“Joshua Avery. Tech nerd. Dinosaur freak. And as of today, a first-grade sub.” He glanced my way again.
“Avery . . . Avery . . . Why does your name sound so familiar?” Jenna repeated it slowly, as if his last name was the only thing she noticed about a grown man wearing an Ask Me About My T-Rex T-shirt. Also, where was his coat? Was he immune to the barely above freezing temperature? It wasn’t as if he had extra insulation to work with, either. Joshua was made of lean muscle, long limbs, and likely the kind of metabolism that could make millions if bottled and sold on the black market.
If possible, Joshua’s smile brightened several extra watts. “You might know my father, George Avery? Although sometimes he’s not as eager to claim me as a son.” He leaned in as if to tell us a secret. “Just don’t ask him about the time I shot a weighted bottle rocket into the windshield of his Volvo. I keep waiting for him to find the humor in that one, but it’s been nearly twenty years, and he still won’t allow me to bring a two-liter bottle into his house.”
“Hold on,” I said, finding my voice and raising up a hand, as if that gesture alone might slow the world long enough for me to process the revelation unfolding in my brain. The instant he spoke his father’s name, my mind rattled awake. It was a name that made my voice skip an octave and my pulse trip over itself. “Your father is George Avery—as in the author of Create a Reader in 30 Days and Reading Express for Kids and Reading Express for Parents and Every Teacher’s—”
“Reading Dream,” he finished with me. “Yep, that’s the one.”
I’d never been the fangirling type. Not even when I spotted my favorite HGTV host signing autographs at a Starbucks downtown last July. But this . . . this was different. This was personal. George Avery wasn’t just a brilliant teacher-turned-author who lived somewhere in the inland northwest—he was also the reason I’d strayed from a degree in childhood psychology and ended up with a master’s in early childhood development. And that was only the start of his influence on my life.
During my second week as a freshman at Boise State, I’d stumbled into what I thought was a lecture on modern psychology. Instead, I found myself mesmerized by a professor in his late-forties reading the classic children’s book Horton Hatches the Egg to a crowd of checked-out, early-twenty-somethings. Obviously, they, too, had believed they’d entered the wrong class. But with his gentle and confident manner, Mr. Avery had continued to read about a loyal elephant who overcame every kind of hardship in order to keep his promise to sit atop a lonely egg until it hatched.
George Avery showed each illustration to the massive auditorium the way any seasoned elementary teacher would show a classroom of wiggly children. Less than five pages in, the emotionally charged tale had entranced even the most cynical of students.
By the last page, my cheeks were tear-soaked. And when he finally closed the book and fixed his gaze on his enraptured audience, his last words pierced me like a destiny-tipped arrow. “The way to shape a child’s heart is through love. And the way to shape a child’s mind is through literature. When you read to a child, you accomplish both.”
With a sharp jab of her elbow, Jenna catapulted me fourteen years into the future. Back to a parking lot with the son of the living legend who’d changed my life with a children’s storybook.
“Sorry, I just—I love him,” I blurted without preamble. “Your dad. I’ve read everything he’s ever written—articles, blogs, books. And his documentary series on Little Readers Across the Nation was absolutely fantastic. I use many of his techniques in my classroom.”
“Understatement,” Jenna interjected. “Lauren’s responsible for overseeing the annual Reader Express Training for our entire district.”
Joshua’s face morphed from a delighted state of curiosity to an expression I couldn’t quite determine. “Wow. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt as envious of my father as I do right now. Although, usually his fans are about thirty years your senior and mention ‘the good old days’ at least once during their praise of his accolades.”
“He’s a hero in education.” A statement I’d said more times than I could count.
The right corner of his mouth tipped further north, revealing a deep-set dimple. “I’ll make sure to tell him you said so.”
“Please do,” I said in reply, only because the desperate “Please ask him to autograph my grade book?!” seemed a little too soon considering he’d only learned my first name five minutes ago.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Jenna’s head swivel from me to Joshua, and then back to me again. “How long do you plan to sub for Mrs. Walker, Joshua?”
His gaze didn’t stray from my face for longer than the eight seconds it took him to respond. “I’m not totally sure, but my guess would be a week, possibly longer depending on what the district allows. I’m up for whatever, though. I have the time, and it’s a nice change of pace to be on this side of things.”
This side of things? “You don’t usually work as a sub?”
“No. My degree is in education, but my career followed my minor in computer science. Charlotte allowing me to sub for her is the result of several phone calls between my father and the superintendent. He managed to convince the district that I’m in need of a refresher course inside my test market before we continue on with our project. And I’m not too proud to admit that my father and his lackeys at the district weren’t wrong. I’ve learned a lot today.”
Jenna cut in before I had the chance. “What do you mean by your test market?”
“First graders. I’m in tech development—educational apps and video games for early readers, primarily.” His eyes found mine again and something inside me leapt at his next proclamation. “I’m working on digitizing my father’s research into an administration application suitable for school districts across the nation. We hope the app will have crossover appeal. Both classroom and at-home use. Right now it’s undergoing some early approvals and recommendations by higher-ups.”
Jenna laughed a little too brightly, as if she, too, was experiencing the weirdest sense of déjà vu. How many times during our annual trainings had I said, “I wish this reading program was in a more user-friendly format for our kids and their parents to use at home”?
“What? What am I missing?” he asked, directing his question to both of us.
Jenna shook her head and began walking backward toward her Acura. “I’ll let Lauren fill you in on that one. I’ve got to run and meet my husband downtown before he starts his shift at the hospital.” Her smile was positively wicked as she eyed me from behind Joshua’s back. “I’m looking forward to having you at Brighton, Joshua—for however long you’re with us.”
He tossed a “Thanks” over his shoulder, and Jenna held an imaginary finger phone up to her ear for me to see, mouthing the words Call me!
A minute later she was gone from the lot, and apart from a few black birds fighting over some smashed Cheetos on the sidewalk, Joshua and I were alone.
He scanned the remaining six vehicles parked in the rows behind us, the breeze fingering through his hair. “Are you the white Cherokee on the end there?”