year. The visitors’ stands weren’t nearly as full, and I wondered if it was the long drive or the bitter cold that had kept them away.
“Who are we playing?” I scanned the other side of the field, trying to remember which of the surrounding schools wore blue and white.
“No idea,” Lucas grinned, “but they look really cold in their blue T-shirts.”
The weather was always unpredictable in the mountains, even in late summer. One day, you could wake up to sunny skies and seventy-degree temperatures. The next morning, you’d be digging in your closet for a jacket because fall arrived ea
rly, causing the temperatures to plunge overnight.
“I bet poor Mabel had to make a batch of hoodies and sweatshirts just for tonight’s game.”
Lucas leaned close. “Are you okay? The crowd isn’t too much?”
The crowd was noisy and loud, but I was okay so far.
“I’m good,” I replied. Shivering, I glanced toward the concession stand. Maybe something warm to drink would help.
“Why don’t I go see if they’re selling hot chocolate or something?” Lucas offered.
“It’s scary how well you can read my mind.”
He grinned. “It’s a gift.”
Aubrey finally arrived and dropped down onto the bleacher next to me. Thankfully, she waited until Lucas was out of earshot to begin the interrogation.
“I love that the two of you are wearing matching hoodies. It’s incredibly cute.”
I rolled my eyes. “You know, if you take a look around, you’ll see we match just about everyone on this side of the stadium.”
“And it’s your first date!”
“It’s not a date. We are two new faculty members sitting together at a football game.”
“Hmm.” She wasn’t at all convinced, but she let me off the hook and scanned the crowd. “Look at this place! I think the whole town is here tonight.
The bright, excited faces of our students reminded me of the football games we’d attended in high school. Our small group of friends would spend our Friday nights in the student section—all decked out in our Panther green—screaming wildly for Tommy and his team. There was always a bonfire afterward, and a few parties out near the river, which were illegal for any of us to attend. Of course, that hadn’t stopped us—just like it wouldn’t stop any of our students tonight.
It’s amazing how high school never really changes.
The game began just as Lucas reappeared with three steaming cups of hot chocolate. We thanked him and settled in—with me sandwiched in the middle and being pressed against Lucas’s side.
“You know Matt, of course,” Aubrey said, pointing toward the field at number sixteen. Matt had his own cheering section, and the girls would explode with squeals each time he completed a pass or even turned his head in their direction. Aubrey spent the first half of the game pointing out the players and their positions. The crowd was deafening, and by halftime, we were leading by three touchdowns while my body was trembling from the cold.
