Page 27 of John Wilder Gets Schooled
He was a dude, and I was straight.
Right?
CHAPTER 8
AVERY
When I woke up on Saturday morning, it was later than I normally slept, and my mouth felt like I’d been licking sawdust. I resolved then and there never to accept Dana’s invitation for Friday night drinks again. But I’d been swayed by her argument that surviving my first field trip deserved to be celebrated. I’d stayed off the blue fish cocktails this time and stuck with Jack and Coke. Maybe next time I’d stick to fewer of them and wake up without any hangover at all. It was important to have goals in life.
Last night had been a little disappointing in non-alcohol-related ways too. I’d hoped I’d see Wilder at Easy Rider, but none of the strippers last night had been him. I wouldn’t have gotten another dance, but maybe I could have bought him a drink when he finished working? After all, we hadn’t lost any kids on Wednesday at the Adventurama, so I owed him a drink for that, right? So it had been a letdown when he hadn’t been working.
Still, on balance I was feeling pretty good this morning. I murdered my hangover with bacon and eggs and a coffee strong enough to use as a blunt object and decided that after my successful week as a teacher, I was going to have a successful weekend as a homeowner. I had jobs to do!
It was a nice day, so I decided that mowing the lawn would bethe first thing I tackled. My decision was based entirely on the weather, thanks, and not the fact that I’d caught a glimpse through my kitchen curtains of Wilder hauling a toolbox around to his front porch. Anyway, I was allowed to smile and wave at the neighbor I liked now.
Don’t crush on the straight dads, Avery.
Okay, firstly, that wasn’t what was happening, Avery’s Brain. Also, secondly, there was a very big question mark next toIs Wilder straight?on the list of Things Avery Knows About Wilder For Sure, okay? Besides, it was okay to appreciate that Wilder was a good-looking guy so long as I wasn’t a creep about it.
So I went and got the mower out, waved to Wilder as he worked on the step of his porch, and started to mow.
My happy homeowner fantasy lasted almost a full minute before I wondered if there was a lawn service I could hire for this instead, because mowing the lawn wasn’t fun. I’d done it before, of course, but I was the youngest of seven kids—even on a rotating roster, it hadn’t come up very often, and I’d forgotten how much work it was. Also, my pocket money wasn’t dependent on it, so I had to rely on intrinsic motivation, and by the second time I’d pushed the lawnmower all the way from the front yard down to the back, it turned out I didn’t have any intrinsic motivation at all. But I couldn’t quit now because then Wilder would know how pathetic I was. Maybe I could pretend the lawnmower died?
Then, when I made the turn at the end of the backyard, the lawnmower spluttered. For a second I thought it really was going to die—but then, right in the silence between when the engine cut out and roared into life again, I heard a yell: “Avery!”
I cut the engine.
“Avery!” There was a note of urgency in Wilder’s voice that made my heart skip a few beats, as unreliable as the lawnmower.
I jogged toward the front of both our houses. “Wilder? You okay?”
He was still crouched on the front steps of his porch, waving a nail gun in my direction. “Avery!”
I hurried over to him. “What’s the ma—holyshit! That’s a lot of blood!”
Wilder had nailed his hand to the step.
I crouched down beside him to get a decent look.
“You’re not gonna faint on me, are you?” he asked with a wavering grin, setting the nail gun down.
“Like a Victorian lady in a tightly laced corset,” I said, though it wasn’t me I was worried about. Youngest of seven, remember? Pretty sure my parents had a reserved parking space at the local ED. If either of us was going to faint right now, my money was on Wilder. He was pale and shaky, and there was a tremor running through his arm that must have been tugging painfully where the nail pierced his hand between his thumb and forefinger. “Okay, so I think it’s just through the webbing. I’ll call an ambulance and?—”
“No.” He shook his head. “I can’t afford that.”
“Okay.” I reached for his toolbox and pulled out a claw hammer. “I can get it out.”
“There’s a pry bar in there.”
“What the hell is a pry bar?”
“It’s like a flat little crowbar.”
I set the hammer aside and found what looked like a flat little crowbar. “This?”
“Yup.” He braced his good hand on the step and squeezed his eyes shut. “Do it.”
It didn’t go to plan.
