before you head off to London or wherever it is,” Grady said.
“Oxford.” In January, Taylor would start a graduate fellowship at the hallowed university, far away from Cedar Creek, Texas, and reminders of the past.
“Dylan will be there.” Alyson studied Taylor through lowered lashes. “Maybe you two can pick up where you left off, for old times’ sake.”
“That’s right—you and Dylan were quite an item senior year, weren’t you?” Grady mused. “Is it true Coach Nelson caught the two of you in the boys’ showers?”
For once Taylor was grateful for the shrill bell that announced the start of classes. Nodding goodbye to Alyson and Grady, she maneuvered past groups of students and headed toward her second-floor English classroom. Only four more months to endure Alyson’s and Grady’s snide comments and suggestive winks. Four months until she started life over in a place where no one had ever heard of her allegedly torrid past.
Mindy caught up to her. “What was all that about? Who’s Dylan Gates?”
Taylor shrugged. “A guy I was friends with in high school.”
“Friends? As in boyfriend-girlfriend?”
“No, it wasn’t like that.” Not that Taylor hadn’t dreamed about the possibility. “There were some rumors about us, but they weren’t true.”
“Alyson and Grady apparently think they were.” Mindy wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Of course, those two are still stuck in high school. I mean, look at them. Alyson still thinks she’s the popular cheerleader and Grady is the dumb jock panting after her. It’s pathetic, really, when people can’t move on with their lives.”
“Yeah, pathetic,” Taylor echoed. But were they any worse than a twenty-eight-year-old woman who let high school teasing still get to her?
“Good morning, Mindy. Taylor.” The principal, Clay Walsh, waved to them from the door of his office.
“Good morning, Clay.” Mindy’s cheeks flushed pink as they moved on down the corridor.
Taylor nudged her friend. “If you like him so much, why don’t you come right out and tell him?”
Mindy’s smile dissolved into a look of openmouthed horror. “Does it really show that much?”
“Relax. Only because I know you so well. But seriously, why not let him know how you feel?”
Mindy glanced back at Clay, who was still watching them from his office doorway. She quickly faced forward again. “I’ve tried dropping hints,” she said. “But he doesn’t seem interested.”
“What kind of hints?”
“Well…I always give him a big smile and say hello whenever I see him in the hall. And when I sent Larry Atwater to the principal’s office last week for disrupting class, I walked him down there myself and told Clay I was available to discuss the situation further after school.” Her shoulders slumped. “But all he said was that he appreciated the offer, but he didn’t think that would be necessary.”
Taylor couldn’t hold back her laughter. Mindy glared at her. “What’s so funny?”
“You! How are any of those things supposed to let a man know you’ve got the hots for him?”
“Well, what do you think I should do?”
Taylor composed herself. Who would have thought usually outgoing Mindy would have such a problem letting a man know she was interested? “Flirt with him,” she suggested. “Make it a point to sit with him at lunch. Stop by after work and invite him to have a drink with you.”
Mindy’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t do that!”
“Why not? The worst that could happen is he’d turn you down. And I’d bet money he wouldn’t.”
Mindy shook her head. “It’s complicated, with him being principal. Not to mention fifteen years older than me.”
“That shouldn’t matter. I think you two would be good together.”
“Like I’m supposed to trust the judgment of a woman who hasn’t had a serious relationship with a man in how long?”
Taylor switched her book bag from one hand to the other. “It’s been a while. Maybe I’m just picky.”
“Maybe you’re too picky. Or a coward.”
“A coward?” Taylor glanced at her friend. “Because I have high standards?”
“Sometimes women use that as an excuse because they’re afraid of getting hurt.” She shrugged off Taylor’s glare. “Hey, I may be an algebra teacher, but I minored in psychology.”
“I minored in home economics, but you don’t hear me telling you what to fix for supper, do you?”
“Feeling feisty this morning, are we?” Mindy laughed and came to a stop at Taylor’s classroom door. “Okay, I promise not to analyze you anymore if you promise not to say anything else about Clay.”
“Deal.” The two friends parted, still laughing, and Taylor prepared to face another day of trying to make classical literature relevant to hormonal teens.
“Wassup, Ms. Reed?” Class clown Berkley Brent-meyer greeted her as he passed her desk. “I had a great idea this weekend. Instead of wasting our time studying all this boring old stuff, why don’t we move right along to modern literature?” He held up the latest Stephen King release. “I guarantee we’d all stay awake in class if we were reading this.”
“Nice try, Berk. But I’m betting even Stephen King did his time studying the classics.”
As Berk shuffled to his place in the third row, Taylor took her seat at her desk and pulled out her roll book. “Open your books to page seventy-six. This morning, we’re going to continue our discussion of Beowulf. While everyone is getting ready, please pass in your journal entries.” As part of the creative writing portion of senior English, students were required to keep a journal. Some days Taylor assigned topics for them to write about; other days they were free to explore any subject they wished.
A tall blonde in the fourth row raised her hand. “Yes, Jessica?” Taylor asked.
“I thought a journal was supposed to be private. But how can it be private if you’re reading it and grading us?”
“If there’s anything you don’t want me to read, don’t put it in the journal.” Taylor surveyed the class. “Certainly all of you should feel free to keep private journals outside of class. In fact, I’d encourage it. The journal entries you make for class may be completely separate from those.”
“Did you keep a journal in high school?” Berk asked.
Taylor smiled. “Yes, I did. My family moved to Cedar Creek from California my senior year and, as you can imagine, it was quite an adjustment. Writing in my journal really helped me.”
“Do you still have your journal?” Jessica asked.
Taylor
