If I Could - B. Celeste Page 0,2

two months, but I’d take it over body odor any day. At some point in the next couple of weeks I’m sure it’ll smell like the floor wax they use to clean the tiles, and whatever else the cleaning staff uses before the start of the school year. All I know is that it takes approximately ten minutes after the automatic doors unlock at seven fifteen before everything reeks of teenage misery, and the varying extremes that delve between not enough deodorant and too much Axe body spray.

Turning the corner to my new classroom, with the last box of supplies I’ll need for the year, I spot who I can only assume is a new faculty member staring at one of the many trophy cases lining the east wing with interest. At least, I can only imagine he’s one of the newbies that John Richman, my boss, and Exeter’s principal, told me about only a week ago during a run-in at the store. Apparently, there’s a handful of new faculty members. “Fresh faces” in his words, and the one standing in front of me is definitely that.

Not that I’m old. Hell, I started at Exeter right out of grad school at a ripe twenty-five, which still feels like yesterday even though it’s been almost five years. Pushing thirty feels more like pushing sixty-five after the first year of teaching English here. I love the job. There have just been times, especially that first twelve months, where I loved it a little less when the tough shit came, but that was nobody’s fault but my own.

The high-pitched squeak of my shoes against the floor as I approach the possible-new guy, who probably wouldn’t be wearing a nice pair of black slacks and form-fitting navy button-down otherwise, gains his attention. His body turns to me, and I’m met with something familiar. Hope, excitement, and a dash of sorrow carved onto his chiseled face, slightly squared jaw dotted with dark stubble that matches his brown hair, and a large smile that brightens his tan face. If America had a twenty-first century poster boy, he would be the face of it.

Balancing the box against one hip, I offer him a hand when I’m in reaching distance. “Hey, man. Reece Nichols. You need help with anything?”

His strong grip meets mine as he shakes like he’s been trained to do so properly, his callused fingers wrapping around mine and rivaling my fair skin all thanks to the mixed English and Irish roots in my blood. “Lawrence McKinley.” Letting go first, he jabs a thumb behind him at the case again. “I was just admiring the display. Richman told me the school’s athletics were top in the state, but it’s always impressive seeing firsthand.”

I nod, knowing we’ve won a fair share of championships and tournaments, but athletics is far from my realm of interest or understanding. I can tell the difference between a soccer ball and football but couldn’t explain how either game worked. Besides one Homecoming event that I was dragged to by a few coworkers, I haven’t attended any of the other games to make conversation about it. “Yeah, Exeter’s known for producing some of the best. We’ve had a few students go on to join a few different leagues.” I think. I’ve heard a few other teachers gossip about former students, but I don’t necessarily pay too much attention. A student from a few years back got drafted as a first pick to a team in the NFL I actually heard of thanks to a buddy of mine, Iverson, who knows his sports trivia.

“No shit?” Awe takes over his tone as he turns back to the case, one hand sliding into the front pocket of his slacks. “Seems like one kid won a lot of these. Don’t think I’ve heard of him play professionally though. Kaiden Monroe?”

Shoulders stiffening, I force them to relax before his eyes, equally as dark brown as his chocolate hair, can see my tense stature. I knew he was going to say that name before it passed his lips, but it doesn’t make the memories of Monroe, or anything surrounding him, less of a pain to remember. It’s true that Kaiden, who graduated five years ago, is one of the better athletes Exeter has seen. The former coach used to boast about the kid’s skills, as did most of the teaching staff when they weren’t complaining about his attitude or lack of academic effort. Given what he and his family