Her All Along

We taught in blocks at my school, something I’d always preferred. It allowed me to delve deeper into the subjects, and we didn’t get interrupted by the bell every forty minutes.

This semester, I had history and economics, and the latter currently had me foaming at the mouth. Every morning, I studied the news closely, and I was waiting for this already massive problem to grow even bigger. I couldn’t believe some idiot politicians thought they could save the economy with impressive bailouts. The housing market collapsing was only the beginning—I was sure.

I woke up at four one morning because I had a strange abundance of energy. I was meeting with the substitute teacher who would be covering my classes while I rode out my administrative leave, and I had a feeling she wouldn’t enjoy my inability to give up control. She’d have no leeway. I had big plans for this semester, so she’d basically spend the first month of the new semester ensuring my students read what I wanted them to read.

Then I’d be back in September, fingers crossed. Everything was going accordingly to what my attorney had predicted; we were just waiting for the paperwork to go through. My record would be clean again afterward.

Once my coffee was done, I brought a mug, my phone, and my laptop with me to the patio. I was no longer settling for yesterday’s paper. I’d already devoured every word, and I’d be at it again as soon as today’s paper was delivered in a few hours.

It was going to be a hot day. I didn’t even need a hoodie.

Since I’d started reading the news on my laptop, I’d bought a matching, cheap plastic table to go with the two chairs I had. They sufficed for now.

I took a slow sip of my coffee while I waited for my laptop to power up.

The first light of the day was touching the horizon over the mountains to the east.

The seagulls would meet up with the fishermen returning to the marina soon.

My phone buzzed with a message from Pipsqueak.

Tell me when you’re up.

I responded.

I’m up. Come over if you want.

She was following the recent events in Iraq closely, and I enjoyed getting reports from her.

“Let’s see.” I rubbed my hands together and nodded to myself as the first headlines flashed on the screen. There wasn’t a chance in hell this wouldn’t be a global crash. How could some people stay positive—and naïve—in these times?

The Asian markets were failing, and the Footsie on the London Stock Exchange had dropped below 6,000 points in their morning session.

“Morning, Mister!”

“Morning, hon.” I sipped my coffee and scanned the article. “Any update from your brothers?”

She was too funny. She hadn’t changed out of her pajamas, instead opting for throwing a blanket around her shoulders.

She set two lemonade bottles on the table. “Yes, Ryan is okay.”

That was a relief. Other than being a highly skilled sniper in the Marines, stationed in one of the most hostile countries in the world, Ryan, along with his battalion, was part of some operation that was currently going on the offensive against a rise of insurgents outside of Fallujah.

“Did you email him yet?” Pipsqueak wondered.

I inclined my head and moved on to the WSJ website. “You insisted, and I obeyed. I emailed Jake too.”

“Because you’re their friend! They wanna hear from you too,” she defended. “Did you tell them you miss them?”

Eh. That wasn’t quite how I communicated with my friends. “Guys look out for one another,” I said. “I told them to sell their stocks. It’s our version of expressing care.”

Pipsqueak made a strangled noise. “How?”

“Because I’m essentially protecting their assets. I’m letting them know that the economy is about to tank, and my warning will allow them to evacuate a burning building before it collapses.” I eyed a headline and frowned, then clicked on it and rubbed a hand over my mouth. Yeah, fuck all the politicians and bankers who said everything was fine.

“Is this about the house bubble thing on the news?” she asked curiously. “Dad talks about it a lot.”

I hummed and nodded as I read.

“By the way, you’re squinting,” she told me. “That’s a sign that you might need glasses. You’re straining your eyes.”

I squinted harder at her, causing her to giggle, and said, “I sure as fuck don’t need glasses.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and slid one of the lemonade bottles my way. “The news is boring. Even Willow has her eyes glued to the news. FYI, that’s a figure of speech.”

“Good to know.” I withheld my smile and dutifully uncapped the bottle. “It’s great to follow the news, though. It’s the first assignment I give my seniors every semester. They have to watch the news a few times a week or read a minimum of four articles about current events.”