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“Indeed.”
“Given this rather sudden change in…circumstances, I’d like to offer you an apology and rescind your suspension. Of course, we’ll also issue an official statement absolving you of any wrongdoing and pledging our full support to both you and your curriculum. As long as we’re all…cooperative, of course.”
“Of course.” She arched an eyebrow. “Speaking of cooperation, I’d like a written assurance about the drama club’s new and improved budget for next year, as well as a confirmation that it will have the school’s full support and sponsorship.”
Bob opened his mouth, then closed it and nodded.
“I’d also like to discuss the creation of a budget committee that will oversee the dispersal of funds in a manner that is fair and equitable forallstudents,” Grace continued. “And one that has proper safeguards in place to prevent reallocation and misuse.”
He nodded again. “Call my office to set up an appointment, Miss Berry. We have a lot to discuss.”
“Yes, we do. One more thing. I want to be reinstated to the Outreach Committee. I believe a partnership with rural schools will benefit both Bliss Cove High and students from more disenfranchised areas. I’d also like to work with local businesses to make it a community endeavor.”
“Outreach Committee.” Bob pursed his lips. “I believe the chairperson was planning to step down next year. You might want to consider taking her position.”
“I’d be delighted. I’ll put that on the agenda for our meeting.”
Bob studied her for a second, then gave a chuckle of either disbelief or admiration. “See you later this week, Miss Berry.”
“Yes, you will, Bob.”You craven, plum-plucked moldwarp.
She had the grace not to say that last bit aloud.
* * *
Lincoln returned a few days later, bearing a folder jam-packed with lists, plans, and arrangements to facilitate his move to Bliss Cove. He and Jake set up a schedule to both scout filming locations and start theTruthscreenplay, though Lincoln made it clear he wanted the work to fit Jake’s vision, not his.
Todd Oliver stopped by Grace’s classroom to tell her that he and his parents were meeting with a school counselor to discuss his senior year plans and summer classes to make up his academic work.
He wasn’t going to return to the football team in the fall, a decision his parents were working to accept in light of everything that had happened. Grace genuinely wished him all the best in his future.
The school year ended with its usual happy, bittersweet excitement. Classrooms held farewell parties, seniors graduated, yearbooks were distributed and signed, and awards were handed out. Soon the corridors were empty of student commotion, with only open lockers and bits of paper serving as evidence of another year gone.
Before summer school started, Grace began groundwork on the outreach program by talking to Grant about his food education organization, to Bee about the Bookmobile’s participation, and to other area schools about their possible interest.
At Lincoln’s suggestion, she asked her father one evening if he’d be willing to help put together a list of rural schools they could visit to learn about their most pressing issues. That would serve as a foundation for both in-person and online networking and resource sharing.
“I could do that,” Ray responded with a shrug.
Grace hadn’t seen that light in his eyes since long before their loss of Berry Farms.
When she got home, Lincoln was sprawled out on the sofa, scrolling on his phone. With his dark hair rumpled and messy, dressed in worn jeans and a soft blue T-shirt scrunched up to reveal his smooth, sculpted abs, he was so strikingly beautiful that her breath caught.
“Hey.” He looked up, his eyebrows lifting as he pushed to his feet. “Didn’t hear you come in.”
He crossed the room in a few strides, reaching to take the heavy book bag still dangling from her shoulder. He bent to press his lips against hers. “I was just checking your summer school schedule.”
“Literally, or is that a new euphemism for something sexy?”
“Literally, butyouare always ‘something sexy.’” He grinned and kissed her nose. “I’m going to give you a presentation.”
“I’ll bet you are.” She slid her hand to the front of his jeans.
“Hold that thought.” Taking her hand, he led her to the sofa and told her to sit. Then he picked up a photo of a Tudor-style inn and held it up. “This is the White Swan.”
“Pretty.”
“It’s in Stratford-upon-Avon and dates to the mid-thirteenth century. Legend has it that Shakespeare often visited the tavern back in the day.”
