Page 25 of Chasing Callie

“Extraordinary or extraterrestrial?” Her lips twitch a little, but the lines of her face tighten, as if she doesn’t quite trust my words.

“You heard me the first time.” I release her arm as another teacher rushes by and side eyes us. “Now, what are you going to teach these kids?”

“How to have fun and be creative,” she murmurs.

I nod. “Good girl. Now get in there and kick some elementary art ass.”

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to cuss.” She exhales and pulls her shoulders back. “Okay. This is fine. Fun and creative. I got this.”

Yeah, she does. I slip my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her again and watch her head toward her room with renewed confidence. At the last second, she pauses and glances at me. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

The cafeteria clears out after lunch, and I lead my students back to our classroom. The scent of questionable pizza and chocolate milk lingers in the hallway. This afternoon, we’re reading, which means holding the attention of seven and eight-year-olds while their group members read.

That’s no easy feat.

“Mr. Williams, can I be in Lacey’s group?” Tommy asks, practically bouncing into my leg.

I ruffle his hair. “Nice try, bud. The groups are already set.”

He huffs dramatically, collapsing into his desk like I told him Christmas is canceled.

Once everyone settles, I distribute different books to each group. The red group gets a simple story about a family’s outdoor mishaps. I pull up a tiny chair, my knees practically touching my chin, and sit with them.

“Okay, Ella, it’s your turn to read.”

Ella, a freckle-faced redhead with her front tooth missing, starts reading about a dad struggling with tent poles. Her tiny finger traces under each word as she goes. As they become more fluent, they shouldn’t be using their fingers to help, but all that matters to me this summer is that they’re trying. Sometimes the standards suck.

“Mr. Williams?” She looks up suddenly, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Have you ever gone camping?”

The question hits hard. My chest splinters. “Uh, yeah, my dad used to take me and my brothers camping all the time.”

Memories flood in and a lump lodges in my throat. Dad showing Knox how to build a fire while Jax and I waded in the river. The way Dad’s laugh would boom through the forest when he found something funny. The smell of his coffee brewing over a campfire at dawn.

“Do you still go camping with your dad?” Tommy butts in from across the table.

My heart aches. I rub my chest. “I don’t anymore, no.”

“How come?” Ella asks, her innocent face looking up at me.

The classroom suddenly feels too warm, too small. “My dad passed away two years ago.”

As the words leave my mouth, movement in the doorway catches my eye. Callie stands there, frozen mid-step, a stack of art supplies in her arms. Our eyes lock, and in that moment, I see devastation flash across her face. She didn’t know.

I break eye contact first, clear my throat, and tap Ella’s book.

“Let’s keep reading. I want to see if that dad ever figures out how to set up the tent.”

The kids obediently return to the story, but my mind’s a thousand miles away. For the rest of the afternoon, I go through the motions. Helping kids pronounce words, breaking up an argument over a purple marker. But I’m constantly aware of Callie’s presence somewhere in the building.

When the final bell rings, I’ve never been so grateful to hear that piercing sound.

I’m erasing the whiteboard when footsteps approach from behind.

“I didn’t know about your dad.” Callie’s voice is soft, hesitant. “I’m so sorry.”

My shoulders tense. Her hazel-green irises are filled with genuine pain. My dad always treated her like a daughter.

“There’s a lot you don’t know, but I guess that’s what happens when you ignore everyone who cares about you for ten years.” My voice comes out harsh thanks to the emotions strangling me.