Page 15 of Between Love and War
I let out a sharp breath and grab the sweater off my chair, slipping it on like armor. “You are… easily the most distracting human being alive.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says, leaning back like he’s settling in for a show.
I shake my hair loose from its bun, trying not to notice the way his gaze lingers for half a second too long before flicking back to boredom.
I splash cold water on my face, letting the coolness wake me up a little. My ponytail stays intact, though a few strands have escaped, framing my face. I don’t bother fixing it. I’ve already changed into my gym clothes for the Little League, and as I stare at my reflection in the mirror, I realize that I have no idea what I’m walking into.
I know kids. I know how to handle tantrums, lost shoes, and occasional crayon-eating incidents. But sports? Chaos. Noise. Flying objects. That’s a whole different battlefield.
I grab my water bottle and head to our little gym, which is really just a repurposed backyard. But hey, at least it’s covered and air-conditioned.
When I enter the room, the kids all beam at me. Fellow teacher volunteers ask them to keep quiet, and some of them do. There are about thirty kids in this gym, and each one is a burst of a different kind of energy. I’m gonna need all the help I can get.
And apparently, that help is Michael Lee.
He’s been in the school for hours. The entire day, actually. In my classroom. Sitting in the back corner like a six-foot-four statue, somehow managing to look both bored and magnetic at the same time. He didn’t talk to anyone (except me, unfortunately), didn’t so much as look at the kids, and definitelydidn’t read the Rules of the Classroom poster I saw him staring at for twenty straight minutes.
Just on time, he strides into view. He’s wearing his basketball shorts and shoes, but instead of the matching jersey, he’s wearing a plain white shirt.
“Good afternoon, little athletes.” He smiles like he’s genuinely enjoying this moment, which is weird because it’s not on brand for him at all.
I push my glasses up my nose as Michael talks to the kids. He’s surprisingly good at it. My glasses fog up slightly from the indoor AC, so I take them off and attempt to clean them with the hem of my shirt, only half-listening.
Big mistake.
“So, with that, let’s start!” Michael announces. “I’m gonna give this ball to Miss Kate—”
I hear my name a second too late.
By the time my brain registers what’s happening, a ball is already soaring in my direction. Startled, I flinch. Then, somehow, in the most humiliating reflex known to mankind, I throw my glasses into the air.
Great. Spectacular. Just what I needed.
Before I can even react, Michael moves. In true overly athletic, show-off fashion, he dashes forward, catching my glasses with one hand before they hit the ground as the ball rolls off my back—which he also catches because the laws of physics do not apply to him.
Silence.
Then, snickers.
Then, full-blown giggles from the kids.
Michael, still holding my glasses, raises an eyebrow at me, clearly fighting back laughter. “Impressive coordination, Miss Kate.”
I snatch my glasses from his hand, my face heating up. “I hope you trip on your own shoelaces,” I mutter under my breath.
He grins, tossing the ball in the air effortlessly. “Not likely. I double-knot,” he whispers back.
“Then I hope your shoelaces never come undone, but one lace keeps slapping your ankle every time you run.”
Michael smirks, leaning in slightly. “I hope you drop your glasses mid-run and a kid steps on them.”
“Well, I hope you get an itch on your back you can’t reach, and every time you almost scratch it, it moves an inch to the left.”
This time, he actually barks out a laugh. Loudly. So loud that the kids just… laugh with him, even when they haven’t heard a thing.
I slip my glasses back on and focus on the kids in front of me. Their giggles haven’t stopped. Some are outright cackling, little hands clapping together in delight at my misfortune. One of the teacher volunteers—my friend, Farrah— tries to shush them, but I wave her off. No point in fighting it. I’ve already solidified myself as the comedic relief of today’s session.
Michael chuckles again, and dribbles the ball once. “Alright, little athletes, let’s start with some warm-ups. Stretch your arms, touch your toes, and try not to throw anything in the air unless youmeanto.” I take a slow, calming breath. This is fine. Everything is fine. I can be professional. Iwillbe professional.
