Weathering Stormy Read online

  Chapter Two

  “Mr. Knight, please have a seat.” Principal Flint nodded to the faux leather chair across from his expansive mahogany desk while extending a big, meaty club of a hand.

  “Good to meet you, sir,” Brylan replied while taking in his potential employer. Arliss Flint wasn’t quite what he had pictured, and he couldn’t help being a little intimidated by the guy. Towering over Brylan’s six foot frame, Flint was every bit of 240 lbs., with wide shoulders and a thick neck. If memory served, he was a former college football star. Aside from the protruding gut and the severely receding hairline, the guy certainly looked the part.

  Brylan’s nervousness festered under the scrutiny of the man’s gaze. Heat crept up his neck and he could swear that someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the room. He straightened his tie and tugged at his blazer, cursing his hands for refusing to be still.

  Mr. Flint raised an eyebrow and peered at him over his thick-rimmed eyeglasses. “You alright, Mr. Knight?”

  Humiliation seeped out of his pores. “Yes, sir. I’m fine.”

  “Well. Let’s skip the formalities and get to the point, shall we?”

  Brylan gave a slow, apprehensive nod. “Sure.”

  The big man leaned back, his chair squeaking in protest, as he laced his fingers together over his large belly. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, our last history instructor was dismissed for some rather…disturbing behavior,” he began. Brylan nodded again. Anyone within a hundred mile radius of Yaupon, Texas knew about the high school’s assistant football coach slash history teacher who got caught with his pants down. Literally. The dumbass made a cliché of himself by romancing the students. Two of them, actually. Both of them cheerleaders, and one of them happened to be the granddaughter of the school’s superintendent. Brylan wasn’t too sure about the particulars of it all, but he’d been told that it was the biggest scandal the town had seen in decades.

  “I have to say,” continued Flint, “I’m a little apprehensive of hiring someone so young. Personally, I would have gone with a female instructor after our latest debacle; however, I need a quick replacement, and you already have a little experience from subbing from time to time. Our faculty here thinks very highly of you.”

  He let out a breath and picked up a manila folder with Brylan’s name handwritten across the top of it. “Your resume says you ranked in the top ten percent of your class at Sam Houston State. I understand that you were a pretty fair ball player too,” he said with a little more enthusiasm than he started with.

  “I was, yes. But I haven’t played in a long time.”

  “Yeah. Damned shame about your shoulder.”

  A shame indeed. Playing professional baseball was all Brylan had ever wanted to do ever since he was big enough to hold a bat. But all those hopes and dreams vanished after a game of tackle football with his brothers. Yeah. Football. In addition to the torn ligaments and tendons in Brylan’s shoulder, it had also ripped out a chunk of Brylan’s soul.

  His father’s voice drifted through his head: “You know…you had about a snowball’s chance in Phoenix of ever making a living playing ball anyway.”

  Leave it to his old man to pour salt in the wound.

  “Mr. Knight,” Flint’s voice broke through his thoughts, “I want you to take what I’m about to tell you very seriously.” The big man leaned over his desk with his thick hands still clasped together, “Fraternization with students outside of an academic setting will not be tolerated—under any circumstances. We may never recover from the backlash we received because of that asshole’s actions. I still have pissed off parents calling at least once a week, asking me what the hell kind of place I’m running.” He paused and hung his head with his eyes closed. The tension in the office was palpable. Flint had been on a roll, but something had knocked the wind out of his sails, causing him to suddenly look small and defeated. When he lifted his head, he fixed his gaze on Brylan. But he wasn’t looking at Brylan, he was looking through him.

  Brylan squirmed uncomfortably while some sort of internal dialogue played out in the big man’s head. You could cut the awkward silence with a dull butter knife, and Brylan desperately wished Flint would return to the present.

  Then, without warning, Flint raised a brawny fist and brought it crashing down onto his desk. “Dammit!”

  Brylan nearly pissed himself. His physical response to the outburst—his nearly jumping the hell out of his seat—seemed to snap Flint out of his reverie.

  “I’m sorry, son. I just get a little riled up when I think about how many years I’ve worked to keep this place in reputable standing, only to have our reputation nearly obliterated in the span of five minutes by some shithead that can’t keep his hands to himself. Do you see what I’m getting at, Knight?”

  Brylan swallowed the grapefruit-sized lump in his throat. “Yes. I do, Sir.”

  He hadn’t even been officially offered the job yet, and here he was having his ass handed to him by the boss. Uneasiness slithered over him, making him rethink his decision to teach full time. He was suddenly wishing he’d majored in something a little less…violent. Like basket weaving. Surely there weren’t any scary-looking, fist wielding ogres in basket weaving.

  “I just wanna be clear, Mr. Knight,” His gaze burned through him, “I won’t be shamed again.”

  “Yes, Mr. Flint. I hear you loud and clear. I’m here to teach. That’s all.”

  He harrumphed, “Well I certainly hope so. I won’t hesitate to send you packing if I suspect otherwise.”

  “Understood,” he said with a single nod.

  At that, they both stood. Flint looked Brylan straight in the eye, extended his hand, and deadpanned, “Don’t screw this up.”

  ****

  Two weeks after the strangest interview of his life, Brylan Knight was a bona fide teacher…and he was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. It was the middle of the school year and he had no idea how the students were going to receive him. He only hoped that they wouldn’t ask any questions about their old teacher. He had no intentions of going down that rabbit hole.

  Anxiously awaiting the arrival of his students, he took a seat behind the metal, wood veneer topped desk and clasped his hands together. A faint ringing sound caused his stomach to drop. Surely that wasn’t the tardy bell. It was still too early for that. What the hell was that sound and where was it coming from?

  He was starting to wonder if the noise was all in his head until he realized he was bouncing his knee. He patted his pocket and then chastised himself under his breath, “I’m such a dumbass.” He pulled out the handful of quarters, the ones he’d stashed to spring for a soda later, and tossed them into the desk drawer. Okay, Bry. Get your shit together.

  Students started trickling in a few at a time. Brylan gave what he hoped was a friendly-looking smile, hoping they wouldn’t sense his unease. Some of the kids smiled back at him before choosing a seat, some of them looked at him curiously, and others just ignored him completely.

  The tardy bell rang and Brylan cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. It was time to sink or swim.

  “Hello, class. Welcome to the second semester of American History. I’m Brylan Knight and I’ll be your instructor for the remainder of the year.”

  He hoped.

  ****

  “Hey Bry. How’s it going?”

  Cooper Strausse sauntered into the teacher’s lounge while Brylan was picking at the stale bread on his turkey sandwich. He made a mental note to stop at the grocery store on the way home and pushed the sandwich back, his appetite suddenly gone. “I don’t know, man. I’m feeling a little bit like a fish out of water. These kids…they’re not what I expected.”

  Cooper chuckled. “Let me guess. You were expecting a bunch of happy kids, thirsty for knowledge and eager to participate.”

  “Well, I didn’t expect them to be plumb giddy with excitement or anything, but I hoped…. Ah hell. I don’t know what I expected.”r />
  “Don’t worry about it. They’ll come around. You’re the new guy so they’re still sizing you up, trying to figure out whether you’re going to be a hard-ass or a marshmallow.”

  Brylan sank against the back of his chair. “Maybe.”

  Cooper dragged one of the plastic chairs over to the table and straddled it. “Hey, how’d the house thing go?”

  Brylan was grateful for the change of subject. “I just signed the papers yesterday on a little place over on Pecan.”

  Cooper cocked a blond eyebrow, “Pecan Street, huh? Not the best neighborhood.”

  “Ah, it’s not so bad. I’ve seen a lot worse. The houses around there are just old. But the neighbors are quiet. Elderly people mostly. And it beats the hell out of paying rent. Plus, I don’t have to make that hour-long commute from Dad’s place.” In Brylan’s eyes the little house was a palace. It liberated him from living under his dad’s thumb. At twenty-two years old it was embarrassing to have to report his whereabouts to the old man, having his every move monitored and critiqued. It was time to move on…for the sake of his sanity.

  “The house has a garage apartment too. It needs some fixing up, but—”

  “Man cave!” Cooper cut in, his face lit up like Christmas.

  “Uh, noooo,” Brylan corrected him, “I’m going to lease it out.”

  Cooper chewed on the idea for a minute. “Yeah. I guess I can’t fault you for wanting to make a little extra income,” he conceded before snatching up Brylan’s bag of Fritos.

  “Dude! There’s a snack machine right behind you.”

  Cooper pulled the pockets of his pants inside-out. “No funds. Teacher salary and all.” A cocky grin spread over his face, “Surely you wouldn’t deny a poor man a meal.”

  Brylan couldn’t help but chuckle. “I would hardly consider a few Fritos a meal.” He plucked the bag out of Coop’s hand. Anyway, changing the subject, are you game for giving me a hand on Saturday? I’m moving my furniture to the new place.”

  “Yeah, sure. Just text me the address.” Cooper paused for a beat. “Speaking of new, have you seen that chick that’s been hanging around here?”

  The week had gone by in a blur. He likely wouldn’t have noticed anyone if they’d been wearing a chicken suit while singing The Star Spangled Banner. He shook his head. “Nope.”

  “She’s about yea tall?” For effect, Cooper flattened his hand so that it was horizontal to the floor and raised it to chest height.

  “Dude, you’re gonna have to be more specific than that.” Brylan hated charades and he wished Coop would just spill it already.

  “Come on, Bry,” he insisted, as if his clue should be obvious. “You must have seen her. She’s been hanging around the campus on and off for weeks. Been observing some classes and checking things out. She’s got kinda short, black hair. Walks like she’s got a stick up her ass….” Brylan bit back a laugh as Cooper strutted around the room with a pinched look on his face in imitation.

  He couldn’t resist goading the guy a little. “Ohhhhh! You mean that chick!”

  Cooper nodded excitedly, proud of himself for finally making Brylan see the light. He was such an easy target.

  Brylan let his face drop, although mischief twinkled in his eyes. “Nope. I have no damn clue who the hell you’re talking about.”

  Irritation flashed across Cooper’s features. “You’re such an ass,” he said, snatching up another Frito. “Anyway, this chick....”

  Brylan wasn’t about to let him off that easily, so he interrupted him just to piss him off, “I’m pretty sure ‘chick’ is politically incorrect.”

  Cooper rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he continued in an exaggerated drawl, “This woman is going to be teaching geometry here next year. And she just happens to be Principal Flint’s niece.”

  “Okay. So what?”

  Cooper scowled. “It’s messed up, that’s what. It’s not like Yaupon High is desperate for applicants. Everybody wants a job teaching here because of our exemplary status. Hell, my aunt—who teaches math by the way—has been trying to get on here for two years. The school where she works is a zoo. It’s one of those schools where there’s always a fight going on, kids are dealing drugs in the hall, and you have to go through a metal detector to get in.” Brylan heard a tsk sound as Cooper shook his head slowly. “She actually had a kid follow her to her car one day after school. He threatened her, looked her dead in the eye and told her she better give him a passing grade...or else.”

  Brylan swallowed hard. “No shit?” He’d heard the stories, but this one really hit home. Suddenly his job didn’t seem so bad after all.

  Cooper’s shoulders sagged as he looked down at the floor. His expression was solemn, which was not a good look on him. It didn’t fit his easygoing persona. “It’s just not right.”

  The two of them sat in awkward silence while Brylan searched his brain for something comforting to say. He was coming up empty.

  “Oh well.” Coop returned his chair back to its rightful position and headed toward the door with his usual shit-eating grin. His quick change in demeanor was dizzying. “Don’t forget to text me your address before Saturday. Oh…and don’t forget the six-pack of beer you’re going to owe me.”

  Chapter Three

  It was Friday, and Stormy had survived her first week at Yaupon High. Aside from a bit of murmuring and a few sideways glances, she’d gotten through it virtually unscathed. It was as if the whole student body had made a unified decision to ignore the new girl, and it suited Stormy just fine.

  When the final bell sounded, Stormy hustled her way across campus toward the parking lot. When she reached her beat up truck, she set her backpack on the hood while she fished her keys out of her pocket.

  “Nice ride,” someone sneered in her direction.

  Stormy glowered at the girl. Marissa something or other. She didn’t know why, but the girl had it in for her, always finding little ways to irritate her. A roll of the eyes, a death stare…nothing that Stormy couldn’t handle. But it was the first time Marissa had hurled a verbal insult. And at Stormy’s truck no less. And that just wouldn’t do.

  Marissa huffed and kept walking, with her giggling group of blonde cronies trailing behind, and then they all piled into a shiny, new convertible Mustang. A sharp prick of envy stung her as the giggling carpool spun out of the gravel lot. She blew out a breath and forced herself to let it go.

  She was in too good a mood to have it ruined by some materialistic Barbie doll with an attitude problem. She had a job interview to get to. Granted, it was only a cashier position in a gift shop, but it was a job. And a job meant money, and money meant freedom. Freedom from Mama. Her plan was to save every nickel she could between now and graduation. Then she’d be able to make her escape…for good.

  She heaved open the driver-side door and slid her backpack across the worn out bench seat. Once inside, Stormy gave the dashboard a little rub and whispered, “It’s okay. Don’t you listen to those mean girls.” It was a silly thing to do, talking to an inanimate object, but Stormy’s truck was her most prized possession. For her, the old Ford was more than just a mode of transportation—it was a faithful friend. That truck had provided a place to cry when Mama’s tantrums got to be too much; it was a quiet place to think when the house was too noisy; and, it would ultimately be Stormy’s ride to freedom when the time came.

  She cranked the truck and headed downtown, which, fortunately, was only a five minute trip. When she rolled up Main Street there were cars lined up end to end on both sides and there wasn’t a single available parking space in sight. Shoot! She made the block, scouring the street for a place to park as she went, but she still didn’t have any luck. She was about to circle around for the third time when she noticed the public library sitting on the next block over…and it had a big ole parking lot full of empty spaces.

  Once parked in the library lot, she darted across the street, silently praying that nobody got their panties in a twist over her truc
k being there after hours. She hopped up on the curb and looked down the long sidewalk at all the shops. Trudy had said the store, Trudy’s Treasures, would be easy to spot, but as Stormy looked down the long row of businesses—all sandwiched together and all done up in the same shades of beige, cream, and peach—she wasn’t so sure. They all looked exactly alike. Stormy glanced down at her watch and relaxed a little when she saw that she still had fifteen minutes to spare.

  The historic buildings showed their age with chipped bits of concrete and peeling paint. However, there was a certain charm to them that Stormy was drawn to. They were picturesque, and yet simple, and Stormy suspected that they looked much like they had a hundred years ago.

  As she meandered down the sidewalk, she took in the artfully displayed items behind the plate glass windows. It was like stealing a glimpse into the past. Antique dress forms stood proudly, boasting of all the pretty garments they had once helped create while the handmade cloth dolls smiled their cheeky red-stitched grins. The rusty old farm implements sat like old men, exhausted from a long life of toil, now enjoying a subdued retirement.