Page 50 of Class Act

His answer was calm, quiet. “You can.”

What did that mean? I can what? If he suddenly opened a door between us then I was going to full on lose my heart to him, and that terrified me as much as it made me want to leap through the door and hang on for dear life. There’s nothing as painful as a one-sided love affair, and it was getting harder and harder as he blurred the lines between fantasy and reality.

“I can’t.”

He reached for my hurt hand and gently lifted my arm, tracing a finger around my wrist. “How’s this feeling?”

I gulped as starlight raced up my arm. “It’s okay.”

“Any particular reason you’re turning down what I’d consider the best spaghetti in town?” he asked. “If you’re feeling awkward or embarrassed, you don’t need to be.”

Oh, Ford . . . there were so many, many reasons. Number one was that I could not cast aside his words regardless of what his actions were telling me. I needed to process this development. I needed to be able to take a full breath again.

“I just can’t . . . tonight.” I tacked on the last word, hoping it would sound less like a rejection, for what reason I couldn’t have said.

He smiled and released my arm. “Okay. I’ll walk you out to your car.”

He was easy, breezy, acting like whatever I decided to do was no skin off his back. I appreciated that, because one of us needed to be reasonable about all of this, and it was becoming quite clear that would never be me.

*****

Having my mind chugging over Ford did not help anything for the next couple of days. I kept messing up lesson plans, or finding typos in the email updates I sent to parents. It all culminated when my computer died five minutes before parent teacher conferences were scheduled to start—obviously. It went blue and then black and then, puff, nothing. I dropped my head into my hands and moaned. Why me? Why now? Why did computers rule our world but always let us down? I unplugged it from the wall because computer tech always asked if you’d powered it off and back on, counted to thirty like my dad always said I should, and plugged it back in. I was rewarded with a black screen and a circling icon that hovered there for the entire three minutes I watched it. Now my first student-parent duo was due in two minutes, and I hadn’t printed off his reports because I’d gotten stuck in Recap and Recoup telling my friends about The Whittakers’ Great Escape, as I was now calling it.

The part about sleeping on his couch had taken a very, very long time to discuss. And when I’d told them how he’d held my wrist and run his finger across it, they’d all playfully fanned themselves and launched into a war room style discussion.

Suffice it to say that my friends were as freaked out as I was but for different reasons.

They thought I should go for it, push through any barriers, and enjoy life in a castle. I was still doing my best to respect his wishes to stay free from relationship entanglements.

The main thing tickling my mind today was how could Ford say he wasn’t interested in a relationship and then keep doing unexpectedly kind things? Was this how he treated everyone? Did he realize how bone-meltingly flirty his actions came off? Were other women in need of his spaghetti? Was I reading too much into it? Maybe he went around town performing heroic acts and caressing wrists daily.

Okay, so there was more than one thing I was trying to make sense of. Real Ford was giving Fake Ford a run for his money. And neither Ford was up for grabs.

I picked up the phone on my desk and buzzed number 818, computer tech support, hoping Wesley was still in the building, even though he also did tech support for another elementary school and switched days.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Oh, wonderful. Wesley, this is Hailey Thomas. My computer is totally dead. Do you have a minute to come down to room eight?”

“I’ll be right there.”

I hung up, feeling at least a smidgen of hope that he could figure it out before the next wave of students and parents came. I had this first conference and then a free hour before everyone else had signed up. Sure enough, Wesley arrived quickly as promised. His glasses reflected the blank screen as he slid into my chair. Before I could tell him what had happened, my student walked in.

Wesley’s typing and talking to himself at my computer was a little distracting, but I was able to get through the conference with the information I could access on my phone. When the fifteen-minute meeting was up, I bid Joel and his mother goodbye before scooting over to where Wesley was sitting. I stood behind the chair and looked at my screen. It was no longer black, but nothing looked how it was supposed to look either. Icons were all over the place, and my pretty wallpaper was missing.

“What happened, and did I do it?” I asked him.

His eyes stayed trained on the screen. “Not sure.”

“How long until it’s working again?’

“Not sure.”

“A man of many words,” I teased. “Thanks for the hope.”

At that he did look up over his shoulder and grinned. “I know how to keep the customers happy.”

I giggled as I noticed three blond heads enter the doorway. It was the Whittaker clan, and warm bubbles rose in my chest. It had only been two days since I’d woken up on their couch and scooted on out of there. That awkward feeling did its best to attach itself once again as I smoothed down my shirt front and walked around my computer to greet them.

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