Be My Game Changer: A Sports Romance(11)

“I have my ways.” Thank you, Joe. This is far more enjoyable than showing up at the field hours early because it’s better than staring at the bare walls of my new house in the town I never thought I’d return to again.

“Yes, I’m sure you do. You proved your point. So you can leave now.”

“What point is that?” I ask curiously, wanting to know what she thinks I’m up to because I’m not even sure anymore.

“That you’re in control and can make my life miserable all because I wasn’t interested in your infantile game.” She walks over to me, leaning over the desk as she glares to me. “So, if you plan to get me fired, go ahead and try.”

Fired? “Why would I want to get you fired? I just wanted a tour from Ms. W, and apparently she’s the best teacher around—according to E.J.”

“You can’t be happy with the pictures and everyone making the both of us out to be a joke.”

“I’d say the joke’s on them.” Because I sure as hell don’t mind since it’s the reason Joe was able to find out who she is.

“Don’t you have a game or practice or, like, weight lifting or some sort of sporty thing—you know, somewhere else—that you need to get to?”

“I have time.” Plenty of time for her. I don’t have to be at the field for a few hours, and even so, I have a feeling I’d make the time even if I didn’t have it. Something doesn’t sit right about that with me. What is it about her? I want to get to know her. What am I looking for, though? And what happens when I find it?

“I don’t.”

“Avery, just a few minutes. Show me around the school, tell me a little bit about how you won over the class clown who is usually labeled the problematic student, and I’ll tell Principal Newman that you were the most gracious tour guide ever—even if you do hate me and try to shove me over the landing.”

“It’s a thought.” Her expression softens a bit as she moves behind her desk, grabbing keys and her phone out of the drawer. Softly she says, “I don’t hate you. I just don’t understand why you’re here.”

I don’t understand, either. But I hope to figure it—and her—out soon. Rising out of the cramped desk, I stretch and give her a smile. “Lead the way.”

The brief glimpse I got of her at ease is gone as she shakes her head and walks out of the classroom, locking the door behind us. Mechanically, she walks through the hallway, pointing out various things as she names them. Once we make our way around to the gym, she points at the double doorway, and I peek through the window. Coeds are playing basketball during PE—some three-on-three is happening on one side of the court and another group is practicing free throws on the other side while some others linger in the bleachers. “Looks like fun.”

“You said you grew up in Canaan Falls?”

“I did. But my dad made me go to a private school.”

“You act like it’s a bad thing.”

“It wasn’t. I just didn’t want to do anything he wanted me to do, solely because he wanted me to do it.”

“So, why do you play his sport then?”

For the first time in my life, I confess the truth out loud, admit where my original passion for the game ignited. “Because he didn’t want me to.”

She gives me a puzzled look. “But you’re playing for his team.”

“It was the organization that wanted to sign me. And at the end of the day, I just wanted to be on the mound again.” I take in a deep breath as I glance around the gymnasium hallway. “It started out as a way to piss him off. But I found being on the field was the only place I wanted to be. For me, not him.” My gaze meets hers to find curiosity brewing. “My father was a hell of a baseball player, but E.J. wasn’t wrong in his assessment of the man I knew off the field. And I’d appreciate it if you kept that to yourself.” Did I really admit that aloud to her? Shit, I’m unsure if I’m testing her or myself. Because I can count on one hand how many people know my true feelings about my father.

She gives me a knowing nod, her eyes locked on mine, and it’s in that moment that I know I don’t need to worry one bit that she’d betray my confidence or sell me out for some news story payout and a few minutes of fame.

Leading me down a corridor, she opens a door, and we enter the cafeteria. She points around, telling me that it used to be half the size before the addition was added on a few years ago.

“So, you attended high school here?” I fish for intel but only receive a nod as confirmation. She’s not so willing to share, but I hope I can change that eventually. “What made you decide to become a history teacher?”

Her eyes land on me, narrowing for a split second before she looks ahead and leads me out of the lunchroom. “I always wanted to be a teacher. I loved school. And as cliché as it sounds, I wanted to make a difference for the students like E.J. who I don’t see as problematic but who need some extra guidance in the right direction sometimes.”

“He’s a great kid.”

“He is.”

“He gave me a bit of advice.” I take in a deep breath, internally laughing at myself for being nervous as I say, “He told me I should ‘shoot my shot.’”

Avery’s response is to pick up her pace, but as we round the corner, I recognize the school’s entryway which is really close to the principal’s office—where she is heading with purpose.