Page 10

Allie

Rolling out of bed, I grab my thick terry cloth robe off the chair before running to the door. He’s in my small car when I open the door, waving frantically.

“What?” Austin frowns when he sees me, sticking his head out of the open window.

A laugh huffs through my nose, and I tiptoe on bare feet to the car. “Just wanted to tell you bye, I love you, have a good day. Did you get any breakfast?”

“Coach Outlaw always brings Krispy Kreme.”

My lips twist. “Will that hold you?”

Krispy Kremes are fried yeast donuts dipped in sugar glaze. They’re incredibly delicious, but I know how hard they work on the field. Donuts have zero protein.

He exhales, leaning his head against the seat. “I’ll get a hamburger for lunch. I gotta go, Mom. I’m going to be late.”

“Okay.” Reaching out, I give his forearm a squeeze, wondering when my little boy turned into this grumpy, muscled teenager. “I love you.”

His hazel eyes soften, and he nods, giving me the tiniest flash of how he used to be three short years ago. “Love you.”

“I’ll be in the library all day, but maybe I’ll walk over and watch you practice this afternoon?”

He nods, but his face tightens. “Okay.”

That response bothers me. Austin is usually excited for me to watch him play, and I’m worried this is about Levi Powell.

I don’t want to make him late, so I let it go for now, stepping away from the car so he can back out of the driveway.

Dylan will pick me up in an hour or so after she picks up Kimmie from Jack’s house. Then my little helper and I will go on to the library.

No maybes about it, I’m going to see what’s up this afternoon.

“How do you feel about poetry, Edward?” I stand behind the circulation desk examining the contents of a box of books donated from an estate sale.

He walks over and takes a thin volume from the stack of new books and reads the cover. “ The Collected Works of Mary Oliver .”

“Oh, let me see that one!” He hands it to me, and I open the cover, quickly scanning the table of contents. “They have it! Tell me what you think of this.”

I quickly flip the pages, and Kimmie climbs onto a chair beside me, standing and putting her hand on my shoulder so she can see.

“I like poetry!” she says.

“You do?” I glance at her. “What poetry do you like?”

“ Horton Hears a Who and the Grinch and Green Eggs and Ham …”

“Dr. Seuss is narrative poetry,” Edward says flatly.

“You still said poetry ,” Kimmie argues.

My lips twist, and I tilt my head side to side. “I think that counts.” I hand the small book to Edward. “Read this and tell me what you think—it’s called ‘Wild Geese.’”

Kimmie hops out of the chair beside me and goes over to the one beside him, climbing up and scanning the page as he reads silently.

Her little brow lowers, and she looks up at me. “Daddy says I have to be good. He says I have to do what you and Aunt Deedee say and not talk back.”

She’s referencing the first line of the poem, which is, You do not have to be good .

“It means perceived goodness,” Edward says. “Not doing what you’re told.”

“That’s right, Edward.” My smile is warm. “I’m surprised you picked up on that. It’s a sophisticated concept.”

“I like it.” He hands the book to me again. “I like how she describes the animals.”

“I have a place in my family!” Kimmie blinks up at me earnestly.

It’s the last line of the poem, the wild geese over and over announcing your place in the family of things …

“Yes, you do.” I walk over to put my arm around her. “You both have very important places in your family, and Mary Oliver says you also have a place in the world.”

Kimmie’s eyes go to the book again, and she nods. “So you shouldn’t be lonely.”

“That’s the hope.” I give her a squeeze, and she smiles proudly. “Now, let’s go check on your dad and the boys playing football. We’ll finish sorting these books tomorrow.”

My strategic brain is working hard on this new box of books. I’ve found high school kids to be surprisingly open to poetry. Or maybe it’s not so surprising, considering how emotional and fiery the age can be.

“Maybe we can have a favorite verse contest,” I think aloud. “Or maybe we can combine it with art or music.”

Edward and Kimmie continue into the hall, and I turn to survey the large media center once more before locking the doors. School could start tomorrow, and we’d be ready.

The “blind date with a book” shelves are in the left corner, and large, flatscreen computers are arranged on tables down the center of the room. Perhaps the right wall can be our poetry area.

A smile curls my lips, and I think Edward is right. It’s a welcoming space, and students like to hang out in the media center during lunch and after school. It might be a low paycheck, but I get a lot of satisfaction from this job.

Kimmie takes my hand, skipping beside me as we walk out to the football field where the boys are practicing. It smells like fresh-mowed grass, it’s so hot, but thankfully there’s a breeze. Back home in New Orleans, the hot, wet air doesn’t move.

“I’ll tell Daddy about the wild geese,” Kimmie says, skipping along beside me. “Maybe we can read it at bedtime after Dogzilla .”

“That sounds fun.” I picture the two of them reading together at bedtime. How adorably swoony is that?

A sharp whistle draws our attention, and the noise of plastic pads crashing greets us as we approach the field.

My smile fades when I notice Austin isn’t in the quarterback spot as they line up. The new boy Levi is there, and Austin’s expression this morning makes sense to me now. My stomach sinks, and I hate to think Jack would demote him. After all their hard work?

“Uncle Grizzlaay!” Kimmie takes off running to her oversized uncle, and he bends down to scoop her onto his back. “Hey, Peanut. How’s it going? Hey, Al. You good?”

He lifts his chin at me, and I do my best to hide my feelings .

“Yep, all good!” My voice sounds just the opposite, so I deflect. “Hey, what do you think about giving some lucky kid a ride in your patrol car?”

His dark brow lowers. “I don’t drive a patrol car—just my truck. Why?”

That’s a fail. “I’m looking for donations, and I thought it would be a fun prize.”

“Prize for what?”

“Reading contests. I have a bunch of different activities going—it’s to get the kids excited about reading. All the local businesses donate stuff.”

“Dang, Allie, I wish you’d been the librarian when I was in school.” He chuckles. “Although, it probably would’ve just made me mad when I never won anything.”

Garrett recently found out he has dyslexia, but instead of being upset, he was relieved. He said it explained why he always struggled in school when it was so easy for his siblings.

“When you learned to read, did they teach you phonics?”

“That’s when they sound out the letters?” I nod, and he shakes his head. “No.”

“Keep that in mind if Gigi has trouble reading. It makes a huge difference.”

The boys break, and we return to watching them practice.

Levi falls back, scanning the players as Austin runs straight down the field. The new boy fires a pass to my son. It’s smooth and low, and Austin catches it easily, running it straight into the end zone.

“Phew.” Garrett shakes his head, clapping. “It’s hard to top that.”

My chest is tight, and I look up at him. “Is Jack making Levi the starting quarterback now?”

Garrett’s jaw flexes as he studies the field. “I don’t know, but whatever he does, he won’t make the decision lightly. It’s a hard time of year.”

A short, sharp whistle tweets, and my eyes go to Jack standing on the sidelines. The brim of his cap is low, and his expression gives nothing away. He doesn’t smile. He only waits as the two boys jog to where he’s standing.

They have a brief chat, and the boys nod before returning to the field, this time with Austin in the quarterback position.

“What’s he doing?” a male voice in the bleachers retorts loud enough for us to hear down here on the sidelines.

My shoulders tense, and I have a feeling I know whose voice it is. Garrett shifts his stance, crossing his arms, and when I glance up at him, he’s making the same face as his brother—tight-lipped, jaw set, eyes on the boys.

It’s a mask of focus, giving nothing away.

Sadie Duck walks up holding Kimmie’s hand. She’s a senior like Austin, and she’s on the varsity cheerleading squad. Her cousin Salina works with me as a waitress at Cooters & Shooters, so I’ve met her a few times. She’s a pretty girl with a bouncing blonde ponytail and big brown eyes.

“Hi, Ms. Allie.” She smiles politely before turning her attention to the field.

“Go, Aussie, go!” Kimmie bounces on her toes beside us, kicking her leg up like I’ve seen the cheerleaders do.

Then she jumps up and down, pumping her arms over her head and screaming as loud as she can. Only, it’s less like a cheerleader’s yell and more like the kind of noise you’d make when someone is attacking you.

“Dang, Peanut,” Garrett growls at her. “You hollered like you saw a gator.”

Sadie leans forward with a laugh, taking a knee to hug Jack’s daughter. “Good energy, KJ. You’ll make the squad for sure when you get bigger.”

“I’ll be the best cheerleader.” Kimmie nods like she already knows. “I’ve got the legs for it.”

Sadie’s brown eyes cut up to mine, and we both bite our lips to keep from laughing.

“Okay!” is all she says .

The boys break, and Levi rolls away from a lineman, running around the outside of the field and down, following a similar path to the one Austin cut earlier.

Clasping my hands, I hold them in front of my mouth as I watch him. He doesn’t seem to be hustling as hard as Austin did to get clear, and when Austin scans the field, he doesn’t have any passing options.

Two big guys surround my son, but they don’t sack him. They put their hands on his shoulders, and Jack tweets the whistle.

“That’s a sack,” Garrett explains. “They’re not going to nail him in practice. No point hurting our best player.”