training video clearly said no bumping. It would be “a cause for ejection from the track.” He bumps my car again. Fine—I slow down. Liam speeds up to go around me and I gas it, turning my wheel sharply to the left, smacking his cart with mine. I’m still in front, but he’s laughing and gives his cart more gas. I manage to stay in front, but he looks determined to get past me.
Around the next corner, he makes a move to bump my car out of the way. As my back wheels slide, he rams me again, but a bit too hard. His front bumper catches on my back right bumper, causing his cart to slide with mine. The two carts behind us don’t react fast enough. One of them T-bones Liam’s cart, breaking his bumper away from mine, and he hits the wall. The other cart smacks into the back of me, slinging my cart forward into the wall too.
An air horn blasts, and two guys come out to rearrange us back on the track. They shoot an angry look at the driver of the cart that T-boned Liam and the one that crashed into me and yell, “Watch what you’re doing. Next time you’re out of here.” Liam gives me a wink and a smile, and we start up again.
No way is Liam getting in front of me. We only have two more laps for our race. I gas it, thinking all or nothing. When he tries to pass, I cut him off. He can’t do anything sneaky—the teenagers are keeping a close eye on us now. Checkered flag! I don’t win, but I beat Liam—feels like winning.
“Thanks for the driving lesson,” he teases while we walk to my front door, his right hand guiding me up the walk.
“Anytime.” And I really mean anytime, all the time, whenever , I think as we step on my porch.
His hand tightens on my back and I turn to face him. His left hand brushes my hair from my face and over my shoulder, then kisses my jaw below my right ear. “See you Monday,” he whispers, his lips brushing along my cheek. Oh, more of that would be nice. Then he leaves.
I sit down to email Beth. What do I say? He’s. . .I really have no words for this. Everything about him draws me in. The sensation of his lips brushing my cheek is still there. I turn off my computer and go to bed.
T ap, tap, taptaptap. Ignore it. Squeeze eyes. Cover ear with pillow. Tap. Tap. Tap. Ignore it. Tap, tap, taptaptap. The sky is barely gray between the louvers in my window as my eyes twitch with each tap, the sound reverberating against my brain. If I keep them closed and if the tapping stops, I can get maybe another half hour of sleep before my clock screams at me.
My alarm goes off at five thirty instead of six fifteen, so I can get to work early to plan out how to prepare for the next few weeks. This is getting to be my normal wakeup time anyway, since my roommate gets up at this time every morning and practices clogging for an hour before showering. Some mornings I try to sleep through it, but mostly I don’t. I toss and turn, smash a pillow over my head and breathe warm air—grrr—and then toss and turn again. Mina swears I’m exaggerating, saying she hasn’t heard anything—from the other side of the house, I might add.
I’ve been thinking about teaching all weekend. Not really—just yesterday, and only when I wasn’t thinking about Liam. Okay, not much at all. I thought about Liam a lot. But I can do this teacher thing if I plan it out and follow the plan. It will happen. Easy as pie. Oh gads, I’ve never made pie.
At work, I pull out a half-page sticky note and write To-Do List across the top. If I break up the daily lessons into smaller parts and work on each one, I’ll get the planning finished. Six days left in this week, so on Monday, I can plan the math lessons I’ll need for Sept. 19-25. I assign different lessons for each day. When I look over my list, I’m satisfied, pressing it onto the closet door behind my desk.
After work on Monday, I stay in my classroom and pull out my plan book. Okay. Math. I open the cupboard behind my desk looking for the
Around the next corner, he makes a move to bump my car out of the way. As my back wheels slide, he rams me again, but a bit too hard. His front bumper catches on my back right bumper, causing his cart to slide with mine. The two carts behind us don’t react fast enough. One of them T-bones Liam’s cart, breaking his bumper away from mine, and he hits the wall. The other cart smacks into the back of me, slinging my cart forward into the wall too.
An air horn blasts, and two guys come out to rearrange us back on the track. They shoot an angry look at the driver of the cart that T-boned Liam and the one that crashed into me and yell, “Watch what you’re doing. Next time you’re out of here.” Liam gives me a wink and a smile, and we start up again.
No way is Liam getting in front of me. We only have two more laps for our race. I gas it, thinking all or nothing. When he tries to pass, I cut him off. He can’t do anything sneaky—the teenagers are keeping a close eye on us now. Checkered flag! I don’t win, but I beat Liam—feels like winning.
“Thanks for the driving lesson,” he teases while we walk to my front door, his right hand guiding me up the walk.
“Anytime.” And I really mean anytime, all the time, whenever , I think as we step on my porch.
His hand tightens on my back and I turn to face him. His left hand brushes my hair from my face and over my shoulder, then kisses my jaw below my right ear. “See you Monday,” he whispers, his lips brushing along my cheek. Oh, more of that would be nice. Then he leaves.
I sit down to email Beth. What do I say? He’s. . .I really have no words for this. Everything about him draws me in. The sensation of his lips brushing my cheek is still there. I turn off my computer and go to bed.
T ap, tap, taptaptap. Ignore it. Squeeze eyes. Cover ear with pillow. Tap. Tap. Tap. Ignore it. Tap, tap, taptaptap. The sky is barely gray between the louvers in my window as my eyes twitch with each tap, the sound reverberating against my brain. If I keep them closed and if the tapping stops, I can get maybe another half hour of sleep before my clock screams at me.
My alarm goes off at five thirty instead of six fifteen, so I can get to work early to plan out how to prepare for the next few weeks. This is getting to be my normal wakeup time anyway, since my roommate gets up at this time every morning and practices clogging for an hour before showering. Some mornings I try to sleep through it, but mostly I don’t. I toss and turn, smash a pillow over my head and breathe warm air—grrr—and then toss and turn again. Mina swears I’m exaggerating, saying she hasn’t heard anything—from the other side of the house, I might add.
I’ve been thinking about teaching all weekend. Not really—just yesterday, and only when I wasn’t thinking about Liam. Okay, not much at all. I thought about Liam a lot. But I can do this teacher thing if I plan it out and follow the plan. It will happen. Easy as pie. Oh gads, I’ve never made pie.
At work, I pull out a half-page sticky note and write To-Do List across the top. If I break up the daily lessons into smaller parts and work on each one, I’ll get the planning finished. Six days left in this week, so on Monday, I can plan the math lessons I’ll need for Sept. 19-25. I assign different lessons for each day. When I look over my list, I’m satisfied, pressing it onto the closet door behind my desk.
After work on Monday, I stay in my classroom and pull out my plan book. Okay. Math. I open the cupboard behind my desk looking for the
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