Flexible, p.2
Flexible, page 2
Rachel grabbed the first thing her hands could find and hurled it toward the corner. Unfortunately, that thing happened to be a paperback copy of Bleak House. It proved extremely ineffective. Nearly a thousand pages of Charles Dickens glanced off one corner of the wall and then the other, rebounding halfway back toward Rachel with a dented spine and the pages crunched on one side. Meanwhile, Shelob squatted unharmed in the corner, eyeing her beadily.
Rachel backed up a step, thinking. Using her flip-flop seemed unwise, given the V-shape notching of the corner and the shoe’s general floppiness. Using a wooden spoon from the kitchen could prove effective against the corner, but that would require her to come within jumping distance of the spider. Too close for comfort.
Besides, in the few seconds it would take Rachel to dash to the kitchen and back to retrieve the spoon, the creature could disappear, and she’d never sleep again until she’d hunted him down and killed him. Either that or she’d resort to burning down the entire building and looking for a new place to live. And that just seemed excessive.
“I can do this,” Rachel lied aloud. Backing slowly toward the center of the room, she reached down and picked up a small footstool. As if she were a lion tamer approaching a snarling beast, Rachel advanced one slow step at a time.
The phone rang.
Jumping in alarm, she fumbled the footstool and dropped it. The spider scuttled sideways down the wall and disappeared behind a stack of boxes.
Rachel hopped sideways to hold her balance. Her stiff ankle gave a mighty pop, and she almost fell over. Across the room, her phone continued to ring.
She limped over and picked it up, fuming. “Hello?”
“Turn on your TV.” Lynn’s voice was urgent.
“What? Wait. Why?”
“Hurry. Channel 18.”
“I don’t have the TV plugged in yet.”
“You’ve been moved in for a week!”
“Unpacking has proven a challenge.” She tried to sound stoic, but failed. It’s hard to sound stoic when you’re out of breath.
“The spiders?”
“Yes. I just spotted another one.”
“Ugh. Did you kill it?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, that’s not important right now. You need to turn on your TV.”
“Why?”
“They’re interviewing your boyfriend again.”
2
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Rachel had objected to Lynn. Nevertheless, she’d located her TV, manhandled it into place, and made sure it was plugged in before the eleven o’clock news. Sure enough, the station re-aired the story from the afternoon just as Lynn had predicted.
Rachel stared at the clean lines of Detective Ian Smith’s profile as he answered questions about a recent string of burglaries. She wondered if he even remembered giving her his personal number at the end of last school year. He hadn’t been the most swoon-worthy man ever to hit on Rachel, or even the most compelling, but something about him had stuck with her. The calm voice. The cool gray eyes. The steady ways. It was no wonder the police department had chosen him as their representative to the local media. He seemed so honest and trustworthy.
His charms had obviously appealed to Lynn. Ever since Rachel had come back from her summer road trip, she’d been urging her to call him.
“I don’t have a reason to call him,” Rachel always objected.
“He gave you his card and told you to call him. I’d say that’s reason enough.”
Not reason enough for Rachel.
Detective Ian Smith was a man. Not like Lee, the man-child, who remained devoted to Rachel no matter what and always bent to her needs and whims. Detective Ian Smith was a genuine, grown-up man—with an important job, a good reputation, heavy responsibilities, and a full schedule. A man who solved serious crimes and gave professional interviews on the evening news. He didn’t have time for aimless calls from spinster English teachers with inflexible ankles and spider apartments.
Not that Rachel planned to call him, or even wanted to. Not necessarily.
Are you watching? Lynn texted.
Are YOU? Rachel texted back.
Lynn sent back a cartoon smiley face with two giant hearts for eyes.
Rachel groaned, silenced her phone, turned off the TV, stretched, and limped off to bed, pulling the covers directly over her face.
~*~
Morning came early to the Royal Palm Villas. Doors slammed. Children ran up and down sidewalks. Dogs barked. Cars seemingly without mufflers revved in the parking lot. Wives yelled at husbands, husbands yelled back, and children hollered for them to shut up. Rachel didn’t think she’d ever have to set an alarm clock again.
Although by rights this should have been her first day back at early-morning workouts, Rachel had decided to skip in favor of spending extra time getting ready for the first day of school. Though Ann had stated that a good workout would offer the best physical and emotional preparation, Rachel’s hatred of feeling rushed—coupled with her fear that something was bound to go wrong and keep her from being on time for the first day—demanded that she skip workout in order to spend more time fretting about getting to school on time.
At 6:15, Ann texted her: Great workout. All the punches. All the kicks. All the sweats. Happy first day.
Rachel texted back: On third coffee. Ankle popping every step, but feeling ready for the first day. What could go wrong?
Rachel slid into her parking space and eyed the empty spot next to hers, the space where Lee’s rattletrap usually sat.
Today, Rachel faced the reality of a school year without Lee. No Lee to follow her down the hall or carry in her bag or go on impromptu coffee runs. No Lee to mock her stiff ankle or question her wardrobe choices. No Lee to both infuriate and charm her all at once.
Rachel wondered if Lee’s new job required him to dress in something other than frayed khakis, a rumpled shirt, and that silly fisherman’s vest. She wished she’d taken the time to get together with him before school started, but the week between getting home from the trip and starting school had been hectic with moving. Until this moment, it hadn’t occurred to her that she actually wouldn’t see him every day. Rachel fished in her bag for her phone, briefly considering sending him a text.
Someone tapped on the driver’s side window, and Rachel jumped, bobbling her phone and bonking her head against the headrest. She slammed a hand over her chest as her feet jerked against the floorboards. A jolt of discomfort shot up her right leg as her stiff ankle bent against its will.
“Sorry!” came a contrite, bird-like voice, muffled through the pane of glass. “I didn’t mean to scare you!” Of course she hadn’t. Sharon Day was as incapable of malice as Rachel was of turning cartwheels. Miss Day stood half bent over to peer at Rachel, tiny wisps of golden hair curling slightly in the early-morning humidity. “Did you spill your coffee?”
Rachel rolled down her window. “No, it was in the cup holder. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to say good morning and wish you a happy first day.” Sharon fluttered her eyelashes. “And also see if you needed anything carried in, because I know Lee’s not here to help you.”
Rachel let out a long breath through her nostrils and concentrated on taking Sharon’s comments at face value. Surely she was just being nice, not implying that Rachel was old, infirm, and incapable of carrying her own lunch and teacher’s bag into her classroom. Remember, Rachel. You’re going to stop assuming things about people’s motives.
“I’m actually walking quite well these days.” Rachel shot Sharon a smile. “I’m not using a cane or anything. So I think I can handle carrying everything myself.”
A tiny line appeared between Sharon’s perfectly-sculpted eyebrows. “Oh, OK. Sorry to bother you, Miss Cooper. I’ll see you at afternoon pickup.” She stepped back from Rachel’s car in a half-bow, as if she were a lowly serf backing away from an imperial ruler.
“Wait,” Rachel sighed. “There’s a box of books in the trunk that you can carry in for me.” She’d been planning to send Chris or one of the other boys out for the box later in the day, but with Lee’s admonition at the end of last school year that she should give Sharon Day a chance and Lynn’s assertion that Rachel never asked for help still ringing in the back of her mind, she knew better than to pass up this golden opportunity.
While Rachel angled herself out of the car, trying to keep most of her weight on her left leg, Sharon lifted the box from the trunk. As they walked down the hall, Sharon chatting nervously about her schedule, a wave of first-day jitters rose in Rachel’s chest. These weren’t nervous jitters, but jitters of excited anticipation. As much as she dreaded school starting every fall, she also loved it: the all-encompassing absorption of the work, the drama of the students, and the daily thrum of teenage energy. Nothing else compared.
Rachel may not have been good at most aspects of adult life—but this? She was good at this.
At the end of the hall, she pulled the key from the band around her wrist and let herself into her classroom, flipping on the overhead florescent lights with one hand while reaching to push a twist of red curls from her face with the other.
A new year had arrived. A year full of as-yet-unknown stories, secrets, and challenges. A year in which Rachel could demonstrate to Ann, Lynn, and Lee that she’d learned from the mistakes of the past. A year in which she could turn everything around.
This year she would be more patient and less sarcastic. She would listen more and talk less. She would be a better friend, a better sister, and a better co-worker. She would be kinder and less judgmental. She would give Sharon Day a chance.
Through it all, she would never admit to anyone how much she missed Lee.
~*~
Chris strutted into the room looking like a rooster in the hen house. As one of only two males taking Rachel’s first-period English class this semester, he basically was one. He stopped in the doorway to tower over Rachel in mock surprise, waggling his bushy dark eyebrows.
“Miss Cooper, did you shrink over the summer?” His eyes glowed as he looked down on the top of her curly head from a lofty new height.
Shayla hip checked him as she pushed past, rolling her eyes. “Here he goes,” she groaned.
Rachel laughed. “We can all see how much you grew, Chris. No need to be so smug about it.”
“Who’s smug?” He plopped into a desk directly in front of her podium. Given his new stature, she’d be hard-pressed to see around him.
“Did you have a nice summer?” Though Rachel hated clichés, some questions couldn’t be avoided. “I’m sure you did something exciting.”
“You know me so well.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head, the new breadth of his shoulders straining against his uniform shirt. “I spent a month rock climbing with my uncle in Yosemite.” He dropped his hands onto his desk and rolled his shoulders. “We even did a little free climbing.”
A new girl appeared in the doorway, and Chris stopped boasting.
Quiet as a leaf blown on a breeze, the dark-haired girl slipped into the classroom and ghosted to the back, where she slid into the seat furthest from Rachel’s podium. Since there was only one unfamiliar name on Rachel’s roster for this class, she assumed this must be the transfer student, Alice Claythorne.
Ever since seeing the list of students on the roll for first period, she’d been looking forward to this class. This particular group, made up largely of students who had populated last year’s fourth-period English class, had a lot of gifted students and high achievers. She had high hopes for them.
Before the opening bell even had time to ring, Rachel had seen from her mental roll call that all of her students were present. She clicked the classroom door shut and after quickly introducing herself and going over some basic expectations and classroom procedures for the sake of the one new student in the class, she took a deep, happy breath, and began the lesson.
“Pull out your copies of Much Ado about Nothing,” she said, her voice starchy with teacherish glee, “and let’s see where Shakespeare takes us this semester.”
Chris moaned as he riffled the pages of his script. “Please tell me that this one has less stabbing.”
“I thought the stabbings were your favorite parts of Romeo and Juliet.” Rachel arched one eyebrow.
“The sword fights, yes. The pointless stabbings, no.”
“Can a stabbing ever really be pointless?” Rachel deadpanned.
Chris snorted.
The new girl in the back lifted her head, her eyes temporarily sharpening, taking in Rachel’s face. The minute her eyes caught Rachel’s, she dropped her gaze to the open script. This she placed directly in the center of her desk, smoothing the edges until everything was perfectly square.
“There is a bit of pointlessness in Much Ado,” Rachel conceded. “At least, there are things that seem pointless to the audience or are intended to be pointless by the characters themselves. But then later, in light of developments within the story, these things take on meaning. But I’m getting ahead of the lesson.”
Chris turned partially sideways in his desk as if commiserating with the entire class. “Miss Cooper, when are you ever not getting ahead of the lesson?”
“Don’t get sassy,” she told him. Rachel perched lightly on the edge of her bar stool, left leg braced against the floor, right leg swinging lightly. No use putting her inflexible ankle through more work than absolutely necessary. Not until everything was back in working order.
~*~
Nearly everything about Rachel’s day ran smoothly—everything but afternoon car pickup. At the beginning of dismissal, Rachel and Sharon arrived at their posts to face automotive chaos. Somehow, parallel lines had formed, and cars now jockeyed for position. Rachel tromped down the field with her megaphone, muttering to herself.
It was always something.
“Hey, Miss Cooper, you walking real good!” called Mr. Suarez, rolling down the window of his rusted-out minivan to scan Rachel up and down. “But you limping a little still.” He scratched his chin. “Two months and you still limp?”
Rachel shrugged. “I skipped physical therapy. Apparently it wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”
Mr. Suarez shook his head, frowning. “You needa stretch it out.” He gestured toward her bad leg. “My son, he break his ankle playing futbol, and after he get cast off, I make him lay down e’ry night on the floor, an’ I stretch him out. You want me to do same for you, you let me know.”
Goodness.
From halfway back the line came an impatient honk. Mr. Suarez turned around at the wheel and gave the driver a smile and a thumbs-up before winking at Rachel and pulling forward.
Back in the classroom after car line, Rachel found a text waiting from Lee.
Happy first day—meet for coffee at The Drip—4:00?
Rachel leaned back in her chair and studied the ceiling. She might as well face the inevitable. At least today she would have the first day of school to dissect with Lee, in case the conversation veered into awkward territory.
Rachel had mentored Lee through high school, shepherded him through college, and coached him through his first few years in the classroom. Up until last year, he’d been her favorite sounding board and best work ally. But then by leaving her a series of anonymous gifts—gifts which she’d mistaken as a serial killer’s calling cards—Lee had opened a door of possibility between them that Rachel would rather have left shut.
Honestly, Rachel had been happy to learn that she had not, in fact, been stalked by the Memento Killer and that the presents being left for her anonymously had instead come from someone who knew and loved her.
Like, loved her.
Maybe her life would have been easier if the gifts had, in fact, been from the killer.
The first thing Rachel noticed about Lee was that he’d begun to grow back his beard. Not yet having had time to reach epic status, it sprouted in every direction, leaving the bottom half of his head looking as if he were currently being attacked by an angry hedgehog.
The second thing she noticed about Lee was that Sharon Day was sitting beside him. Right beside him. Rachel’s eyebrows hit her hairline.
As the front door to The Drip shut behind her, Lee’s blue eyes snapped to meet hers. For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then, from behind his clunky brown frames, Lee tipped her the tiniest of winks.
Rachel felt something small and shriveled in her stomach begin to open. The corners of her lips lifted. By the time Sharon looked up, blinking rapidly, Rachel had gotten her expression under control.
“I got your drink already,” Lee called, waving Rachel over.
Of course he had. Her heart warmed at the thought. Not that it meant anything. He’d probably bought Sharon’s as well.
“Now that you’re making more money than we are, you must feel that you have to show it off,” Rachel said primly as she perched on the edge of the plush chair across from Lee and Sharon Day.
Sharon’s eyebrows zoomed together at this comment, but Lee lifted an easy hand to wave her comments away.
“Don’t worry about what she says,” Lee told Sharon. “She never means any of it. I keep telling you.”
“Lee would lead you never to believe me,” Rachel said.
Sharon fidgeted.
Rachel smiled at Sharon—a warm, genuine smile that showed just the right amount of teeth.
Sharon’s foot began swinging in a less frantic rhythm and Lee collapsed back against his chair, a slump of wrinkled plaid and khaki.
Sharon and Rachel filled Lee in on their first day of school—including Mr. Showalter’s accidental release of an entire class of students a full ten minutes before the end of the class period—and Lee brought them up to speed on his new job.
“Two days a week I get to work from home,” he told them, swilling the dregs of his coffee and smacking his lips behind his beard. “Today was actually one of those days.”
