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“How was your day?” I ask as Harper slides into my car. I was the first at the pickup line today since I was there for my meeting.

I still can’t believe what that woman said to me. The fucking nerve on her.

And I refuse to admit that maybe she’s right. I refuse to admit that her resources might actually help me, particularly given the fact that I have an entire playbook I need to memorize.

Which, by the way, magically appeared on my tablet Tuesday morning along with a text from our head coach, Coach Thompson, telling us about a meeting on Friday night at the Complex where we get to meet the new OC if we’re in town.

I flipped through some of the plays, and Josh was right.

It’s fucking complex.

Or maybe it’s just my processing speed or whatever that awful woman said that my kid has problems with.

The assistant principal stopped me on my way out and apologized for Hartley’s behavior, and maybe she’ll get fired because she was such a bitch to me.

Or maybe I’m overreacting. I don’t want her to get fired…not when she’s an ally for my kid. But hearing the painful truths out of her mouth made me take a hard look at myself, and I hate that I’m twenty-eight and this is the first time anyone has recognized a problem in me. And for her to see it so goddamn easily…it hurt.

I don’t want to look like some dumb jock to her, and I’m not sure why I care what she thinks.

So she’s hot.

She’s also cruel.

So she’s good at her job.

She could also use a healthy dose of good manners.

After the assistant principal apologized for the reading teacher’s behavior, I sat in my car and sulked. I asked my phone to tell me more about reading processing deficits, and as the phone read an article to me, I realized that yeah…Harper’s issues probably did come from me.

And I hate that a reading disability is what I passed down to my kid.

Couldn’t be my athletic abilities or my sense of humor. Had to be something negative.

Although maybe she has the good things, too. She’s smart and artistic like her mother. She’s kind and she’s sassy. I love her even though I just met her, and I hope she knows that. I hope she can feel that. I hope she’s passionate about the things she loves, and I hope I’m doing right by her.

Those are the things I thought about while I sat in my car for an hour, and then I stuck my sign in the window with Harper’s name on it and the evil line caller called her over.

“Well, getting picked up first is a first,” she says, and I offer a chuckle. “How’d your meeting with my teachers go?”

“Fine,” I say cautiously. One of the things I didn’t do while I waited in the car for an hour was come up with how to address all of this with her. I should have, but instead I just wing it. “They said you struggle with reading a little.”

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”

I laugh in earnest this time.

“Well, what do they want to do about it?” she asks.

“They want you to practice reading at least fifteen minutes a night, and they said you can have extra time on assignments and tests if you need it,” I say. They might’ve said some other stuff, too, but it’s on them to provide the services.

“Okay.” She’s quiet as she says it.

“Hey, we’ll make it fun, okay? Like maybe we can find something on YouTube where someone reads a book to you in funny voices and you can follow along with the words.”

“Can’t you just read to me in funny voices?” she asks.

“I don’t really do funny voices. But I’ll sit next to you and watch,” I offer rather than telling her that I also struggle with reading. I’m not sure why I leave it out. It seems like something we could bond over.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“I want to hear your funny voices.”

“Like this?” I ask, and I mimic what sounds like a female pig.

She laughs. “Yes! Read to me like that tonight, okay?”

I sigh. “We’ll see.”

I don’t really have any kids’ books on hand, so we swing by the bookstore on the way home and I let her pick out whatever looks interesting. She grabs one about some club for babysitters and one about unicorns and tells me that’s what we’re reading tonight, and I think about looking through it ahead of time, but I don’t get a chance.

I struggle through the first few pages with her after dinner, and then—just like her, apparently—I get frustrated. “Maybe that Hartley woman was all wrong and we just need to find you a new school,” I mutter.

“No!” she cries with way more emotion than I was expecting.

“No?”

She shakes her head, and she looks to be near tears. “I like it there. I’ve got Bella, and she has friends and they’re my friends now too, and I have Ms. Miller and Ms. Hartley. I hated school before, but at this place I feel like they’re actually trying to help me. You can’t make me leave there, please don’t make me leave!” By the time she’s done, she’s sobbing.

“Okay, okay,” I say, holding up both hands. “You can stay.”

I read a little more to her from the unicorn book, but I’m just focusing on saying the words, not on retaining anything I’m reading. I’m probably supposed to quiz her on what we just read, but I wouldn’t be able to tell her if she was right, so instead once the fifteen minute timer goes off, I stop reading.

A short while later, I tell her to go take her shower, and while she’s in the shower, a text comes through on my phone from Evan.

Evan: I heard everyone on offense has a meeting with the new OC tomorrow. Harper is welcome to have a sleepover with Bella if you need somewhere for her to go.

A sense of relief washes over me as my phone reads the text to me. I like Trudy and Bella, and I already trust Evan.

Me: That would be great if you’re sure you don’t mind.

Evan: Bring her by around four and we’ll feed her dinner and let the girls have a good time.

Me: I can’t thank you enough.

When she’s out of the shower, I say, “I have some exciting news.”

“What is it?” she asks, a little smile playing at her lips.

“You were invited for a sleepover tomorrow night at Bella’s. Does that sound fun?”

Her eyes light up. “Really? It’s my first sleepover!”

“Really. Bring your iPad and if you need me for anything, you can message me and it’ll come straight to my phone. Okay?”

She nods, and I can see the excitement in the way she bounces around a little. “I can’t wait!”

I get her to bed, and then I open my tablet again to review some of the plays ahead of tomorrow’s meeting.

It’s a constant struggle as I try to understand what I’m looking at along with the name it’s paired with.

It’s not a reading disability. I’m just slower at understanding what I’m looking at because I’m being thorough.

She isn’t right.

I don’t want her to be right.

I refuse to rely on her.

I will not rely on her.

And I will not picture her face when I’m masturbating later, either. Not again, anyway.