Page 45 of The Lies Always Told (Baker Oaks #4)

TWENTY

MR. ALBOOTY

Growing Sideways by Noah Kahan I didn’t even realize I drank so much.

I need to stop. This is so stupid. I acted so stupid, and over what?

A man? A man you’re in love with, you idiot.

A man who has shown you colors in life you didn’t know existed.

I pull the rest of the contents out of the bag.

The carefully wrapped croissant makes me practically moan without even touching it.

Buttery and toasty warm deliciousness sounds like exactly what I need.

The envelope is sealed, my name written on it.

I open it to find two small red and blue packets, each containing two ibuprofen, and a card folded in half.

When I open it, I see it’s a handwritten note addressed to me.

Hey Trouble,

You asked me yesterday to grovel, and I guess I should start reading some of the romance novels Allie loves, because I don’t think I know how.

However, for you, I’m willing to learn. Dare I say, I can start by sending you breakfast, coffee, and some medicine for what I assume would be the headache you have today?

If I’m out of line, forgive me. If I’m on point, I’m sorry you’re hurting, and I hope this helps, if just a little. I would recommend drinking water too.

Con carino,

Your DLS (hoping to be more than this, though)

PS: I know you prefer iced coffee, but something tells me hot coffee is better suited for headaches. Comfort and all.

I groan, closing the letter and sliding it back into the envelope. It’s unbelievable how he knows me this well when I thought he didn’t know me at all. He’s been showing you how much he loves you with more than words. I shake my head, wishing the little voice away.

“Everything okay?” Ben asks from the other side of the dim-lit teacher’s lounge.

I forgot he was here. I forgot where I was, actually.

I hate this feeling, this discombobulated feeling I get when I think about Gus, when I’m near Gus.

He makes me feel giddy and irrationally emotional; I don’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing. Both? Maybe both.

“Yeah. See you later, Ben.” I step out of the teacher’s lounge, coffee in hand.

“Ms. Thompson, are you free right now?” Bella asks, catching up to me in the hallway as I’m speed-walking to my office.

“It depends. Are you looking for ears, skipping, or advice?” I’m trying to teach these kiddos that I’m not always available just because they want to skip class.

I’m happy to be listening ears when needed, but I also have to draw a line so they don’t think that because I’m young, they can get away with this.

“Where’s your hall pass?” I hear Mr. Alberry ask.

“Here.” Bella shows him, and he smiles at me with his gooey gross smile.

“I meant yours.”

“Ha, very funny, Mr. Alberry. I work here now.”

“I still can’t believe it. Little Thompson walking around, counseling children. It was just the other day you were walking these halls yourself.” He continues walking and laughing, the stupid laugh that sounds like a whole damn fart.

“So funny, Mr. Albooty,” I mumble under my breath, and Bella chuckles. “Don’t repeat that.” Winning at this counseling thing for sure.

“He was your teacher too?” she asks, waiting by the door. Students are not allowed in the teacher’s lounge, but she clearly wants to talk.

“Bella, are you trying to skip class? ”

“No, I promise. I want to talk to you about something. Not school related, but I don’t know who else to talk to.” Sweet girl. Okay.

“Talk to me,” I tell Bella as we fall in pace walking toward my office.

“You know my mom is pregnant, right?”

“I do know that, congratulations! Are you excited?”

She stops walking and looks around before shaking her head. “Does that make me a terrible big sister? A terrible daughter?”

“Oh sweetie, no, it doesn’t. It just makes you human.

Come on in. Let’s sit down.” I use my key fob to unlock my door and hold it open for her to step inside.

This office used to look like an adult’s therapy corner: one brown couch in a white room with a desk in the corner.

No wonder none of these kids wanted to come in here.

Now, it looks cozy, at least in my opinion.

A smaller couch, two bean bag chairs, a basket full of floor cushions and blankets, low, warm lights with fairy lights framing the room, and earthy colors that dance together in a perfect blend.

I have a small desk with paper, pencils, and some art supplies for the kids who need an artistic outlet.

A sensory corner is available, as well as a reading corner.

I have some books that vary in genre and topics, and I find myself sometimes just sitting there and reading or journaling, escaping into a fantasy world when the world outside is too much.

That is the only corner in this school where I face real feelings about myself; other than that, this is all about them, the kids.

I let students pick what area they want to use before I join them.

Bella often prefers the floor, and this time is no different.

She takes her Vans off before walking over to the foam rug to lie down, her face up at the ceiling, her eyes closed.

I sit on the bean bag closer to her, take another sip of my coffee, and ask what I usually do before starting, “Am I listening, or am I advising today?” I want them to know I’m here to do both, but sometimes, we need someone to just listen without interrupting. That’s my job too.

“Both. Let me talk, and if I ask questions, you can answer, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay.”

“I’m happy for my parents. They’ve been wanting a baby forever, but my mom has struggled to get pregnant and has lost some babies too.

It destroys her every time, and I don’t blame her.

That is sad, you know? My dad is her rock.

He’s always there supporting her, making sure she’s okay, but after she goes to sleep, he goes to the living room and prays or cries.

Sometimes both. They want this baby so bad, but what if she doesn’t make it?

I’m scared for them more than I’m happy for them.

I don’t want to lose them, and I feel like that’s what will happen if she doesn’t make it.

” She lets out a breath. This sweet eleven-year-old girl is full of kindness and compassion, full of love for her parents, with so much weight on her shoulders.

“What if who doesn’t make it?”

“The baby. I have a feeling the baby is a girl, so I call her a she. My mom refuses to call her anything but the baby. My dad doesn’t even acknowledge her. I mean, he does rub my mom’s belly, but it’s so different this time. I think he’s scared too.”

“It is scary, and you have the right to feel scared too. Your feelings are valid, and you can be both scared and happy. It’s totally okay if, right now, you’re mostly just scared. Have you talked to them about this?”

She shakes her head no, but she doesn’t say anything else.

“Do you want to talk to them about this?”