Tackling Love - Kathleen Kelly Page 0,5

Klein, at least tell me you were wearing them.”

“As a matter of fact, I was.”

“That’s fine, we can spin it. Do you have the reporter’s name or what newspaper was he works at?”

“Crap! Nope. I got nothing.”

“Not to worry, I’ll get on the phones now. We’ll sort this out. Don’t stress. Go home. Get some sleep. I’ll see you on Sunday. Colt, we are more than halfway through the season, you have a shot at the Super Bowl, don’t fuck it up.”

The line goes dead. The Super Bowl is my life long dream. No way I’m screwing that up.“Thanks, Tom.” I hang up, start my car, and head for home.

SKYE

The weekend is filled with house chores and preparing for school on Monday. I teach kindergarten and have a little project for the children to do. It’s a fun, learning exercise, and I know they will enjoy.

When I pull up at the school, Derek Geyser is there, handing out something to all of the parents.

I get out of my car, and someone shouts, “Way to go, Miss Hadley.”

Confused, I give a little wave and continue on toward the school entrance. As I pass Derek, he hands me a newspaper—it’s the sports section from Saturday, and the headline reads:

Quarterback Gets Dumped!

And under it is a picture of Colt and me kissing.

“Oh my God! How many of these have you handed out?” I shriek.

“I bought you dinner, drinks, and you repay me by fucking the football hero?” sneers Derek.

My face is flushed with anger, but even more so, embarrassment. “My personal life is none of your business. Why are you doing this?”

“The parents deserve to know what kind of woman is shaping the minds of their children.”

“I should never have gone out with you,” I hiss.

“Well, then you’d never have met the hero,” replies Derek in a mocking tone.

I snatch the remaining papers out of his hands and storm into the school. The eyes of the students, teachers, and the parents feel like they’re scorching into my back as I hurry toward my classroom.

Opening the door, I slam it shut behind me and throw all of the newspapers into the bin with a thud.

I. Am. Mortified.

What was I thinking going out with that smug asshole? Now, I’m going to be perceived as some sort of slut.

Much to my dismay, the overhead PA crackles, and then I hear, “Miss Hadley… to the Principal’s Office. Miss Hadley… to the Principal’s Office.”

I clutch my sides and start taking deep breaths.

I need this job.

I like this job.

All I’ve ever wanted to do is to teach. I love coming to work every day, I love my kids, but this is a private school, and any form of public embarrassment will be frowned upon. We even sign a waiver saying we won’t discuss the children with outsiders without the prior consent of the principal. I thought this was unusual, but some of the parents are famous, and reporters often try to discover juicy tidbits about them.

Squaring my shoulders, I open my door and proceed toward the office. I hold my head high while smiling at those coming toward me. I don’t hurry, mainly because I’m trying to convince myself and everyone around me that this is perfectly normal.

As I enter the office, Marion, the secretary, stands and says, “Go right on in, Skye, he’s waiting for you.” She sounds empathetic, and I can feel the tears pricking the backs of my eyelids. I enter Mr. Wilson’s office and shut the door.

“Sit down, Skye.” He tosses a newspaper at me, and my face goes a deep shade of crimson. “Tell me this isn’t you.”

“It’s me, sir, but what I do in my private time has nothing to do with my job.”

Mr. Wilson nods, purses his lips, and sits back in his chair. “You know what type of school we have here. It’s full of the brightest, and let’s face it… wealthiest children in the city. The parents frown upon this type of… behavior. The only thing which is going to save you is the fact they didn’t mention your name. So, do me a favor and tell people, if they ask, that this isn’t you. And for God’s sake, keep away from Colton Anders, he’s a known ladies’ man.”

“Thank you, sir,” I whisper.

Mr. Wilson leans forward in his chair and smiles. “Call me, Tony.”

“Okay, Tony, thank you.”

“Try and have a good day,” he says dismissively as he begins tapping away on his keyboard.

As I stumble out of his office, I