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My dad looked up at me. “What’s this you’re doing, anyway?”
I shook my keys in my hand as I reached for my iPad from the coffee table. “PTO meeting at Finley’s school,” I mumbled, barely opening my mouth.
“You know,” he started, and I closed my eyes for a second, bracing myself for the judgment. “If you weren’t doing all this stuff at the school, you might have time to get out there and look for a real job.”
I squeezed my keys in my fist. “I’ve been putting applications in, Dad,” I said, which wasn’t a lie—since June, I’d been applying to some illustration jobs here and there. Was I being picky? Yes. But I knew my worth, and I also knew that if I held out, the right job would come along.
At least I hoped.
My dad shook his head. “What you need to do is take your resumé and hand it to the managers of these companies in person—shake their hands, look ‘em in the eye. Make yourself stand out.”
“If I want to make myself stand out as a sociopath, I’ll be sure to do that, Dad,” I said. “They just want people to follow the damn directions and submit their applications online.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
I let out an exasperated sigh because I didn’t have a comeback for that one—which led my dad to believe he’d won. With a smug look on his face, he interlocked his fingers behind his head and said, “You’re just—stagnant. And I hate to see it.”
I swallowed as I bent over to kiss the top of Finley’s head, deciding it was probably in the best interest of everyone in this room if I kept my rage to myself.
However, I leaned in close to Finley’s ear and said, “Be good. And hey, you ought to see if Grandpa wants to play Candy Land. It’s funny when he loses, isn’t it?”
She let out an excited gasp, and I turned to leave, fully aware of the chaos I’d just unleashed. My dad despised Candy Land, but Finley always managed to talk him into it, anyway. It often resulted in him flipping the board and accusing Finley of cheating. And Finley would throw her head back in laughter until my dad was so frustrated he removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing under his breath.
I was sad I wouldn’t be able to witness it this time.
* *
“You’re going to hate me.”
Those were the words Kendall greeted me with when I entered the gym to find her and Sarah unfolding a lunch table from its pocket in the wall. I was momentarily lost in the memory of helping my P.E. teacher put the tables up when I had gone to school here all those years ago.
Once the table was down and secured, Kendall turned to me with a sheepish smile, both hands on her cheeks like she was scared to tell me—whatever it was she was about to tell me. “Hate you? Impossible,” I said, holding my iPad under my arm. I greeted Sarah with a little nod.
“Well,” Kendall said, “you’re probably going to have to make some adjustments to your design.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“Your cousin—” she started, but Sarah joined her at her side.
“Carnival rides!” Sarah sang out in a playful voice, like she was Oprah announcing free cars for everyone in her audience. She clapped her hands together. “We have the budget for a couple of carnival rides now, and—”
“Thanks to Owen, huh?” I asked with a grin, catching the wary look in Kendall’s eyes.
“Thanks to STEM for the Win,” Sarah corrected, like she was trying to downplay Owen’s wealth. “And we’re going to vote on rides tonight. Poor Kendall here—” she said, putting her hands on Kendall’s shoulders, “—is feeling slightly overwhelmed, but I keep telling her she’s got this.”
“Course she does,” I agreed. I was tempted to wink at Kendall, but it probably wasn’t a good idea to do anything of the sort right in front of her boss.
“You’re putting way too much trust in me,” Kendall said over her shoulder at Sarah. “It’s going to be a disaster.”
Sarah leaned closer to Kendall as she softly said, “Well, if it is, just blame it on Heath,” before pulling away to greet the other people entering the gym.
Kendall shook her head and smiled. I wasn’t entirely sure who Heath was, but I had an inkling he was the guy who’d asked her about the waffle maker.
For a moment, she and I stood facing each other as others started entering the gym. Eventually, she turned to greet some of them—other teachers and parents she knew. I found a seat on the bench near the end of the table, and though I pretended to be looking over the t-shirt design on my iPad, I was taking in every detail of Kendall’s appearance—her yellow skirt, the striped blouse that hugged her chest—and the charm bracelet that slid down her arm every time she brushed her long bangs away from her eyes. The sweet, nervous chuckle she gave when someone said to her, “They put you in charge of this whole thing, huh?”
She was so beautiful, and it was like she didn’t even know it.
Sarah and Kendall sat in metal folding chairs, angling them so everyone could see them. And while it was obvious Sarah was eager to speak, she allowed Kendall to take over—even urging her to make the announcement about the carnival rides herself. “This of course gives us a little more work to do,” Kendall said, shooting Sarah a sly grin. “But I think if we all pull together, it’s possible.”
