Page 31 of Moonshine Kiss
“Technically, with setbacks, I’m still on the public sidewalk,” the moron argued. Setbacks? Seriously? Did he think Cassidy was some redneck dummy? And was that a hairball on Cassidy’s pants?
“Technically,you should do your research. Back about twelve years ago, when all of you press folks descended on Bootleg, a town ordinance went into effect stating that members of the media could only stand in the center of the public road and only during the hours of 11 p.m. to midnight. And only if they applied for the Press Access Permit to close said public road. Also only if they were very, very respectful and quiet. Now, I’d like to see your Press Access Permit and your ID. I won’t ask nicely again.”
Microphone Man goggled at her and then scrambled away from my vehicle like it was filled with snakes.
Cassidy gave me a cool glance. “Have a nice day, Mr. Bodine.” She brushed the hairball off her pant leg.
God, I loved it when she was Unflappable Deputy.
“You do the same, Deputy Tucker.” I threw her a salute and backed out of my driveway with a big ol’ smile on my face.
* * *
I madeit to the school without further incident and hustled in through a side door. The school hadn’t changed much since I’d attended. Still had the same industrial tile floors, the same rickety lunch tables on wheels that folded up for floor polishing. The bathrooms were still full of pimple-faced, anxiety-ridden teenagers trying to get through the awkward years.
The library had seen some nice updates thanks to our fundraising. We now had e-readers the students could borrow and a huge online catalog. That, plus the air-conditioning and new reading chairs, made it a popular destination for students.
I turned left after the library and ducked into the main office. This place hadn’t changed a lick since I’d been a student. The same long wooden bench squatted against one wall, waiting for kids in trouble. The wood had hosted the asses of generations of troubled students, including all of my siblings. Opposite it was a faded yellow countertop behind which two administrative assistants ran the show of getting eight hundred seventh- through twelfth-graders a decent education, hot meals, and an idea of what they were gonna do next.
Both the admins were on the phone. Maribel Schilling, with her dyed black beehive, had been holding court in Bootleg Springs High School since my parents attended. No one had any idea how old she was, and most of us were too scared to ask. She was giving someone what for on the phone.
Hung Kim was drumming a pencil on his desktop calendar as he repeatedly said “I’m sorry, no,” into his phone. He worked here twenty hours a week to supplement his drumming career.
“No, you maynotspeak to Mr. Bodine, and no, we do not have a comment on the investigation. And if you use language like that with me again, I’ll wash your mouth out with goat soap, which tastes significantly worse than regular soap,” Maribel snapped into the phone.
My stomach sank. Reporters camped out at my house, journalists lighting up the phones at school? I was so getting fired for this shit.
I turned for my office, intending to either order lunch and flowers for the admins or draft my resignation when Dottie Leigh poked her head out of her door. “Got a minute, Bowie?” she asked.
Ah, hell. I wasn’t even going to get a chance to resign.
Dottie Leigh was the driving force behind a high school that consistently outperformed our neighboring districts. She believed in teaching methods that made learning accessible to everyone and constantly pushed our staff to be creative in their delivery of material. She suffered no fools and—despite topping out at five foot four—was an absolute shark on the basketball court.
She was good people, and I doubted I’d be able to hold her firing me against her.
“Sure, Dottie Leigh,” I said, tagging along behind her like a puppy.
She gestured to one of the chairs in front of her desk. I sat and scraped my palms over my knees. “I just wanted to say that I’ve really enjoyed working with you here,” I began.
Dottie Leigh leaned on the corner of her desk and crossed her arms, a smile quirking her lips that were painted an almost purple. “Are you quittin’ on me?” she asked, amused.
“No, ma’am. Just trying to thank you for the experience before you fire me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Bowie. I’m not firing you. I’m asking you how we can help you get through this.”
I felt blind gratitude sweep through me. Leah Mae, Cassidy, Dottie Leigh. Each one of them had stepped up for me in a different way today, and I was grateful.
“I’ll understand if I’m too much trouble,” I told her, wanting to make extra sure that she was sure. I was the good guy. I didn’t cause a fuss. I didn’t demand special treatment. I didn’t bring my problems to work with me, ever. And I’d understand if this ugly business changed the way people saw me. If it reminded them of who I came from.
“Bowie,” Dottie Leigh was exasperated now. “You’re not in trouble here. Nothing your father did or didn’t do is going to change your standing in this school.”
That wasn’t entirely correct. I’d basically sat in my own version of a chocolate pudding lid, giving every hormonal smartass in the building a real good reason to mock me.
“I appreciate that, Dottie Leigh,” I said, meeting her gaze. She had brown eyes that, depending on the situation, could make a person feel all warm and fuzzy inside or terrified for their lives. It was a warm and fuzzy instance, thankfully.
“Maribel and Hung are under strict orders on the phones. No comment and nothing gets transferred to you unless it’s a parent or a board member,” she told me. “If there’s anything you or your family need, give a holler. Okay?”
“Will do. Thank you again.” I was beyond grateful.
