Inside Out (Road to Blissville #6) Read online

  “Right,” Ellie added. “We looked at things like gender, race, and sexual orientation too.” She leaned over and patted Curtis on the shoulder. “Curtis wrote the music.” Ellie smiled at her friend and added, “They’re the most beautiful lyrics I’ve ever heard.”

  “That’s amazing,” I said. “I’ve worked in several school districts, and never once have I seen a group of kids write their own production.”

  “We’ve been working on this since eighth grade when Curtis came out,” Clara told me. “We’ve tweaked and fine-tuned it until we felt it was perfect.”

  “We even got the school board to approve the production,” Curtis told me. “And now…”

  The three kids wore matching looks of disappointment on their faces. They were so close to seeing their dreams realized and felt that Mrs. Frazier’s leave of absence would prevent it from happening.

  “Surely there is someone else qualified to direct the play,” I said. “What about the music teacher, Mrs. Hoffenburger?”

  “She’s like seventy or something,” Curtis said with a slight sneer.

  “She doesn’t need to be able to do backflips to direct a play,” I replied mildly.

  “Her taste in plays concerns me more than her age,” Ellie injected. “If she takes over the theater department this year, we’ll be stuck doing an old play that no one our age can relate to or will want to see.” I hated that her positivity from earlier had disappeared.

  “The woman hates me,” Curtis whispered.

  “Who will be Mrs. Frazier’s substitute?” Ellie asked hopefully. “English teachers make excellent directors. They understand the nuances hidden in words.”

  “Mr. Weatherby.” Clara answered her friend. “That’s not going to work either.”

  “Oh, hell no,” Curtis said. “Anyone who sounds like Ben Stein doesn’t inspire young actors to get into character.”

  “It’s a lost cause,” Clara said.

  “I’ll direct the play.” I should’ve thought more before I spoke, but the temptation of directing a play written by them was more than I could resist. I had both the skills and time to devote to the project. It felt like it was meant to be.

  The three of them looked at me silently for a few heartbeats while they tried to determine if I was teasing them. Once they decided I was serious, the girls jumped up and hugged each other while squealing happily. Curtis leaned forward, offering his fist for a bump.

  “You won’t regret this, Dr. Bradley,” Clara said once she settled down. “I promise you.”

  “We need to go create casting sheets for auditions. Let’s set up a Facebook group once we pick a cast so we can share all the information in one place,” Ellie said.

  “Great idea!” Clara exclaimed.

  “I need to find a few more musicians who can help me create melodies to go with some of the songs.”

  “What about Mr. Shepherd?” Clara asked. My ears perked right up.

  “Your tennis coach?” Curtis asked.

  “He’s also our chemistry teacher,” Ellie told him.

  “And a classically trained musician who was accepted at Juilliard but chose chemistry and science over music,” Clara told them.

  No one asked how she knew. Her mother had read Julius’s resume then apparently shared the details with people in her life, including her teenage daughter. It wasn’t like she could use something so innocent against Julius in class, but what other kinds of school business did her mom discuss in front of her?

  “Dr. Bradley,” Ellie said, interrupting my thoughts. She smiled when she gained my attention. “How soon can we come to your office to begin working out a schedule?”

  “How about five o’clock this evening before we have the mandatory fall sports meeting with coaches, parents, and players?”

  “That sounds perfect. Come on, guys,” she said to her friends. “Let’s see if we can catch Mr. Shepherd at the school. He said he would be setting up his classroom this afternoon.”

  The three of them darted out the door without saying goodbye. Two thoughts slammed into me as I watched them walk toward the high school: What the hell were you thinking? and Please let Julius Shepherd agree to help them—us.

  I picked up my phone and dialed my secretary, Priscilla. If there was one thing I knew for certain, she didn’t like it when I forgot to update her with any changes to the calendar she kept for my daily commitments. And by calendar, I meant one of those big desk calendars where she could pencil in my appointments. Priscilla was old school. She didn’t do electronic calendars, email, or even voicemail. My calls went through her rather than to me on a direct line. Her message system consisted of those pink “While You Were Out” message pads. I thought it was odd at first and worried I’d have a hard time adjusting, but she filtered out the bullshit calls and redirected them when needed. Priscilla might not have been tech-savvy, but her fifty years of experience working for the school district was invaluable.

  “Hello, you’ve reached The Dragon’s desk,” she answered, making me snort. She must’ve seen my number on her caller ID because that wasn’t her usual greeting. Priscilla Marshal was the epitome of little but mighty. She was only five feet tall and probably weighed ninety pounds, but the woman was fierce. She guarded my door like a dragon, and no one got in to see me without an appointment. “How may I help you?”

  “Dr. Fancy Pants calling. I need to add an appointment to my calendar for this evening.”

  “You already have the sports meeting,” she reminded me. “What’s this Dr. Fancy Pants bullshit?”

  “It’s just a name I overheard someone call me. I’ve been called much worse. Anyway, I know I have the fall sports meeting, but this will be a brief gathering at five to go over some production plans for the school play I’ve agreed to direct.”

  “You? When did this happen?”

  “Thirty seconds before I called you,” I answered patiently. “I know this is your night to play bridge with the ladies, so don’t worry about staying late.”

  “You’re damn right I’m not staying. Beatrice Abernathy is going down tonight. I have your appointment marked on your calendar. I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. Fancy Pants.”

  “You bet, Dragon.”

  I loved my new town with its quiet, tree-lined streets more than I could ever have imagined, but the best part by far was the quirky residents. One particular resident was my favorite, and my heart raced at the prospect of working closely with him on the school play.

  Please say yes, Julius.

  “Any fool can know. The point is to understand.”

  ~Albert Einstein

  “Knowing and understanding are not the same thing.”

  ~Julius Shepherd

  “Are you excited for Wednesday?” Mom asked when I answered my phone.

  I looked around my barren classroom and puffed out a breath. “Excited? Yes. Ready? No.”

  “Have you been putting off until tomorrow what you should’ve been doing all week?” she replied in the tone I knew so well. Sherise Shepherd was a no-nonsense, own-your-shit kind of woman, and I adored every molecule in her body.

  “It’s only Monday,” I said with a warm chuckle. “Today was the first day we were permitted to set up our classrooms. I guess it took longer than they anticipated to give the walls a fresh coat of paint and polish the floors.”

  “Well, it’s already one o’clock in the afternoon. What have you been doing all day?” Before I could answer, her warm laughter floated through the phone like a beautiful melody. “For once, I’m just messing with you, Jules.”

  “I know, Mom. I do need to kick it into high gear before open house tomorrow night.”

  “You seem to have adjusted to your new town remarkably well for a guy who was so used to big city life. Still no Door Dash?”

  “Still no Door Dash,” I confirmed, though I was probably better off without it. It was much too easy to order unhealthy food when I was pressed for time and have it delivered to my front door. “I rented som
e cookbooks from the library and—”

  “Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “I never thought I would see the day.”

  “‘If you can read, you can cook.’ Sound familiar to you?”

  “It’s true,” Mom said, owning her words. “Are there no decent places to eat anywhere?”

  Okay, she had me there. I was disciplined, inquisitive, and adventurous in many aspects of my life, but not when it came to cooking or love. Why spend all that extra time cooking from scratch when you could buy a frozen version for half the cost and cook it in a quarter of the time it took to shred this or dice that. And love? Don’t get me started on that train wreck.

  “Edson and Emma’s diner serves up the most delicious food.”

  “Better than mine?”

  “Of course not,” I replied too swiftly.

  “Liar,” she said with a laugh.

  “Okay, they make some things better than you do,” I amended. “I can’t wait to take you there and show you around the tiny town when you come for a visit. You’ll love the little shops and quaint feel of the town.”

  “I can’t wait to see your apartment, your classroom, and meet the landlords you can’t stop talking about.”

  “Are you excited to see me too or just my surroundings?” asked the proud mama’s boy who would always want his mom’s approval.

  Mom tsked. “Son, what would be the fun in seeing those places and meeting those people without you being there too?”

  “Just making sure I’m still your favorite.”

  “You’re my favorite oldest child, and your brother is my favorite youngest child. I’d love to know when my adult children will stop fighting over who I love the best.” The answer was never. It was a game we’d played since we were old enough to know it got under her skin. “In all seriousness, Jules, I’m over the moon whenever I hear you sounding so happy. I admit I had my concerns.”

  “I did too, but so far, everyone has welcomed me and treated me well.” Our biracial family had seen plenty of ignorance lobbed our way, and there were times Marcus and I didn’t feel like we fit in anywhere. People made snide remarks about our parents for marrying outside their race. I didn’t want my good mood to turn sour, so I steered the conversation back to a safer subject. “So, when can I expect this visit?”

  “I am going to let both my boys get settled with their classes first.” Marcus, a standout football player, was in his senior year at the University of Cincinnati. My brother had been encouraged to enter the NFL draft as soon as he became eligible, but he wanted to complete his degree more than he wanted to enter the early draft.

  “You’re welcome here anytime, and I know Marcus feels the same way. No two bigger mama’s boys walk this earth, and you know it.”

  “I do know it,” she agreed, humming her approval. “I also know you’ve avoided mentioning that sexy, silver fox again since the first time you brought up his name in a conversation. I know that’s not an accident.”

  “I didn’t want you getting the wrong impression.”

  “Oh, Jules,” she said wistfully. “You meant to say you didn’t want me to get my hopes up that a grand love awaits you. Baby, I’m never going to stop wishing that for you. I’m also going to keep asking why you’re not pursuing him. I heard something extra in your voice when you said his name, and a mama just doesn’t let that go for long.” I wasn’t surprised to hear my voice sounded different when I said his name, because I’d felt a jolt of electricity when he touched me. I’d never felt anything like it with another man. I’d felt lust and raw desire before, but this was…different. I felt it down on a molecular level.

  “He’s the superintendent of schools, and I’m a teacher, Mom,” I said as if that explained everything.

  “Is there anything in your contract that states you’re not allowed to date anyone in the administration? I looked him up on the school’s website, by the way.” I groaned, but she didn’t acknowledge me. “His silver hair looks as soft as silk, and that square jaw just begs to be nibbled on. And those eyes. Mmm-mmm-mmmm. He has those penetrating eyes that make you think he can read your thoughts. Better shield yours just in case, baby boy.”

  “Mom,” I cautioned. “I know how to act like a professional, and I haven’t exactly searched my contract to see if it prohibits me from getting involved with him.”

  “Because you don’t want to know. You’d rather play it safe.”

  “And if I do?”

  There came a deep sigh from her end of the call. I wouldn’t say it was disappointment, per se, but she wasn’t happy with me. “No mother wants her children to have loveless lives, Julius. Love is worth the risk.”

  “How can you say that?” I asked, remembering the devastation etched on her face when my father died suddenly and unexpectedly from a ruptured aneurysm.

  “How could I not say that?” she countered. “You saw how much your father and I loved each other. There was no level of hatred we would allow to come between us. Every day with that man was a gift, and even though I miss him with every breath I take, I wouldn’t trade the love and life we shared to avoid feeling the hurt. I know that’s hard for your scientific brain to compute, but I know your musician’s heart knows precisely what I mean.”

  “Mom,” I began to say but didn’t get any further.

  “I hope you take a chance someday, Son. And I think that’s where we’ll let this conversation end because we both have work to do.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I replied. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too, Julius.”

  My mom’s words played over in my brain while I unpacked boxes and tried to make my classroom both a place to educate and also a place that incited the desire to learn and explore. I needed more than a periodic table to grab their attention and hold it. I knew the success of my classes depended on my teaching style rather than the appearance of my room, but I felt it was a great idea to set the right tone. I’d slipped my AirPods in my ears and turned on some Bach to chase away the wispy tendrils of discontent that lingered after talking to my mom. I pulled out my framed photos of my favorite scientists which included one of their famous quotes. I thought the young ladies might be inspired by Marie Curie and all of us need the reminder from time to time to never give up, which Thomas Edison is renowned for. Of course, my favorite is Albert Einstein, who looks every bit the mad scientist with his wild hair.

  I looked up from the box to search the room for the best placement when I caught movement from the corner of my eye. I turned and saw three students standing in the doorway of my classroom wearing mixed emotions ranging from hopeful to wary. I pulled the AirPods from my ears and slid them inside my pocket.

  “Hello, Ellie,” I cheerfully said to the one student I recognized because she was on my tennis team. “I wasn’t aware there were students in the building today. I’d hoped to have my room setup before—”

  “We’re not worried about how your room looks,” said the young lady with the long black hair. Seeing them standing together in my classroom reminded me of Veronica, Betty, and Jughead. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from pointing it out.

  “Oh? What can I do for you?”

  “First, allow me to make introductions,” the Veronica lookalike said. “You already know Ellie since she’s one of your captains on the tennis team. I’m Clara Simpson.” Then she gestured to the male student who stood between the two ladies. “And this is Curtis Langston.” I recognized their names and knew they were enrolled in my advanced chemistry class, so I anticipated they wanted to speak to me about the curriculum.

  “I’ll be handing out your syllabus in class on Wednesday,” I said. “It wouldn’t be fair if I gave you guys information before anyone else.”

  “We’re not here about that either,” Ellie said.

  “What can I do for you then?”

  “We need someone to help us compose the melodies to go with the original lyrics we wrote for our school play,” Curtis said. “I heard you have a backgrou
nd in music, and we wondered if you’d be remotely interested in helping us.”

  “We know that tennis practice and matches would need to come first, but do you have any extra time you could spare?” Ellie asked, sounding hopeful. “We thought the opportunity to produce the play we wrote was lost when Mrs. Frazier had her baby early, but we’ve received a second chance.”

  “You wrote the play your school will perform?” I asked, sounding as impressed as I felt. That was no small feat. My respect grew when I learned how long they’d worked together on it. I noticed the way Curtis’s face flushed when they talked about his coming out in eighth grade being the catalyst for their creation. I thought the play sounded unique and timeless. “And you’ve written the songs to go with the play?”

  “I have,” Curtis said humbly. “I’m not sure the songs are as great as Ellie and Clara say, but—”

  “They’re amazing, Mr. Shepherd,” Clara rushed to say. “I mean, we could always record Curtis playing the acoustic guitar and singing the songs he wrote, but certain songs would sound amazing with strings in the background.”

  “Maybe we should show him the lyrics so he can see for himself.”

  “I’d love to read the lyrics,” I told Curtis, who stood stiffly and stared at his feet like he was expecting me to reject their ideas. Something about these kids really got to me. When Curtis raised his head, he looked hopeful and the tension had eased from his body.

  “I have them saved on my phone,” he offered.

  “Sure,” I said, meeting them halfway when they started crossing the room toward me.

  Curtis clicked on his phone and opened the Microsoft Word app. “Here you go,” he said nervously, and I noticed his hand trembled when he handed it to me. It had to be unnerving to let a stranger read the words he’d ripped from his soul and put on the page.

  I wasn’t prepared for the depth of emotion or the way his words would reach inside my chest and squeeze my heart. “Oh wow,” I said once I’d finished reading the first song. “This is…this is…” I had a hard time conveying just how impactful his lyrics felt to me.