Lessons Learned by Sydney Logan Page B

were simply seniors. School was the last place they wanted to be and they were more than ready to get through their final year of high school. English literature was an unfortunate roadblock in their journey to graduation, so I was automatically perceived as the enemy.
    Because I was nervous, I’d already decided to keep today’s lecture to a minimum, so we discussed the syllabus and I highlighted a few projects I would be assigning throughout the year. There were a few questions—mostly from the football players who, surprisingly enough, sat in the first two rows—and I assigned a short writing exercise to fill up the rest of the class period.
    “Just write me a short autobiography,” I announced to the class as they shuffled through their backpacks in search of pen and paper. Some muttered they couldn’t believe they had to work on the first day of school, but I ignored them while I walked up and down the aisles of desks.
    “You look especially lovely today, Miss Bray.”
    I grinned down at Matt. “And you have especially lovely handwriting. I have to ask. Why are my first two rows filled with football players?”
    “Coach requires it.”
    “Coach thinks we won’t pay attention if we sit anywhere else,” Patrick said. I couldn’t remember which position he played. Running back, maybe. “How’s that porch, Miss Bray?”
    I smiled at him. “The porch is great.  It needs some new rocking chairs, I think, but it’s beautiful. You guys did a great job restoring it.”
    The bell rang, and one class flowed seamlessly to the next. By the time lunch rolled around, I was starving and ready to get off my feet. I collapsed into my chair just as Lucas walked inside the classroom.
    “Still alive?”
    “Barely. My feet are killing me.”
    He leaned against my desk. “Well, that’s because you’re forcing your toes into those god-awful heels.” Looking down at my shoes, he allowed his eyes to linger just a bit longer than necessary.
    Men.
    “You love my shoes.”
    “Yes, I do.” He pulled a chair closer to my desk and placed a sandwich bag on top of it. “It’s from the cafeteria. I’ve been assured their peanut butter and jelly is the best.”
    Over lunch, we talked to each other about our mornings, and we agreed it was great Tommy required his football team to sit near the front of the class. Lucas’s second period class had been the worst, which wasn’t unexpected considering they were freshmen.
    Lucas finished his sandwich and tossed the bag into my trashcan. “They try so hard to be cool.  I’ve never taught freshmen, but I had no idea they could be so immature.”
    “At least they’ll talk to you. I could barely get my seniors to say a word.”
    “Be thankful.” He smirked.
    Suddenly, his expression softened. “How are you doing, really?”
    Even though he didn’t know why, he had to know I’d be anxious about today.
    “I’m good,” I replied honestly. “I was nervous this morning, but it’s been okay so far. What about you?”
    “I’m good, too. At least the kids are respectful here. If my biggest problem is a bunch of loud-mouthed freshmen, then I’ll consider this school year a success.”
    The bell rang, and we both groaned.
    “I’d forgotten how quickly time flies during lunch.”
    “And your planning period!” We both laughed as he rose from his seat. “Thanks for lunch. That was sweet of you.”
    “I’m a sweet guy,” Lucas said with a heart-stopping grin. “Have a good rest of the day.”

    My fourth and final class of the day was more energetic and far more curious than the previous ones. I was happy to see two familiar faces as both Matt and Patrick dutifully took their seats in the front row. They probably needed an elective and assumed creative writing would be an easy course.
    “You’re originally from Sycamore Falls?” A student asked after I’d finished going over the syllabus.
    “Yes, I am.”
    “And you came back?” Howie was another football player.