Page 2 of Until Nalia
“Did you put your lunch in your backpack?”
“Not yet, it’s in the fridge.”
“Okay,” I kiss the side of her head. “Grab it and fill up your water bottle, I’ll clean all this up.” While I clean up, she gathers all of her stuff and puts Pippin in his cage in her bedroom then meets me by the front door where I slip on my sandals and grab the keys for my Bronco.
The drive to the school takes less than five minutes, and when we arrive, she’s quiet and watchful from the back seat. The school complex is much smaller than where she went in Colorado, which I’m hoping will help her feel less overwhelmed. Even though today it doesn’t feel smaller, everyone, and I mean everyone, is here for the first day since this is the only day you are allowed to walk your kids to class.
After a few minutes, I find a place to park on a patch of grass where a few other people have parked and meet her gaze in the rearview mirror.
She looks nervous, and I’m nervous for her.
“Are you ready?”
“Yeah.” She opens her door and gets out with her backpack, and I meet her at the trunk of my Bronco and hold out my hand to her, and she places her hand in mine.
As we are walking up to the school, I notice a huge lawn sign with the school’s logo, where other parents are taking photos of their kids in front of it.
“Don’t even think about asking me to take a picture,” she grumbles under her breath, obviously reading my mind.
“It’s the first day of fourth grade, of course, I’m going to ask you to take a picture.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, and she rolls her eyes.
“Fine.” She gives in and walks to the sign, faking a smile just for me as I snap a few pictures.
“See, that wasn’t so bad.” I tuck my phone away.
“Says you,” she mumbles under her breath, and I grab her hand once more and lead her towards the gathering crowd. I think I feel as awkward as she does as we join the group of parents who are all smiles and the kids who look scared with back-to-school jitters, waiting to enter the building.
Once we get past the front doors, we head up the stairs to the second floor, where the fourth-grade hall is. We retrace our steps from a week ago when I brought her to back to school night where she had a chance to see her class and meet both her teachers. A couple days after that, I came back on my own for a parent-teacher meeting to go over what would be happening this school year. It was nice to kind of get to know both her teachers and find out exactly what I could expect since I’ve never had to do this before. When Sharon was around, she took care of all this stuff. I only had to step in if she couldn’t pick Zuri up from school. Which became something I had to do more often than not, right before she ended up being arrested.
Once we get to her homeroom class, Mrs. McGregor greets us with a bright smile at the door and tells Zuri she can find her name tag on her desk.
“I’ll be here to pick you up after school, okay.” Not wanting to embarrass her, I touch her hair when I really want to drag her into me for a hug and not let her go.
“Okay, Namalama.”
“Love you, kid.”
“Love you, too,” she whispers before she ducks her head. With my bottom lip caught between my teeth, I watch her wander across the room to her desk and start to unpack her bag. When I see another girl walk up to the desk next to hers and say something that she responds to with a smile, I let out a sigh of relief.
“She’ll be okay.” Turning my head, I smile at Mrs. McGregor.
“This is the first time I’ve done this, so I think I’m more nervous than she is.”
“That’s usually how it goes.” She laughs, rubbing my arm. “She’ll be alright, and you can also e-mail me anytime if you want to check in and see how she is doing.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she tells me before she wanders to the door when another group of parents and kids come into the class.
Looking back at Zuri one last time, I catch her gaze giving her a thumbs up and she rolls her eyes like I’m an idiot but smiles shyly before she turns her attention back to the girl next to her.
Feeling better, I leave her class and dodge people as I walk down the hall. While I’m taking the stairs back down to the first floor, my gaze connects with a man coming up on the opposite side with a boy Zuri’s age tucked under his arm. I almost trip over my own feet when I recognize him under the beard covering the lower half of his face and the years between now and when I saw him last.
Logan Rafe played a role in every single one of my teenage fantasies growing up. I had the biggest crush on him. All the girls did. He was tall and handsome with dark hair, a sculpted jaw, and blue eyes that seemed brighter because of his thick dark lashes. He played baseball, rode a motorcycle, and was always the most popular guy in school without even trying. I was a freshman his senior year, and I still remember being heartbroken when he graduated and left town because I was sure that I had missed my shot of him seeing me and instantly falling in love. He’s still gorgeous, maybe even better looking now that he’s lost his boyish features.
