My Almost Ex (The Greene Family #2) - Piper Rayne Page 0,46

driveway.

I wait with one arm stretched out across the seat and resting on the back of her seat, my other arm relaxed along the door. “Let’s go. We don’t wanna be late.”

She gives me one more death glare and puts the truck in gear, easing off the brake but slamming it down before we reach the end of the driveway. She cringes. “Sorry.”

“No problem.”

She leans forward over the wheel to look right and left from our driveway.

Eventually I do the same and she playfully swats me. “I think we’re clear,” I say.

She eases out and turns the wheel like a brand-new driver.

“Should we see if you can get us to the school?” I ask.

“I know my way.”

I hold up my hands and let her take control. Once we’re out of the mountains and she’s heading toward downtown, she relaxes in the seat and her hands aren’t at ten and two any longer. More like three and nine, but it’s progress. Other than being heavy on the brake, she’s doing great.

“This is fun. I’m gonna have to buy a car.”

“Where’s your SUV?” I ask.

“In Idaho.”

So she drove there at some point. “Why not go down and drive it back up here?”

She shrugs.

“What’s with the shrug?” I shift in my seat a bit to face her.

“I think I want to start fresh. I’ve thought a lot about it, and don’t get me wrong.” She turns my way and I point toward the road. “I want to remember the reason I left, and I’m going to do everything I can to figure it out, don’t think I’m not. But I’m enjoying discovering this new Lucy. How many people get to reinvent themselves?” She pulls up to the school, where they’ve changed the sign out front to welcome her back. “Oh, look at that.”

While she parks, backing up and straightening out a few times, her words strike me again. She somehow doesn’t like who she was.

We climb out of the truck and she hip-checks me. “I don’t get a congratulations for remembering how to get to school?”

“Congratulations,” I say, smiling at her.

She tilts her head as I press the buzzer to be let into the school. “Are you okay?”

I nod and look straight into her blue eyes. “You know that you were a great person before the accident, right? I wouldn’t have fallen in love with someone who wasn’t.”

She loses her smile for the first time all morning and nods. “I know. I’m just having fun.”

She might be a new version of herself, but one thing hasn’t changed—I can still tell when she’s lying.

Principal Richards and the entire office staff welcome me back with hugs and well wishes.

After our initial hello, Principal Richards and I walk down the school hallway, Adam in tow but keeping his distance, allowing me to rediscover this side of my life without him chiming in.

“So, obviously, your actual class has moved up a grade, but this was your old classroom. We did some swapping and brought in your old class to help you along, see if it triggers any memories.” She smiles as though this is a gift. I appreciate her efforts, but in truth, it just feels like more pressure on me.

Adam leans along the wall as the principal knocks and enters the room, telling the kids she has a surprise. She dodges the questions about why they’re in their old classroom and who’s here and what’s going to happen to lunch and will they still have recess.

I chuckle as Adam shakes his head. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have the worries of a kid again?”

“Absolutely.” I smile at him.

“Here’s your surprise. Mrs. Greene is here.” Principal Richards holds out her arm as though I’m a celebrity the kids worship.

I enter, apprehensive I’ll even recollect how to behave with a class full of children. Was I funny, mean, or serious all the time? I still remember my second grade teacher, Mrs. Phillips, and I hated her.

The class rushes up from the carpet and runs at me, swarming my waist with such a force I almost fall back.

“Looks like they must have liked you,” Adam says, leaning against a wall. His raised eyebrows make it clear what he’s thinking. I’ve always been translucent to him—he’s able to see right through me.

The kids all fire out questions in unison.

“How are you?”

“My mom said you don’t know who you are?”

“You left us, and we had a mean sub.”

I field the questions as much as I can, but Principal Richards tries to