Page 3 of Ancient History

Crickets. Rosalee seemed tempted to raise her hand but stopped herself.

“Anyone?” They were too young to have a past.

Dale, ordering another drink, “Because, like, history repeats itself?”

“Exactly. History can repeat itself if we aren’t careful. Those who don’t study history are doomed to repeat it. The same conflicts, the same short-sightedness, the same mistakes.”

I heaved out a short breath. A brief thought about the person who I wasn’t thinking about flitted in my mind. Still. After all these years, after how things ended, after how he hurt me, he still lived rent-free in there.

“But if we study our past, really study it, we can break the cycle,” I said with full conviction. “So, who wants to tell me about the benefits of the vassal system?”

When the bell rang, students gathered up their books and shuffled out, some wishing me a good day. And it was going to be a good day.

Because there was no Hutch Hawkins in my school.

Or in my town.

Or anywhere within the Sourwood area.

The last I heard (or, read online), he was in Nashville kicking balls into nets for a living. He was living out his high school dream.

The halls outside my classroom bustled with students mingling and walking. I made some notes on how to liven up the lesson on the feudal system for my later periods before entering the hallway fray.

Fortunately, I was on the tall side. A good chunk of the student population was still going through puberty and thus hadn’t had full growth spurts. So that enabled me to peer over the tops of students’ heads.

And at the end of the hallway, just before the turn to the science corridor, I realized that I had been given a false sense of security by my friends. My eyes had not gaslit me earlier.

It was decidedly not going to be a good day.

I never knew what people were talking about when they spoke of outer body experiences. I only saw things from my point of view. And when my two eyes fixed on Hutch Hawkins—and it wasdefinitelyHutch Hawkins—well, all the oxygen left my body like it was running for cover.

Hollow, that was how I felt.

Watching him talk with Principal Aguilar sapped me of all energy. I was in fight or flight mode, but my feet were glued to the floor. Maybe I wanted a fight.

The universe was a nasty ass bitch who loved to mess with me. Because not only was Hutch here, but he was still freaking gorgeous. Still with the homecoming king glow that he had in high school. His dark hair hung over his electric blue eyes, and his defined jaw was brushed with stubble. And even from this distance, the perfect, innocent-but-not-that-innocent way his lips curled into a smile sent shockwaves pummeling through my body. His lone dimple on his left cheek still sent a wave of warm-and-fuzzies through me.

How was this possible?

Time was supposed to heal all wounds. Yet ten-year-old scars had instantly transformed into fresh bruises.

He shook his hair out of his eyes, like he’d done when we were in high school. I swooned for a millisecond.

Time stopped. Every student in the space between us stopped moving, frozen, as Hutch tilted his head and we locked eyes. His smile dropped and made way for a slightoh shitreaction.

I could be mature. I was an adult. I was almost thirty. Hell, I had a mortgage. People with mortgages could handle being around people who’d seen them naked.

I marched through the crowds of awkward teens, feeling like one of them. “Hutch,” I said with all the stern confidence I could muster.

I held out my hand to shake.

“Famous Amos.”

Gaaah, he used my nickname. Hearing my name in his voice made me equal parts enraged and melt like a stick of butter.

“It’s Mr. Bright now.”

“Amos teaches Ancient History here.” Principal Aguilar smiled between us, completely unaware that he’d lodged himself in a sticky situation.

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