Page 169 of The Lineman

I’d almost forgotten Elliot was sitting there when his hand found my forearm, and his voice cut through the silence. “I’m proud of you, babe.”

I swallowed down a lump, and a childlike voice croaked, “Thanks.”

“So.” Mateo leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Where do we start? Some sort of opening night meeting? Invite everyone? Parents, kids, teachers?”

I thought a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, we need to get them all on board from the start, as many as we can, at least.”

Elliot tilted his head. “You really think parents will show up?”

I hesitated. “I hope so.”

Mateo sighed. “We have to make themwantto come. This can’t just be about the kids.”

“We should have resources for them,” I said quickly. “Pamphlets, books, support groups—things that help them understand why this is important.”

“Maybe even bring in a speaker?” Mateo suggested. “Someone who can talk about what it’s like to grow up without this kind of support.”

I tapped my fork against the table. “Jamie should be the first to know.”

Mateo smiled. “Duh.”

Elliot watched me with such warmth in his eyes.

“You’re good at this,” he said.

I felt my chest tighten, my throat closing up again.

Because I wanted to be good at this.

For Jamie.

For all of them.

For the kids who had never had a space to just be.

Maybe—just a little—for the youngermewho never had a safety net.

I swallowed again, meeting Elliot’s gaze. “I just want to get it right.”

Elliot smiled, slow and sure. “You will.”

Mateo raised his beer. “To Jamie. And to making this count.”

I picked up my wine, clinking it against his bottle, my heart pounding.

This was happening.

And we were going to make it matter, damn it.

Chapter forty-five

Mike

Walkingbackintomyclassroom after a peaceful weekend in the mountains was like stepping into a storm, a storm made entirely of teenagers, loud voices, and an obscene amount of Axe body spray.

Jessica, dressed in the shortest skirt allowed by school policies and wearing more makeup than Tammy Faye on a bad Sunday, had spotted me the second I walked in, her eyes lighting up like a cat who just found a mouse with a broken leg.

“Ohhh, Mr. Albert,” she purred, flipping her hair over her shoulder and then twirling it with her forefinger. “Back from your little getaway? Are you ready for a real woman now?”

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