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  “You’re not going to get anywhere if you’re frowning like that.”

  Looking up, British watched her teacher’s aide, Kimber Reyes, pull out the empty black-metal folding chair beside her and take a seat. “Hey, we’re just about to start back up.”

  “Convenient,” Kimber said, shaking her head. “I saw Cam run outside to put the top up on his convertible. He’s more afraid of getting the car wet than his dreadlock extensions.”

  As a former beauty queen, British recognized false hair. She never judged anyone for their hair accessories, but Cam tempted her to start. He looked ridiculous with an extra piece of hair covering the spot where his heavy dreads exposed his bald spot. Though British laughed at Kimber’s sarcasm, a feeling of dread came over her. Across the square, Cam huddled with the principal and the superintendent.

  A feeling of doom washed over British the moment the superintendent, Herbert Locke, greeted Cam with a pat on the back and whispered something in the science director’s ear. The two bent over in laughter of the slap-happy-inside-joke kind. Of course these two were buddies. They probably just made arrangements to visit each other’s hunting camps, considering deer season was about to kick off. British needed these funds and she had to get the board to recognize it.

  “All right, if we can finish up here,” the president of the Southwood School Advisory Committee said, clearing her throat. “I am sure we would all like to get home and start cooking for the Thanksgiving holiday before this storm breaks and leaves us high and dry.”

  As if on cue a crack of lightning lit up the rectangular windows of the conference room. Everyone groaned.

  “Excuse me,” British said, standing as others began to gather their belongings. “I believe we missed my part of the agenda.” She was never one to bite her tongue and she wasn’t going to start now.

  Someone sighed in annoyance.

  Two of the high school teachers plopped their purses back on the table.

  “Sorry to take five minutes out of your evening, but this has been put off long enough and now that we have Superintendent Locke here—”

  “You’re already two minutes into your time, Home Ec,” Cam interrupted and chuckled.

  British’s upper lip curled, hearing the nickname; she twisted the pear-shaped diamond engagement ring she still wore on her finger. Bravery ignited, she cleared her throat. “I don’t see how laughing about STEM for GRITS is funny.” But as she said the words the rest of the advisory board laughed. Heat filled her cheeks, reminding her of the time when she realized she loved science and the science fairs. She’d been so excited the year she was old enough to make an exploding volcano that she practically ran over to join the boys. Her ears still rang from the laughter of the class when the boys told her she could only clean up after them and handed her a broom. None of her girlfriends, friends who didn’t grasp the science behind creating their own lip-gloss flavors, wanted to speak up in fear of how the boys would respond. British knew then there needed to be a better support group for girls.

  “Why do you think your girls deserve the bonus funding when we already have a legitimate robotics team that can use the funding?” Cam asked, elbowing the superintendent.

  “Because the boys on the robotics team are either distracted by the girls or they’re not inclusive.”

  Locke raised his hands in the air. “Which is it?”

  Cam spoke first. “Maybe if your girls dressed—”

  The women who’d slammed their purses down gasped at the absurdity.

  “The trends these days...” Cam sputtered and tried to recover. “Look, when I was growing up, girls had to cover up and wear long skirts. Shirts were damn near turtlenecks. Nowadays they’re wearing basically neon signs for boys to look.”

  “How ’bout you teach your boys to not stare?” British tapped her paperwork with her pink-polished nails. Maybe today was not the greatest day to wear this cotton-candy color. “May we please focus on the agenda?”

  And then the weather spoke for her. A loud boom cracked outside on the lawn; the lights flickered and the air went off. Ear-piercing silence filled the room. Once everyone registered what had happened, they began talking at once.

  British could feel her funding being pushed to the next meeting. “Before this meeting adjourns, can we please vote to approve who gets the donation from the city? Maybe the Christmas Advisory Council can weigh in on the matter?”

  Miss McDonald, the school’s librarian and the parliamentarian of the council, banged her gavel at her end of the table and commanded order just as she did in the library.

  “What?” British asked. “We’re not going to meet next month and, before the year ends, there’s a chance my girls can make it to the Four Points STEM contest. It is imperative to nurture young girls at this impressionable age. We need to continue to encourage their creative minds in science and math, as well as everything else. We need more geochemists like Ashanti Johnson, zoologists like Lillian Burwell Lewis and, of course mathematicians like Katherine Johnson. Is the school willing to sponsor both teams?”

  As British spoke she recognized the eye-rolls. She was losing her audience. Everyone wanted to get home. They wanted to be with their families. For the first time this year, the schools planned to be closed the entire week of Thanksgiving instead of the last three days of the week, which was fine, British guessed. She tried to avoid her family this time of year.

  “Why didn’t you put in your request sooner?” the treasurer asked, flipping through a black binder. “I see no notes here.”

  “Strange.” British glared across at Cam. She twisted her wedding ring round her finger for confidence. “I could have sworn I had submitted it at least every other week since the beginning of the semester, once I heard about the extra funding. Actually, I gave it to you again before the school day started.”

  Cam shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I handed in another proposal a week ago.” British’s nails scratched at the top of the table. Kimber patted her on the back, easing her down.

  “Last week, when my football player got hurt during practice?” Cam asked and laughed. “I apologize if taking a student to the ER trumped filing your request.”

  British’s eyes narrowed on the director. “I’m ten seconds away from filing a complaint.”

  The superintendent stood. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Carres, with limited funding, my hands are tied here. Only one program in the school applied for the bonus.”

  Kimber spoke up. “What about an after-school group?”

  The lights flickered once again and gave everyone a glimpse of intrigue on the superintendent’s face. “You have an after-school group? I don’t recall a budget for one.” He looked over at the principal of Southwood Middle School.

  “Mrs. Carres uses the recreation center located directly off the school,” Principal Terrence advised, beaming. He offered a wink in British’s direction.

  “All of its members are from the school?” Herbert Locke asked British.

  British nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Who funds this project?”

  “I do,” admitted British. A lump formed in her throat. When her husband, Christian Carres, died five years ago due to complications from a car accident, he’d left her a lump sum of money. There was nothing she’d wanted more than to help the girls of Southwood, Georgia, so she’d poured the money Christian left her into equipment, safety features, you name it.

  “Interesting.” Herbert stroked the patch of red hair growing on his chin.

  “You’re not seriously contemplating her request?” Cam squawked.

  “If Mrs. Carres turned in her paperwork and you failed to turn it in—” the superintendent went on “—I don’t feel comfortable not supporting them.”

  “But my robotics team,” Cam said through gritted teeth. “We already ma
de plans. I’ve seen the competition from Black Wolf Creek and Peachville. We’ve got this in the bag.”

  “And how do you know?” asked Coach Farmer. He rose from his seat. The hem of his white pullover shirt acted like a hammock for his protruding belly, which lapped the waistband of his red shorts. He spoke in American Sign Language, which he’d initially learned to communicate with the quarterback. For practice and perfection, he always signed now. “Are you spying on the competition?”

  Cam sputtered. His bright face reddened. “Competition? What competition?”

  Whispers of doubt spread among the committee. British loved to argue her point but if she stood here and let Cam explain himself, she didn’t have to say a word.

  “So you’re not worried about them,” baited British, “but you’re worried about my girls?”

  “Stop trying to make me out to be some sexist, Home Ec.”

  “Hold on, now,” said one of the high school science teachers. “We have a couple of STEM and robotics teams at Southwood High that stepped back for the middle school to receive the funding, but if we’re opening the door, we don’t mind stepping up to the plate at the competition.”

  A disgruntled conversation began. All the science teachers, including at the elementary level, wanted a shot to go to Districts.

  “All right. All right.” Herbert motioned for everyone to settle down. “I have one pot of money—we can split it evenly or winner takes all.”

  “Winner takes all,” British and Cam chorused.

  “Sounds like we have a Southwood competition.” Herbert clapped his hands together. “Two weeks from tonight. That will give everyone enough time to enjoy the Thanksgiving break, have time to spend with their families and then get back to the labs and find something interesting to entertain the Christmas Advisory Council. We’ll let them decide the winner. Half of the group is made up of organizers for the school drive, and they may just want to have the CAC do this every year if there’s leftover funds.”

  Thunder rumbled outside at his final words. The school district board members gathered their belongings and attempted to file out the double doors in an orderly fashion. British lingered behind the glass doors of city hall, Kimber keeping her company.

  “Don’t you guys need to get on the road and head for Villa San Juan?”

  “Yeah, Nate and Stephen already left with their families,” said Kimber. “I wanted to come out and support you.”

  British linked her arm through the younger girl’s. They locked elbows and began walking out the double doors. Rain pelted the brick walkway. “Did you bring your umbrella?”

  “Of course not.” Kimber laughed. “But I love walking in the rain.”

  “I can give you a ride, Kimber.”

  Kimber tugged on British’s arm. “Key word being love, as in the fact I enjoy it,” she giggled.

  Cars began leaving the parking lot. Rain fell harder before their wipers could wipe it away. British sighed and glanced at the dark sky. Not even a single star in sight. “You think anyone would notice if I slept here?”

  “You can come over and stay at my place tonight,” Kimber offered. “I have a nice bottle of wine we can try out.”

  When British came to Southwood to work as an aide, she did so at Southwood High School, four years after graduating from there herself. She’d been the youngest aide so far and she’d found it hard to gain the respect of the students, until popular Kimber Reyes had spoken up and vouched for her. Five years later she was here with the same girl, who was all grown up. Well, almost.

  British shook her head. “No, thanks. I don’t like the idea of drinking alcohol with you.”

  “I am almost twenty-one and it’s nonalcoholic.”

  “Fake wine,” British said with a frown. “I can’t drink fake wine with you.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” asked Kimber. “C’mon, we can go across the street and get drinks. Hot cocoa.”

  Across the street, the red lights of a sports bar flashed in the evening light. Sprinkles of rain blew through, dampening the front of British’s pale pink shirt. The last thing she wanted to do tonight was to spend the evening in a bar with half-drunk men hitting on her because of her suddenly thin wet T-shirt and lacy bra. She missed simpler times when Christian met her during a rainstorm with an umbrella. Funny, she thought with a soft smile, how the memory of him made her feel safe. “No, I’m going to brave the weather.”

  The committee members had all pulled out of their spots, the twin streetlights brightening the empty parking spaces. Kimber craned her neck. “Where did you park?”

  British lifted her hand and pointed adjacent to city hall. “I have been parked by the rec center all day. I came straight here after everyone left to go home.”

  Lightning struck across the high school’s football field, illuminating the twin field goal posts. How many Friday nights during junior and senior years had she spent watching Southwood High’s game-winning field goals take place over there? Too many to count. British half smiled and shook the fond memory away.

  The rain lifted enough so they didn’t have to shout between one other.

  “You ought to get going,” British urged Kimber. “I’m going to try to make a break for—”

  The words died at a loud crack. A clear, sharp, lightning bolt lit the dark sky right over the rec center. A transformer blew, sparks doing their best imitation of Fourth of July fireworks, and two seconds later, regardless of the downpour of rain, a fire broke out.

  “Did that seriously just happen?”

  Neither of the ladies moved. They both clung to each other. The building went up in smoke, much like British’s dreams.

  * * *

  Sunday morning, British found herself seated on a bicycle just outside the gates of the Magnolia Palace hotel. She’d been here before, competing in a few pageants when the roof on Southwood’s theater had leaked. There was something to be said about the old structures of her hometown. British inhaled deeply with pride, as if she had a connection with the building.

  The fire at the rec center hadn’t just ruined an after-school hangout but also displaced a few of the neighbors next to the building, homes of the girls who were part of British’s STEM for GRITS.

  Ramon Torres, owner of Magnolia Palace, had graciously offered up rooms at the boutique hotel for them to stay until their homes were fixed. The mayor-elect had recently won the hearts of the town but, more important, British’s close friend Kenzie Swayne’s, too. The two had married last summer.

  British understood there was only one guest booked for the Thanksgiving week. More than likely, the man wanted his peace and quiet over the break and having a group of teenagers running through the hallways was not the ideal vacation. British wanted to soften the blow. The phone inside the pocket of her gray hoodie began to ring. British hopped off her bike seat to answer it, her pink fingernail sliding across the screen.

  Kimber’s face appeared bright and cheerful, as usual. “Hey, my app says you’re at my uncle’s place.”

  “That’s just creepy.”

  “Creepy is having to get the girls together in some back alley looking for cans to collect for that STEM steamboat experiment in order to impress the judges,” said Kimber. “You’re standing outside the door waiting to ring the bell, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Uncle Ramon gave you permission to also use the hotel’s facilities so the girls can have space to work and concentrate without interruption. You don’t have to explain that to the other guest. I’ve texted you the code to the gate—only guests and employees have the info. The doors lock after midnight until someone is up and unlocks them or, great idea, a person with the code uses it.”

  “I hear you,” British said with a half smile, “but I get what it’s like to want to be left alone. I just want to explain to the man, maybe even prepare him.”


  Kimber huffed. “Whatever.”

  “He’s a paying customer.”

  “Whoever he is—” Kimber rolled her eyes “—he’ll get over it. What did he expect when he came to a hotel?” Someone in the background called her name.

  Kimber looked over her shoulder and said something in Spanish. “All right, Brit, I got to get going, but I want to make sure you’re okay. I know the place is working with a skeleton crew since there’s only one guest booked.”

  And here British was, about to interrupt this person’s day. Forcing a smile onto her face, British smoothed back the stray hairs that had come loose. “Thanks, Kimber. I’ll keep you updated.”

  With that, the call disconnected and British inhaled the fall air. Finally, the rain had stopped. The last of the hurricane season rains brought in the cooler weather. Somewhere off in the distance someone was building a fire. British imagined a group of kids seated around the campfire, fluffy, fat marshmallows dangling from long branches and twigs, taunting the flames. One of the things British hated about living in an apartment. She couldn’t randomly make a traditional s’more.

  Of course, she could head out to the country, to her parents’, for one, but that would end up with everyone fawning all over her. This time of year was difficult. The cooler weather meant hunting season and the memory of losing Christian earlier than she had ever expected. He was born with an enlarged heart, and no one had thought Christian would make it to his first birthday. He’d defied the odds, making it to twenty-three only to have a deer dart out onto County Road 17. British gulped down her bitter sadness. Given Christian’s congenital heart problem, the trauma had been too much. He’d survived the accident long enough to make a final joke about the irony and to assure British he loved her.

  British cleared her throat and regained her bearings. She needed to secure the place for the girls. The children she and Christian never had the chance to have.

  Bound with confidence from Kimber, British punched in the code to the gates and waltzed down the magnolia-lined path toward the old plantation-style home once owned by the Swayne family, now turned into a boutique hotel. Kenzie Swayne’s—British’s Tiara Squad gal pal—marriage to Ramon Torres right at the end of the summer had brought the home back into the family.