Fifty minutes later, a knock on the door alerted me to the fifth-grade buddy sent to pick up my students for music class. Everyone filed into a semi-quiet line and waved good-bye. I blew them a kiss and told them we’d be working on a surprise project when they returned. That got a few fist pumps and booty shakes.
Minutes after they left, I placed a sheet of construction paper on each of their desks, preparing the guilt cards—er, get well cards—for the kids’ return. Luckily, I had more than enough art supplies to share with the sub across the hall, too. I hadn’t a clue where Mrs. Walker stored her own art supplies, and I wasn’t about to be the one blamed for messing up her system whenever she did return.
Gathering up a few pairs of funky scissors, hole punchers, markers, and stickers to share, I checked the clock above my door. The sub would be releasing Walker’s class for music in just a few minutes. With the exception of library, we swapped all other electives throughout the week.
Armed with the necessary supplies, I carried the art box into the hall and immediately jerked back a step at the sound of . . . a bleating animal? I glanced toward the lunchroom and then in the direction of the library. Strange. There was no sound coming from either end of the hallway. I located the alarm system above the computer lab. No flashing light to signal an emergency.
And then it happened again.
The most off-putting, ear-splitting . . . roar? A boisterous cheer broke out an instant later, coming from inside Mrs. Walker’s classroom. I quickened my steps to cross the linoleum sea between our two rooms.
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t dare open her door without knocking, but instinct had me cranking the handle and throwing it open wide. And then, just like that, my feet were frozen to the floor, my jaw hanging slack at a sight that flipped my mundane Monday completely upside down.
Whoever was currently roaring at a class of six-year-olds . . . he most certainly was not on Mrs. Walker’s approved sub list.
chapter
two
Squatting on top of Mrs. Walker’s oak desk was a headless man—at least I assumed he was a man. But his white undershirt, leather belt, and dark-washed jeans were all secondary details to the Kermit-green T-shirt flipped over his head and stretched tight against his face like shrink-wrap.
The lifelike screen print of a T-Rex head—complete with scary eyes and even scarier teeth—hid every trace of whatever human features were underneath. Two flailing hands sprouted directly from his short green sleeves, while his feet stomped as he projected several angry snorts.
The class hooted with laughter, some of the kids calling out for him to jump down and chase them around the room. Instead, with unnerving accuracy for a blind man, he bent his head down and picked up a stapler between his giant, cloth-covered dinosaur teeth.
For a moment I questioned the integrity of our school’s security protocol.
“Awesome! Do it again!” Mason Grady cheered from the front row.
“Wanna eat my lunch?” Rosie Simons asked, holding up her princess lunchbox. “I never eat my cheese stick.”
The man-saur dropped the stapler onto the desk, then proceeded to sniff the air before letting out another massive bleat.
Several of the girls covered their ears and looked around the room, spotting me near the door for the first time.
“Uh . . . Mr. Avery?” Joy Goldman hiked up her glasses and raised her hand. “Miss Bailey is—”
The T-Rex cut her off with a mighty huff.
“But, Mr. Avery! Mr. Avery!” The kids giggled and continued to point at the only teacher in the room who was not trying to reenact Jurassic Park.
Of all the emergency trainings we’d been given as a staff, all the lockdown drills we’d done as a school district . . . I was completely unprepared for this particular scenario. What exactly was my role here? Did I throw my box of markers at its head in an attempt to save the children? Did I distract it with the granola bar in my pocket, then rush the kids to my classroom?
“Excuse me?” I approached with caution. “Are you Mrs. Walker’s sub?”
The still-blind, ready-to-charge dinosaur whipped his head in my direction, and I barely managed to bite back a scream. Not real, Lauren. Not. Real.
Instantly, the miniature T-Rex hands poking out the sleeve holes began to grow into two full-size, all-male arms. Ten fingers grappled at once for the hem of his T-shirt tucked unnaturally behind the nape of his neck. He gave it a sharp tug.
Fabric-ruffled hair that wasn’t quite blond and wasn’t quite brown stuck up in every direction. He pulled the shirt lower still, uncovering dark-lashed eyes, covetable cheekbones, and a square jawline. The shocking reveal resembled nothing of the prehistoric monster he’d portrayed.
The man blinked as if to reacquaint himself with the twenty-first century and let his Ask Me About My T-Rex shirt fall to his waist before he leapt off Mrs. Walker’s desk. He raked a hand through his rumpled, caramelly hair and smiled a grin that had me questioning my own species at the moment. “Hi there, I’m Joshua Avery.”
That was it. No explanation. No apology. No ruddy cheeks of humiliation for being caught with his shirt over his head while pretending to be a dinosaur. Just a casual greeting, as if all were perfectly normal.
I swallowed and shoved the random grouping of art supplies I was still holding in his direction, including the stamp collection my mother had found during one of her more lucrative closet-cleaning raids. “Here. This is for you—for your class, I mean. To do. If you—they—want to.”
He looked down at the craft paraphernalia now in his arms and then back up to me, every student in the room focused on the two of us. “Did I miss the art lesson in Charlotte’s lesson plan for today?”
Charlotte? He calls Mrs. Walker by her first name? There was something blasphemous about calling a teacher of nearly thirty-five years by her first name. “No, uh, these aren’t for an art lesson. They’re for making get-well-soon cards. To send to Mrs. Walker’s hospital room.”
“Oh, right. Sure.” He nodded. “That’s really cool of you. Thanks for thinking of that.”
“Yeah . . . no problem.” An awkward beat of I-have-no-idea-what-to-do-next loomed over me, and I hitched a thumb in the direction of the hallway. “I should get back to my room. My kids will be coming from music class in just a minute.” His lack of reaction pushed me to continue. “Which means Mrs. Walker’s students will have music next. They’re working on a Thanksgiving program. A fifth-grade helper will be here to pick them up as soon as she walks mine back.”
“Oh, great. Thanks for the heads-up.” Another good-natured chuckle was followed by a gesture to the desk behind him. “I do have a schedule written down somewhere, but as you can see, we got a bit off track.”
I nearly laughed at that. “Sure. Okay. Well, I’m across the hall if . . .” If what? “If you need anything or have any questions.”
As if my arms and legs were made of metal and bolts, I took a stiff step toward the door.
“Bye, Miss Bailey,” several students sang out.
I twisted slightly to wave at the class, when Joshua met my gaze with a wink.
“Yes, good-bye, Miss Bailey. Hope to see you around.”
Something about the way he said my name made me want to take back the words I’d spoken to Jenna earlier this morning. Not my pledge to steer clear of the dating world, but my definitive analysis of all the men who resided in my area.