Turning Thirty-Twelve Read Online Free Page A

me obviously wasn’t afraid.
    He’d braided his hair into small twists that popped out all over his head like tiny branches growing from a tree trunk. He’d also taken an obviously lengthy amount of time to dye the braids several different colors—green, blue, red, yellow.
    He reminded me so much of an odd man who used to show up at every sporting event in the 1970s in a rainbow wig that I smiled despite myself.
    He smiled back.
    I sure hope God loves teenagers . They need him .
    As class ended, Carly stopped to talk to me. I had to resist the urge to ask about Mr. Yummy. He was the girl’s father, after all.
    I wasn’t honestly any better than the hormonal kids I taught. The man had plagued my thoughts—had even slipped into my dreams—since I met him the day before.
    What the hell?
    What happened to my cool self-control? Where had my casual aloofness where men were concerned gone? What happened to my independent streak that didn’t want another guy hanging around?
    Must be perimenopause . Oprah said it made women a little loopy and sometimes horny.
    I held tightly to that excuse to explain away my silly thoughts.
    “My dad says, ‘Hi.’ He told me to make sure and tell you.” Carly gave me an enormous smile.
    Was she serious? Mr. Yummy actually asked her to talk to me?
    I had a quick thought about writing him a note and having her slip it to him.
    That’s what I get for hanging around hormone-drenched adolescents all the time.
    I finally decided to avoid the subject of Mark Brennan and focus on Carly. “Are you finding your way around okay?”
    She nodded. “I think I’m going to like this class. I love science.”
    “Nice to hear. I love it too.”
    She scooted away with some students who passed my door.
    Maybe Abby and Julie were right—I needed to get out more often. Here I was drooling over a student’s father. I couldn’t remember feeling as uncomfortable as I was at that moment in a very long time. It just didn’t seem right.
    The day went smoothly for the first school day after a long break. Before I knew it, we were herding the little buggers out of the door and onto the busses or into their cars. The faculty always breathed a huge sigh of relief when the building finally emptied each day. And—if we were lucky—maybe a couple of the students actually learned something.
    Abby came striding up the hallway, holding a small piece of paper. I assumed it was the name she had threatened to give me earlier.
    I was correct.
    “You’re gonna love this guy, Jackie. He’s something special.” She pressed the paper into my hand.
    I unfolded it. All that was written on the slip of paper was a phone number.
    “What’s his name?”
    “Mike, I think,” she replied.
    “You don’t even know his name? And you’re telling me he’s the best thing since sliced bread? What are you doing to me here, Abs?”
    “No, I don’t know his name. Suzanne’s the one who said I should hook you two up. He goes to her church. She really liked the guy, but she said they just didn’t...click. She thinks he needs someone like you. Someone...”
    I arched an eyebrow, waiting for the adjective she would choose to describe me. I’d heard them all before—loud, boisterous, obnoxious, and forceful.
    Not a pretty picture.
    “Vivacious,” Abby finally finished the thought.
    I laughed in relief. “At least English teachers use nicer words when they insult you.”
    She stared back at me, looking a bit perplexed. “What do you mean?”
    “Vivacious. It’s a lot nicer than noisy.”
    “But you are vivacious, Jackie. You have a joie de vivre .”
    I laughed again, thanking God for friends who made me feel better about myself—even if they were just being polite.
    My nickname as a child had been “Gabby.” I knew I had a problem keeping my thoughts to myself. At least my friends saw it as an endearing trait instead of an annoying one.
    Abby went on with her hard sell. “He’s supposed to call you and arrange a date.