Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

I asked for this. Every motherfucking day I walked up those stairs in the afternoon to see her, I asked for this. I knew. Deep down, I knew I was getting too close to the edge of not just being acquaintances before I found out she was Nerdy Nurse. Back then, what feels like forever ago, I’d wonder on the weekends what she was doing or if she’d like the book I was reading. We’re friends, I thought, even though I knew where I was headed wasn’t a place you go with a friend.

Allowing my head to fall against the wall, a sense of hopelessness envelops me. This is all too new to process. Do people survive this?

I look at the door, the cool drywall at my back only adding to the frigidity of the moment. There’s nothing warm about this moment, nothing warm about my life.

Everything I used to enjoy all seems lackluster now as I consider going back to the way things were before. I could pull out the app, make some arrangements for the weekend, humor myself until work is over. But … why?

My body trembles with a shiver. It’s not the external cold that’s causing me to move; it’s the thought of never being with Mariah again that makes me feel like I’m freezing.

This can’t be it. This can’t be where our story ends, our jokes stop, our lunches completely halt because I was stupid enough to fall in love.

No. Fuck that.

This can’t be it. There has to be a way around it.

Do I wait? Do I pick the lock and wait inside her office? Do I call the main office and have her paged?

It all seems logical, completely rational, and I’m one step from picking the lock when the library doors open.

My hand goes into the air to tell her not to turn around when I realize it’s Ollie. He sees me and stutter-steps, a puzzled look on his ruddy cheeks.

“You okay, Mr. Gibson?”

“Yeah. Fine. Just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.”

“I can come back later …” He thumbs over his shoulder toward the doors. “It’s no problem.”

“No, no,” I sigh. “It’s fine, Ollie. What can I do for you?”

His grin could light up the entire city. “I wanted to say thank you to you and Ms. Malarkey. I’m going to pass Family and Consumer Sciences. Ms. Holden was impressed.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“Me too.”

Pulling my head out of my ass, I remember I’m a professional and an educator. Also, that I have news for my favorite student. “I have something to tell you too.”

“Okay,” he says.

“I talked to my brothers and it turns out they have rooms available. Maybe even some jobs, if you’re interested.”

His eyes match the sparkle of his smile. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” And as I am about Mariah. I glance towards the doors again, wondering if she went home sick or something. Her car was here when I got in at seven, hoping it was early enough to run into her in the parking lot.

“Well,” Ollie says, pressing his lips together in thought. “I might take you up on that. I, um, this is really weird and all, but I stayed at Brandon’s last night. His parents are really cool and, um, I’m not sure if anything will come out of it or if they meant it, but they used to have foster kids. They know how the system works and said maybe they could help me work some stuff out for college or something. At least put me in contact with the right people.”

For the first time in a couple of days, I feel hope. “Ollie,” I say, my voice rough, “that’s seriously great.”

“It is. I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but I think maybe …” He smiles again. “So, thank you, Mr. Gibson.”

“Anytime, Ollie. And my offer stands. No pressure,” I say, holding my hands up. “But if you need anything, come to me.”

“Will do.” He turns and heads back to the door, pausing before he shoves them open. “And Mr. Gibson?”

“Yeah?”

“You and Ms. Malarkey will be great parents some day.”

“Oh, Ollie,” I say, my throat raw. “That’s not, you know, probably in the cards.”

He sends me a knowing look, one only a kid like him can decipher. With a small nod of his head, he sighs. “I thought I’d never find people who gave a shit about me—sorry for the language,” he adds. “I used to go to people’s houses and try to be what I thought they wanted to see thinking that would make them accept me.” He takes a step back my way, his voice growing stronger. “There was a family that was super religious once. I read the Bible every night. I can almost quote it for you,” he chuckles.

“That’s not entirely a bad thing,” I laugh.