The "What If" Guy (4 page)

“He’ll be a Lancer, too. How wonderful.” She referred to Palouse Plains the same way that someone who graduated with honors from Harvard would proudly claim their school.

“Right.” I glanced over the registration forms. “I have his transcripts here.” I handed them to her, then nudged my son. “El, Miss Price was the secretary when I went here.”

Elliott’s eyes went wide. “Whoa.”

I gave him a stern look. “This is my son, Elliott.”

“Elliott…?” She waited for a last name, her pen poised.

“Cole,” I said, confirming there was no father in the picture. That would make for some good gossip once I’d walked away.

“Of course, dear.”

She handed a schedule to Elliott, giving him another jack-o-lantern smile. “You’ve already missed first period.”

“Who does he have for homeroom?” I asked.

“Mrs. Holbrook.”

“Mrs. Holbrook is still around? Ugh.”

A flash of panic shot across Elliott’s face.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be great,” I said. “What class comes after that?”

Elliott looked at the paper. “Pre-algebra.”

“That’s with Mr. Smith,” Miss Price said. “You remember him, don’t you? He’s the one who sings and dances. He did a nice rappy thing for your generation, if I recall.”

“Rappy?” Elliott snorted.

I squeezed his shoulder, warning him to reign in the sarcasm. “He’s still here, too? Are all of my former teachers still around?”

She lifted one of her wrinkled fingers to her chin. “Goodness no. Mr. Lincoln passed away ten years ago.”

“Did he get shot in a theater?” Elliott asked, without blinking.

Miss Price pursed her lips. “He had a coronary. Took him out, right in the parking lot.”

“Oh, lord,” I gasped.

Miss Price spouted off a few more names, my heart dropping with the mention of each one. After a moment, she patted my hand. “Anyway, all of us are awfully glad you’re back.”

“Are things the same as they were when I was here?” I asked.

Miss Price blinked a few times. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…”

I looked at Elliott and pointed to the nearby trophy case. “Go check out the trophies, hon. They’re pretty cool.”

He scuffled over to the glass case, muttering, “I’m not two, you know.”

I turned to Miss Price, who stared at me like a dimly lit bulb. “Okay. I’m going to be honest. When I went here, I didn’t fit in.”

“Oh, you were a good girl.”

“I was a good girl, but I didn’t fit in. I was a geek. I painted and drew instead of trying out for cheerleading. The teachers didn’t know what to do with me. Nobody knew where I fit in, so they either ignored me or poked fun at me. It was miserable.”

Guilt weighed on my shoulders as I talked to Miss Price, but I pressed forward. Elliott had experienced so much change over the past two days, it broke my heart to have to enroll him in a tiny school that didn’t offer the classes he was used to.

“Elliott’s creative, artistic, musical. He won’t blend in here. He doesn’t play sports. I don’t think he knows how to shoot a basket. Is he going to feel left out like I did? Are there any programs that will interest him?”

Miss Price stared at me for a full ten seconds before offering me a reassuring nod. “Things have changed. Three years ago, we started a nice, after school arts and crafts program. We got a new social studies teacher this year who has started all sorts of clubs. Activities that don’t involve sports. Like exploratory music and art history.”

Art history? At Palouse Plains?

Miss Price blushed, her face turning the same purplish shade as her Halloween sweater. “The new teacher—he’s quite nice to look at, too. Don’t mean to embarrass you, dear.”

I motioned for Elliott to come back. “Why would that embarrass me?”

“Well, he’s single.” She giggled. “And you’re single.”

My cheeks heated. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not interested in being set up with the new teacher.”

She patted her teased hairdo, and clicked her tongue. “Rumor has it, he’s going through a divorce. He apparently left the big city to escape the pain of it all. I can’t even imagine. But you see there? He’s from a big city, you’re from a big city.”

I mustered a serious look. “No fixing me up. I don’t want to date anyone here.”

Miss Price handed Elliott a bright pink, cardboard square with “Hall Pass” printed on it. “Here’s your hall pass.”

For one hall?

“Go to Mr. T’s social studies class,” Miss Price said. “He’ll show you where to go after that.”

Elliott smirked. “Mr. T?”

“That’s what the kids call him. You know, like the muscular man on that TV show?
I pity the fool,
and all that gold jewelry?”

I swallowed back laughter. “Right.”

“Autumn, you know the way around. Why don’t you take Elliott to room five?” She smiled crookedly at us, and gestured down the hall.

I picked up my purse and hitched it on my shoulder. “Five. Got it.”

While Elliott opened his locker and dropped off his belongings, I looked at my reflection in the trophy case. Thank goodness I was a few hundred miles away from any place important, because I looked like hell. Day three of the dry weather in Fairfield, and my hair had enough static electricity in it to jump start a school bus.

Since most of my nice clothes, not to mention all of our knickknacks and furniture, were being stored in a friend’s attic back in Seattle, I’d rushed around the house in a flurry that morning, looking for something to wear. When I’d decided to move back to Fairfield, I’d realized that my compact car was only going to hold the bare necessities, plus Elliott’s giant cello case, and since my hometown wasn’t exactly the hub of fashion, I’d decided on bringing mostly casual clothes. This morning, I’d slid into a pair of jeans and the first shirt on the top of my suitcase, which was a tee with
Fake it ’til ya make it
printed on the front
.

I knocked on the door of room five. Elliott briefly slipped his hand into mine and whispered, “Love you, Mom.”

I squeezed his hand. “Love you, too, buddy.”

“Come on in,” a male voice called.

The classroom looked and felt exactly the same way it had when I was a kid, including the judgmental stares from the students. With his back to the class, the teacher scribbled a makeshift map on the whiteboard at the front of the room. All of the students’ eyes shifted to Elliott. Some looked at him with interest, but others already glared with disapproval. I wished that El hadn’t been wearing his yellow and black checkered vest and a bow tie when I’d thundered down the stairs to find him waiting at the front door, tapping his foot. What had been stylish in his funky Seattle school was a blinking neon sign declaring
I’m an oddball
at a small country school like this.

“Um, hi?” Elliott’s voice cracked. “I’m Elliott Cole, and I’m, uh, new.”

Pride swelled in my chest, and I beamed at my son. I leaned down and whispered in his ear. “You’re awesome, El. I love you.”

He gave me a stiff nod. “Thanks.”

“Welcome, Elliott, it’s good to have you.” The teacher spoke in a low, gravelly voice.

I straightened and smiled at the teacher. “Thanks…”

All the oxygen left my lungs, and I stood paralyzed. The class became silent. Elliott’s teacher and I stared at each other, dumbfounded—mouths open, hands half-extended, eyes round and wide like headlights set on bright. My insides vibrated like the engine of an idling grain truck. All in response to the teacher, who gawked at me with what appeared to be the same mixture of shock and disbelief.

Elliott’s teacher was Henry Tobler.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered.

I regretted my words the moment they came out. I should have said something eloquent or profound. Something that would have made seeing each other for the first time in over a decade less awkward. As if that were remotely possible.

Henry’s eyes, that rainy-day shade of gray, narrowed, and a line formed between his eyebrows. “I work here.”

I couldn’t help staring. Henry looked like a teacher, but no teacher I’d ever had at Palouse Plains. He wore a grayish-blue, button-down shirt, untucked, and a worn, olive-colored sport coat. His wavy, brown hair was cut shorter than I remembered. Even at ten o’clock in the morning, he sported a sexy five o’clock shadow that made my stomach twist. I remembered those whiskers well.

He still resembled the young man I’d made eyes at across the lecture hall during college, so long ago—his face chiseled and rugged-looking. Back then, a perpetual smile had teased at one side of his mouth. Now, I saw no hint of that smile. But his eyes still revealed his emotions, no matter how hard he tried to hide them. I wished he’d outgrown that, because his eyes screamed
I’m not happy to see you.

“Y-you’re a teacher now?” I stammered.

“I’ve always been a teacher.”

“Right, but…”

I opened and closed my mouth two or three times like a deranged fish. Henry looked so good. He wore the years well, whereas I looked like I’d been working underneath cars with very little time left for grooming for the past thirteen years. Yeah. I looked that bad.

I slapped at a strand of hair that had fallen across my forehead. I couldn’t believe that I was facing my long-lost love for the first time in years in Fairfield, of all places.

“You were… Your degree was… Art history.”

A hint of pain flashed in Henry’s eyes. “I changed my major.”

Elliott shifted his weight between feet. “I take it you guys know each other?”

I started. I’d forgotten about Elliott. I put my arm around him and tried to smile. “Yup. El, this is Henry…er, Mr. Tolber.”

Elliott looked around self-consciously. “Geez, Mom, chill. I already
know this is Mr. Tobler.”

“Of course you do. Sorry. I just… He’s um….”

Henry stood frozen in place, staring at me as if I were a ghost.

I trembled, struggling to regain composure. “He’s an old friend.”

Elliott squinted at me for a few beats, then turned to Henry. “I’m sorry. She’s… uh, wired this morning. Where do you want me to sit?”

Henry’s mouth remained set in a line. “There’s an open seat by the window. Go ahead and grab a textbook off of my desk.”

“Okay. Mom, you can go.” Elliott bumped my toe with his.

I waved at him and backed toward the door. “All right. Have a good day… And you,” I said to Henry, “have a good, um, class.”

“Yes.” Henry nodded stiffly.

I misjudged and backed into a bookshelf, ramming my butt into a sharp corner. A shockwave of pain shot through my right cheek, and several encyclopedias tumbled onto the floor.

The kids laughed. Elliott sat at his desk, then covered his face with his hands.

“I’m so sorry.” I bent to pick up the books, hot tears of embarrassment pricking my eyes.

Henry stepped closer and reached for one of the encyclopedias. “Here, just let me—”

“No, I’ve got—”

I stood, bringing an armload of the thick books up as I did.
Whack.
The books collided with Henry’ nose. Bright-red blood instantly flooded all over the “G” encyclopedia and the sleeve of my shirt.

“Argh.” He grabbed for the box of tissues on his desk, leaving a trail of blood droplets on the floor.

The kids gasped, and Elliott slowly laid his head on his desk. One girl in the back of the room grabbed her stomach. “I’m gonna puke, Mr. T.”

I dropped the encyclopedias onto the desk of a very pale-looking boy, and he shrank from the bloody mess.

“Oh, shit,” I muttered.

The students giggled.

“She said
shit
,” a kid in the back of the room whispered to his friends.

They giggled more.

I pointed my bloody finger at them. “Don’t repeat that. It’s a bad word. I made a bad choice in choosing to use that word. What I meant was—”

A girl with braces grinned smartly. “You’re sorry for breaking Mr. Tobler’s nose?”

“Yes.” I pressed my lips together tightly.

The braces girl said, “Want me to go get the nurse, Mr. T?”

Henry whirled around with a softball-sized wad of tissue pressed against his nose, drops of blood trailing down the front of his shirt. “My node id not broken.” His voice was muffled by the tissue, and I winced. “I broke id playing Frisbee in college. When I get hit in the nose now, id bleeds. I don’t need the nurse.”

“Frisbee?” The boy sitting next to Elliott frowned.

Henry glared at me from behind the bloody wad. “Id was extreme Frisbee.”

Elliott caught my eye and mouthed the words,
Please leave now.

“I… I should go.” I wiped my hands on my jeans and walked toward the door. “Unless there’s something I can do?”

“No,” Henry said, “just go.”

I was pretty sure that every one of Elliott’s classmates thought I was clinically insane by the time I finally left their classroom. I bolted to the parking lot as quickly as my legs could take me.

I’d just seen my “what if” guy for the first time in thirteen years. I’d busted his nose with an encyclopedia and made him bleed profusely in front of a classroom of twenty twelve-year-olds.

I wanted to die.

Chapter Three

My hands shook as I drove the six miles of country roads back to Fairfield. Spatters of Henry’s blood stained the front of my T-shirt, and every time I looked at the splotches of red on the white cotton, my throat closed and I nearly gagged. Not out of repulsion, but utter embarrassment.

I’d just clocked Henry Tobler in the face with an encyclopedia.

Just thinking about it made me cry. I whizzed past the
Welcome to Fairfield
sign and wiped my eyes on the hem of my shirt. I needed a friend. When we’d lived in Seattle, I’d spent ninety-nine percent of my time with Elliott. I didn’t have close friends that I could turn to now that I’d experienced a nightmare out here in the middle of the sticks.

My encounter with Holly at Fisk’s Fine Foods flitted through my mind, and I glanced at an almost-forgotten plate of homemade cookies that I had put on the back seat. Seeing Holly had made me realize how much I’d missed her over the years. I remembered the two of us giggling, making prank calls while my father slept. The nights we snuck out to meet Cody and his friends to go night fishing. All of those unanswered phone calls when Holly had tried to reach me before her wedding. The way her voice had shuddered as she’d cried into my answering machine.