Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
River’s dark eyebrows furl together and I don’t miss the flash of hurt that passes over her features. But then she schools it away, lifting her chin in a defiant manner. “So make room.”
My nostrils flare at her blatantly disrespectful tone. “Excuse me?”
“I need this,” she tries again, this time softer. “Please.” Her unusual eyes find mine and this time I see plenty of stories locked up behind them. Stories I’m curious about. She’s had a painful past and I can relate.
“You can try out after school,” I concede. I’d planned on going to the gym after school to take out my anger on the weights. I didn’t think I’d be watching some Punky Brewster-looking girl try and jump hurdles with her short ass legs. But at least I can give her a fair chance and not feel guilty when I tell her she doesn’t make the cut.
“Thank you,” she says, beaming at me. “Thank you so much, Coach.”
I soften a little because she looks so fucking happy right now. “You can’t wear that.” I motion at whatever the fuck she’s wearing. A black tank top with a beaver on the front that says: Dam the Man. She’s also got on a pair of cutoff denim shorts that I know are against dress code but she gets away with it because she has black torn up leggings underneath. I think they call this style Homeless Chic. Or Emo. Whatever.
“I have other clothes,” she assures me. “What should I do until then? Mr. Polk already gave me my schedule. I’m in your class for first hour.”
I shoot him a nasty glare but then shrug it off. “You can stretch and then sit over there on that bench.”
She flicks her tongue out to lick her bottom lip in what seems like a nervous manner. A flash of silver catches my eye. My curiosity is piqued.
“You can go,” I bark out to Sean. “I’m sure you have students to guide.”
He bristles and I smirk. I watch him stride off the field as if his pants are on fire. When I turn back, she’s looking at me curiously. “Stretch, Brook.”
She huffs. “River.”
“Same thing. Go.”
“You don’t have to be an asshole,” she mutters before stomping off.
The girl can’t be any more than five foot three. A tiny little hurdle in my way for today. I ought to write her a detention slip for cussing but I am being an asshole. It’s not really her fault that I’m still pissed at being fucked over by her guidance counselor.
Caleb trots over to her and chatters with her as if she’s a shiny new toy that was given just to him. They look silly together. Caleb is tall and lanky, a little on the goofy side with a mop of sandy blonde hair.
And she looks…
Good. Too good.
She chooses that moment to bend down and touch her toes. I immediately realize she’s flexible as shit. Her body folds in half as if she’s been doing it her entire life. I wonder if she’s been trained in dance. Ballet, more specifically, because she does it with such practiced ease. Despite the black Doc Martens and Rainbow Fucking Brite socks, she’s graceful.
Why the hell does she wear that stupid shit?
She grabs her calf and brings her leg up against her body so that her foot is in the air above her head. Every person on the field, including me, is staring at her little show. It looks like a breeze could blow her away and yet she stands there on one leg with the other one high in the air, strong and steadfast. When I notice Caleb about to bust a nut in his shorts, I decide it’s far past time to shut this shit down.
“Emo,” I holler with my hands cupped at my mouth. “Enough with the stripper routine.”
She drops her foot to the ground and she sends me a scathing glare. “River.”
“Stretch. And not like that.”
She rolls her eyes but thankfully parks her little ass on the grass beside Caleb. Today is going to be a really long fucking day.
In addition to coaching track and field, I also teach AP pre-calculus. I prefer teaching over coaching but they needed someone to do both. So here I am. Six years at this school and I still look forward to the math classes I teach.
Everyone who walks in tries to find a seat up front because it’s the seat they’ll have for the rest of the year. Not that they are studious and willing. It’s because they’re smart little shits. My desk is in the back of the classroom. They know if they sit in the back, I’m more likely to see them texting or cheating. All of the desks fill up except for the one right in front of me. It remains empty and I wonder who it is that’s late. I looked at my roster briefly earlier and took note that I’d have a full period.