Ready For It (MacAteer Brothers #2) - M.L. Nystrom
Chapter One
I checked my watch, and the hands had only moved three ticks from the last time I looked. The principal droned on, his voice low with forgettable words, and I started to nod off. Planning discussions were a necessary evil for the faculty, but the school year had ended, final grades were already turned in, graduation done, and the classrooms emptied. The students had left for family beach vacationing, rafting the rivers, or working summer jobs.
I fanned my face with the agenda paper. Why did our illustrious leader have to have this meeting in June after maintenance turned off the air-conditioning in the building? I looked at my watch again. Another three ticks. God, this is taking so freaking long!
My eyes met those of my best friend ever, Beverly Archer. Correction, Beverly MacAteer. She got married last year to Connor, the man who had moved in next door. I couldn’t have picked a better man for my BFF. After watching them for a year, I knew she made the right call in finally admitting she liked him. They were perfect together, and Connor made the perfect stepdad for Bevvie’s four children. Brave woman to be a divorced mom raising her kids alone. Connor slipped into her heart when she wasn’t looking, and now her life was nothing short of wedded bliss.
She rolled her eyes and sighed in commiseration. She taught chorus, played the piano, and was one of the most talented people I’d ever met. I teach Algebra One and Two and help coach the ultimate nerds on the Mathletes team. Big yawn to some people, but I love my job.
I snuck another glance at my watch, and a burning eruption hit my throat. Fuck me, not again! I fished for a berry-flavored Tums somewhere in the vast recesses of my luggage sized purse. I’d been eating the damn things like candy all weekend. The heartburn attack I had on Friday was the worst one I’d ever experienced, and already I’d consumed two little travel rolls of the tablets. This morning on the way to this mandatory boringness, I stopped by the drug store and picked up an economy-sized bottle.
I crunched on the chalky rounds and saw only five more minutes had passed. Surely, this shit can’t go on much longer. The burn in my throat eased when I swallowed the masticated mass. It was probably the sausage and egg biscuit I’d eaten earlier. I was a single female who lived alone and didn’t cook. At all. I was, however, a wiz at microwaving frozen instant food. My fridge was an empty wasteland, while my freezer was stocked with a wide variety of Lean Cuisine, Stouffer’s dinners, and single-serve Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.
“The grounds improvements begin on June 18 with the installation of our new flagpole court. The dedication ceremony for this will take place the week of…”
The principal’s voice faded as my chin bumped against my chest. The man had a real talent. I’d bet my left breast his speeches had the ability to put my ADHD kids asleep with only a few sentences. I jerked my head back up and caught Bevvie suppressing a grin in my direction. Bitch, I mouthed at her, and her grin got bigger. If the droning man hadn’t been frowning at me, I’d have shot her a bird.
What the fuck was wrong with me? I hadn’t been feeling very well lately. In fact, I’d been tired as hell and sluggish the last few weeks of school, but I’d slogged on through to the end. It figured I’d catch another kid virus just before school let out. Even if I swam in a vat of hand sanitizer on a daily basis, when working with an army of viral-laden children, something was bound to get me eventually.
The watch hands hadn’t moved, and I tapped the face to see if I had a dead battery. Another fifteen minutes, and I swear I’m walking out!
My stomach rumbled and twisted in on itself unexpectedly. The burn in my throat came back with a vengeance, and there was no stopping it.
Oh, shit! I ran out of the media center and barely made it to the bathroom before the greasy Jimmy Dean biscuit made an encore appearance. I heaved again and again until it wouldn’t surprise me if last night’s lo mein takeout came back up too. God, I hate vomiting!
“Hey, Mellie? You okay?” Bev’s call echoed off the tile floors and cinderblock walls.