Page 65 of Knowing Amelia

“No. I mean, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Ah… okay. I’m not sure what that means.”

Winding the phone cord around my wrist, I watch my fingers turn a light shade of purple. “I have to substitute teach today. For P.E.!”

There’s a short pause, and then, in an unsure tone, he says, “And this is bad?”

“Logan! I’m not a teacher, and if I were, physical education is the last thing I’d teach. I’m a bookworm. A sit-under-the-tree-and-read kind of girl. I’m scholarly and studious, and Gary has brought out enough athleticism in me to last me for years.”

He laughs. I’m losing it and he’s laughing. I’d like to revoke his perfect neighbor status.

“Olivia,” he says, his tone losing all the humor. “You will be fine. I promise. Just pass out a few basketballs and call it free time.”

My brain runs with his words. “Free time. Basketballs. Right. I can do free time. I think.”

“Of course you can,” he says, and man, he sounds sure. I might be able to climb Mount Everest if Logan told me I was capable.

I sigh, invisible weights lifting from my back. Logan might be magical. That man really needs to kiss me again—too soon or not. “Thank you, Logan.”

“You’re welcome, silly girl.”

Silly? He thinks I’m silly. Here I am swooning over his voice and tone and his abs that might go on for miles. I’m pondering how amazing he is and he’s calling me silly.

Ouch.

My thoughts are far away in their own little magical Logan Land, wondering just how he sees me, when Rachel’s head pops into the dark office. “Livy, you in here?” Her gaze locks on my face—I have no idea what she’s seeing. “Honey, your first class starts in five minutes. I suggest you get your tail waggling over to the gymnasium.”

I huff out a breath and take off for the gym.

My first class has eight kids total, freshmen and sophomores. I chant Logan’s suggestion in my head as I pull out the basketballs and tell them it’s a free period. The hour goes by fast.

Seven students walk into second hour, mostly juniors, and a couple of seniors. I follow the same procedure. It’s looking like I’m going to make it through this day unscathed. Again, the hour flies by without trouble. Apparently, I can survive being a substitute P.E. teacher.

Third hour comes with a combination of all grades and nine total students.

“Free time!” I announce, this time with newfound confidence.

It’s short-lived. These kids are on a mission to humble me, to make me regret ever moving to this little Wyoming town. And it’s all Roy’s fault.

The tall, cocky senior laughs as he bounces a basketball off a lower classman’s head.

I muster all my in-charge energy and yell, “Roy Cox!” from across the gym. But Roy pretends not to hear me. Which only makes the cronies next to him laugh.

Heat spreads uncomfortably throughout my limbs. I don’t know how to be an authority figure. I am one hundred percent faking it. “Roy,” I growl again, advancing on him. No one has trained me for this moment. What now, Logan?

He turns my direction a mere inch, just to smile, and then bounces the ball off the smaller boy again.

“Do it again and you’ll be in Mr. Levitz’s office.” That sounds like something a teacher would say—doesn’t it?

The younger boy hides his face, despite my warning.

A miracle happens, and his name pops into my brain as I get closer. “Mason? Are you okay?” The kid is just my height, and I rest a hand on his shoulder.

“Fine,” the freshman squeaks, looking more embarrassed at my hand on his shoulder than getting badgered with that ball.

I snatch the ball from Roy’s hands. “What is your problem?”

“You’re so dumb, Roy.” Mason’s confidence takes a leap with the ball safely in my hands. “You think you’re Casanova. Always trying to be a big shot. Always finding someone to beat on.”