Straight Up Love (The Boys of Jackson Harbor Book 2)

“Sydney, I got your application, and you’re good to go.” I scroll down my list, making sure I’ve talked to all the students in drama club who want to help with the children’s theater this summer. “Lance, I still need the permission slip from your parents, but other than that, you’re good to go.”

“On it,” Lance says.

“May I help at auditions tomorrow?” Sydney asks, packing up her things.

“I’d love that.” I grin at her. “Are you prepared to deal with a bunch of incredibly hyper and nervous grade-school kids?”

She shrugs. “I wish someone had let me get on stage when I was little. I think it’s cool that they’re getting into it so young.”

Lance sticks around with Sydney as the other students file out. “I can come too,” he says. Then he remembers to look apathetic and shrugs. “I mean, if you needed help, it wouldn’t mess with my plans or anything.”

I grin. Drama club met after school today, but since we’ve already wrapped up the spring Windsor Prep performance, the weekly meeting is more of a planning hour for these last few weeks of the year. “I can always use extra hands on audition days.”

“Miss McKinley?” I look up to see Mr. Mooney sticking his head in the door to my classroom. “May I see you in my office before you leave today?”

My stomach sinks. Being called to the principal’s office isn’t any less terrifying when you’re an adult. “Of course. I’ll be down in about fifteen minutes.”

Mr. Mooney doesn’t even attempt a reassuring smile. Instead, he gives a tight nod and walks away.

“Are you in trouble?” Lance asks.

“Is it about the layoffs?” Sydney asks.

I wave them both off. “You two worry too much. Go ahead and get out of here. I’ll see you at the theater tomorrow.”

They look skeptical but gather their things and leave my classroom. I’m glad when they’re gone, and I no longer have to fight to keep my smile in place.

It’s been a long day at the end of an even longer week. A meeting with Mr. Mooney wasn’t on the agenda, and I can’t imagine it’s likely to make an already tough week any easier.

My phone buzzes, and seeing Jake’s name in the text notification makes something knot in my stomach.

Jake: I’ve missed you this week.

I’ve been avoiding Jake—easy enough to do. The children’s theater is beginning its inevitable takeover of my life, as it does this time every year, and the end-of-the-school-year grading seems never-ending. But now it’s been six days since he walked out of our hotel room. I’m bound to see him when I’m out for girls’ night tonight, and maybe again when Lilly comes to her audition tomorrow. We’ve texted a couple of times, but he’s been busy too. Kathleen had surgery on Sunday and was released from the hospital but needs a little extra help getting around.

Me: I’ve been so busy. If I don’t see you at the bar tonight, I’ll try to catch you tomorrow morning.

I bite my lip and force myself to hit send. I need to see Jake. I need to admit to him that I’m hitting the brakes on Operation Pregnancy . . . at least for now. I’m just not sure how to have that conversation. What will that mean for me and Jake? Will we go back to how we were before? Is that possible or have I ruined everything?

Jake: Oh, you’ll see me tonight. In fact, I might pull you away from the girls. Give me fifteen minutes in my office. I promise you won’t regret it.

A thrill rushes down my spine and my thighs tighten at those words, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut for a beat. Part of me—a very selfish, undersexed part that’s lusted after her best friend for longer than she’ll admit—wants to hold off on telling Jake. I know letting him give me a baby is a capital-B, capital-I Bad Idea, but having him flirt with me and touch me has been nothing short of a fantasy. I don’t want it to end. I know I turn him on, and he’s admitted he’s been attracted to me for a long time, but is that enough? Is either of us willing to give Ava-and-Jake a try without a baby as an excuse?

I type three different replies before I settle on a cryptic We’ll see about that, and tuck my phone back into my purse.

I take my time packing my things, needing the few minutes of alone time before facing Mr. Mooney. Last week, I let my plagiarizer have another chance on his research paper, and even though I’d bet money he had someone write it for him, I couldn’t prove a thing, so I graded it, and everyone but me seemed pretty pleased with that outcome. Today must be a different unhappy student. Or worse, unhappy parents.

Just a day in the life of a private school teacher.

I roll my shoulders back and head to Mr. Mooney’s office, knocking twice on the frame of the open door before poking my head in. “Mr. Mooney?”

He gives me a tight smile from the other side of the desk and waves me in. “Please, Ms. McKinley, have a seat.”

“Thanks,” I say softly. My hackles are up, but I need to assume the best until I know there’s a reason not to.

“As you know,” he begins, “we’ve been having to grapple with some pretty difficult choices with all these layoffs.”

I wait for him to say more, but he just looks at me, and as the seconds tick away, I realize what he’s not saying, and I freeze. I knew layoffs were coming, but I naively believed what he told me that night at Howell’s. I thought I wouldn’t be affected. But he’s staring at me as if he’s waiting for me to understand something. He wants me to guess it before he has to say it out loud.

I won’t give him the satisfaction. “Okay?”

He sighs heavily, his annoyance weighing in the air as unmistakably as his cheap cologne. “I’ve always appreciated your work ethic and your rapport with your students. But as you know, we have to look outside the classroom, too. Miss Quincy has taken our cheerleaders to state championships two years in a row. Not only is it an invaluable experience for the girls and a pathway to scholarships, it’s good for the school. Girls want to come here because they want to be on that team.”

My stomach sinks. “But I have seniority.”

“This is a private school, Miss McKinley. We’ve never used years of service as a metric for teacher evaluation.”

“But what about the theater program? Those kids—”

“Do you really think the theater program is going to bring kids to this school?”

I lean forward, feeling desperate. “If you’d give me some money to work with, it might. The cheerleaders have gotten everything they’ve asked for and more, and meanwhile the theater kids are expected to put on major productions with nothing but the paltry budget they get from fundraisers.”

He holds up a hand. “I could have waited until the end of the school year to deliver this news, but I’m telling you now as a professional courtesy. I knew you’d want to prepare yourself.”

I shake my head. This isn’t just about me and my job. Every year, kids find themselves through the drama club. They forge friendships and develop confidence. They create something they can be proud of. “We’ve already started planning next year. These kids are counting on me.”

“Mr. Wick will take over the drama club.”

I gape at him. Mr. Wick is the orchestra instructor who hasn’t taught a drama class in the entire time I’ve been here. “Mr. Wick hates theater. He mocks the kids who want to do it and resents having to put his orchestra in the pit for our musicals.”

“Enough, Ava. I’ve done you a favor by telling you sooner than I needed to, and frankly, your behavior is making me regret that decision.”

Protest after protest surges up my throat, but I swallow them all back and focus on keeping the burning tears at the back of my eyes from making their way down my cheeks. “This is all just a very big shock.”

“I want you to have as much time as possible to find a new job. We had to make hard decisions, and I don’t like that any more than you do. I don’t want you to disrupt the last two weeks of our school year because you’re pouting about not being chosen.”

I’m pouting? This is my job. It’s my life. I’ve given this place everything for eight years, and now I’m pouting?

“I hope I can trust you to handle this properly with the students. The last thing we need is you making us look like the bad guys.”

“I’ll do what’s expected of me. Just like I always do.” I push my chair back and stand. “Is that all?”

“It is.” He folds his arms and leans back in his chair. “I’m sorry I don’t have better news, Ava, but you and I both know you already have one foot out the door.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve been fully dedicated to Windsor Prep since I graduated from college.”

He arches a brow. “Why would I keep on an employee who’s considering jobs in Florida when I could keep the ones who want to be here?”

“Knock, knock!” Ellie calls from the foyer, her heels tapping on my hardwood floor.

Shit. I completely forgot it was girls’ night. I’m in sweatpants and a ratty old T-shirt, and am feeling as prepared for a night at Jackson Brews with the girls as I am for a walk across a beauty pageant stage.

“What’s wrong?” Ellie asks as soon as she spots me. “Ava, what happened?”

I wipe my cheeks. “I lost my job.”

“No!” Ellie’s face crumples. “Seriously?”

I nod. “I knew they were doing layoffs. It shouldn’t come as a complete surprise.”

“Yeah, but they’re getting rid of one of their longest-serving, most dedicated teachers?”

I shrug. “It was me or Miss Quincy, and she’s got the cheer team, which brings in all the money.”

“Well, you’ve got the drama kids.”

I cut my eyes to Ellie. “Who bring in no money.”

“Because they don’t give you any support. Cheer gets all the funding!”

“I love you,” I whisper. I know she’s just parroting the things she’s heard me complain about, but it doesn’t matter. Right now, it feels really good to have her on my side.

“That asshole,” she says. “He’s had it out for you ever since you refused to let him feel you up on that blind date. That’s what this is about. He has a personal vendetta against you.”

“He found out about the job in Florida,” I whisper, and my cheeks flame hot with anger, frustration, and humiliation. I wasn’t even trying to look for another job, but my father’s belief that I’d be the first to be let go came back and bit me in the ass.

“Crap.” She sinks down on the couch beside me, and I lean my head on her shoulder. “What are you going to do?”

I swallow hard and draw in a ragged breath. “Wallow in self-pity tonight, spend my afternoon at Jackson Harbor Children’s Theater tomorrow, and spend Sunday trying to figure out what my options are.”

“Your options meaning Florida?”

I shrug. “That’s one possibility, I guess. I don’t know. I was considering it, but I hate feeling like I’m being cornered into making such a big decision.”

“Get dressed. Let’s go out. You need a drink.”

I shake my head. “I can’t do it tonight, Ell. I love you guys, but I’m only giving myself one night to feel sorry for myself, so I’m going to make the most of it.”

She kisses the top of my head in an uncharacteristically maternal gesture. “Okay, but next girls’ night, you’re coming whether you want to or not.”

“Understood.”

She squeezes my hand again. “Want me to swing by after? I could bring ice cream, and we could make a voodoo doll of Mr. Mooney.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll go to bed in a bit.”

“Okay. Love you, Avie.”

“Love you too, Ell.”

Shortly after she’s out the door, my phone buzzes. I half expect it to be a text from Ellie insisting I come to girls’ night. Instead, it’s Jake.

Jake: The girls are getting started without you. Everything okay?

Me: I decided to stay in.

Jake: That’s my loss. I was really looking forward to my fifteen minutes.

Me: Maybe another time?

My thumbs hover over the keyboard as I hesitate, considering whether to tell him about the layoff. Usually, Jake’s the first person I tell when something big happens in my life, but I don’t want to tell him this. He’ll swoop in to try and find a solution. He’ll pull strings to get me a job, pay my mortgage when I’m not looking, and then, months later, I’ll realize that the balance of our friendship has once again fallen to favor me and I’ll feel like shit about it.

I will tell him. I have to. But first I need to decide what’s next for me, and I have to make that decision alone. Jake won’t want me to leave Jackson Harbor.

I’m wondering if that’s part of the reason I should.