Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
I happened to know they already had a good history teacher at Camas High, so the ultimate deal for me would probably be part-time positions at both schools. Because for as much as I wanted to teach students in a low-income neighborhood, I also wanted health insurance and a nice house with my daughter and future wife. I made no apologies for that.
“You’re new…” A girl eyed me up and down and didn’t look very impressed.
“You’re sharp,” I replied.
That made two of her friends laugh.
I folded my arms over my chest and observed the other students pouring in. Which was another thing. My classes here would be huge in comparison. I was used to fifteen to twenty students in one classroom. Double that here.
“All right, everyone, take your seats,” I said and rounded the desk. “I’m Mr. Becker, and I’ll be your teacher in history and civics for the next two semesters.” I picked up the attendance sheet and eyed the thirty-nine names. Only a handful missing now, I estimated. “The benefit of teaching social studies is that I can sneak in economics wherever I want, and you might notice that soon. Because we’re going to start with local history, and why and when this very school became affected by how much someone’s house is worth.” I headed toward the door to close it. It was five minutes past, and that was my limit for how long I’d wait for the latecomers. “While I check your attendance, you’ll have a few minutes to look at the paper in front of you and find the answers to the following questions.” I gestured at the board. “When were property taxes introduced in California, what does the state constitution say about education, and who were the biggest advocates for education during the Monterey Convention and Sacramento Convention?”
Welcome to my class, kids.
I let out a long breath and kept my eyes closed.
That moment when the painkillers set in and the headache started fading…
If I hadn’t known what sex with Elise was like, I would’ve said this was better than the best screw out there.
Breathe in, breathe out. The summer was slowly fading too. Nights got chilly, but I couldn’t be assed getting a blanket.
“She’s asleep,” I heard Pipsqueak say, stepping out onto the balcony.
Without opening my eyes, I reached out blindly and hooked an arm around her waist, then pulled her down to sit sideways across my lap.
“Thank you.”
She hummed and smoothed a finger between my eyebrows. “How’s the headache?”
“A little better,” I murmured drowsily.
She responded by combing her fingers through my hair, and I shuddered at the pleasure and reclined the back of my chair a bit more. Then I lifted my legs and rested them on top of the balustrade.
Perfect moment. The day was finally washing away, and it left me with the one person who made everything better. She’d taken one look at me when I came home from work and directed me to the bathroom. After my shower, she told me to relax while she made dinner. Homemade pizza. Meanwhile, she’d taken care of a whiny Grace.
“I don’t deserve you, baby.”
She scoffed. “Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m serious.” I hugged her to me and kissed her forehead. “I hope you’ll get a headache soon so I can return the favor.”
I grinned tiredly at her giggle.
A peaceful silence followed, and I listened to the faint sounds around us. Her even breaths, the occasional car driving past on the other side of the building, the leaves rustling in the trees in the park. There was just a small courtyard of sorts below us, and the only sign of life was when someone went into the bicycle garage.
“I like your place,” she murmured. “It’s quiet.”
“Mm.” Except for when my upstairs neighbor practiced the saxophone.
I wasn’t sure, though. I’d done what I’d set out to do. I’d spent two months traveling our coast and a bit more inland. I’d started my new job in Oakland. My old house was sold. I’d temporarily moved in to a one-bedroom apartment in Berkeley. I’d shaken up my old routines and uprooted my daughter and myself. And yet, I kept thinking about home. Today at lunch, I should have eaten in the faculty lounge and made an effort to get to know some of the teachers. Instead, I’d been holed up in my classroom, looking for listings in Camassia.
I was glad I was doing this, but as I’d suspected from the beginning, there was only one direction to go after this, and it was back home.
“What’s on your mind?” She scratched my scalp gently.
I hummed and gave her a squeeze. “That I’m such a homebody.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m… I know this—doing this, seeing more of our country—is good for me, but I keep going back to what I want us to have when we go home.” I cleared my throat and opened my eyes. Not much of the headache left, thankfully. “I saw two houses today on the outskirts of Downtown that I’d like to look at, and I found a decent location for your business. Decent—not awesome. The space seemed perfect, but you should be closer to Hemlock, where there’s more activity.”