“Because I got into coaching to make a difference. And sometimes that means making sacrifices. Now, you guys get going. I hope to see you all in the morning.”
I can tell by some of their expressions that won’t be the case, but so be it. These guys need to learn that the only way to get ahead is to believe they can and then put in the necessary hours to control their destiny.
Hopefully, their determination will also help me change my destiny. I want the Crappies to do well enough so we garner a decent climb in rank. Then I can prove to the administration of my old school they made a serious mistake when they tried to demote me.
I want them on their knees begging me to come back. My plan is to say no two or three times, until they double my previous salary. Then I’ll consider it. Whether I take it or not remains to be seen.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ALLIE
After sending my parents a quick text to let them know I can meet them for a late supper tomorrow, I fill the tub with bubbles. Then I grab my book off the bedside table. I used to have a thing for bodice-ripping romance, but that ended with Brett. Since then, I’ve been more drawn to true crime and conspiracy thrillers.
After picking up my copy ofMurderous Revenge, I look around my bedroom. Even though I know this apartment is perfect for me, it’s going to take some time before it fully feels like home. My main issue is there isn’t enough lighting. I’m not a fan of dark corners, so I’m going to need to buy a few lamps.
After taking off my clothes and sliding into the tub, I remember that when Brett and I were together, he loved moody lighting. It never bothered me then, but ever since we broke up, I’ve discovered a need to have a clear view of everything that surrounds me. Metaphorically speaking, I’ve been bitten by things I can’t see in the past—like my cheating husband—and I want to have a clear view of any danger ahead.
Even though there probably aren’t any unseen dangers in my apartment, there could be spiders. I’ve never been a fan. Andwhile I don’t necessarily believe in the boogeyman, I’ve watched enough sci-fi television shows and movies to be semi-convinced a random portal could open up and swallow me. While I may not be able to stop such an unforeseen occurrence, I’m pretty sure my odds of surviving are better if I see what’s coming.
For this reason, I’ve turned on the overhead and vanity lights before lighting the candles beside my bathtub. It is not in the least romantic, but since that isn’t the atmosphere I’m going for, it doesn’t matter.
I scoot down so the bubbles cover my shoulders before closing my eyes and reliving my first day as a teacher. I really enjoyed spending time with the kids. For the most part, they’re inquisitive and engaging. Not only that, but they’re also entertaining.Who knew it was possible to burp “The Star Spangled Banner”?
There’s a freshness about high school-aged kids that reminds me what it was like when my adult life hadn’t yet begun. When you’re a teenager, you don’t know what you want to do with the rest of your life, so anything is possible. What I wouldn’t give to go back and live just one day knowing my future was a blank slate.
I particularly like Leah Flynn. She’s spunky as well as studious. She had some great insight intoCatcher in the Ryethat caused me to really think. She pondered what the book would be like if, instead of being set in a post WWII timeframe, it took place in the future, post-apocalypse.
We discussed this in depth, and I realized I might have really enjoyed the book had it not taken place in the past. At any rate, it was refreshing to talk to someone who thought outside the box. By the time you’re an adult, most have traded open minds for a small cell where new ideas never grow. We hand over possibilities in exchange for a mortgage and life insurance. We trade potential for complacency.
I know this sounds harsh, especially because, had Brett and I stayed together, I would never have questioned any of this.Humans are wired to procreate. So much so that some of us will even break our marriage vows to make that happen.
Brett.I hear the name like a hiss in my brain. It’s like acid corroding a pristine copper pipe. I know I don’t love him anymore. I don’t even hate him. But I do resent the heck out of him for taking seven years of my life by claiming he would love me in sickness and health, only to find out he’s a lying sack of dog poop.
When the water starts to cool, I step out and wrap myself up in a fluffy pink robe. Going into the living room, I turn on all the lights before settling on the couch. It looks so much nicer with the cream-colored corduroy cover I bought for it. I can’t wait for brightly-colored throw pillows to come in.
Opening my laptop, I go onto the fake Instagram account I started so I could stalk Brett and his new wife, Holly. There are so many pictures of the four tiny humans they created that the page looks like the invasion of an infant army. I feel a combination of glee and melancholy at the sight.
Today’s post is of Brett and Holly taking their quads out for a walk. The stroller looks comical the way the seats are all in a straight line. It’s like the semi-truck of infant transport.
The canopy covers are all pink which means that in addition to the more basic trauma of having four babies at once, they’re in for a world of drama. I hope when the time comes, their periods sync together, and they really give Brett hell.Ah, to be a fly on the wall …
A close-up picture of the girls shows four pink cherubs sleeping soundly. The caption reads, “Angels sleep while Mom and Dad enjoy a date night.” I could vomit. I want to scream, “Wake up, babies! Give them hell!” But I know that will all happen in time. Social media is not only a great tool to try to convince others how perfect your life is, it’s also handy when you’re trying to convince yourself.
On that note, I click onto my own homepage and hit the + button to make a post of my own. Pulling my hair out of the ponytail holder, I fluff the roots before pinching my cheeks forsome color. Then I aim the lens at myself and snap a pic with my new apartment in the background.
I take twenty pictures before choosing the perfect one. I post it to the song “Stronger” by Britney Spears and caption it, “Living the sweet life.” I add a couple of heart emojis and hashtags like #peace and #metime (something Brett and Holly won’t enjoy for ages), before posting it.
Lorelai is the first to like it, and the phone rings immediately afterwards. “You moved out of your parents’ house!” she yells in my ear.
“I did.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I haven’t even told my parents yet,” I say. “I was going to tell you right afterward.”
“What do you mean you haven’t told your parents? Why haven’t you told them?”
Pulling the throw off the back of the couch, I wrap it around my legs. “They are surprisingly busy for two people who don’t even work anymore.”
