“Hank is sitting at the judge’s table,” he mutters to me so the group of people handing out Hurley T-shirts on my right can’t hear.
Hank Langley loves me. When you’re in a business where you have to do a lot of traveling, you find yourself latching onto people you feel drawn to. It helps make the constant change, the long plane flights, and the loneliness bearable. Hank is one of those who I was naturally drawn to when I was competing. He used to tell me about all his problems with his daughters and their boyfriends. The guy is hilarious. He once told me that I should never tell a girl that she’s beautiful unless I’m willing to commit to her because girls don’t know how to take a compliment from a handsome guy without falling in love. With Hank sitting at the judge’s table, my chances at placing just increased significantly.
Somehow, this makes me more nervous and more determined to prove myself.
I haven’t bumped into Lindsay or Nathan yet, but the prospect of seeing them is still weighing heavily on my mind. I just keep telling myself that they’re nothing to me. I’ve moved on. Claire is all I care about and getting back to her is my number one priority.
By the time the heat begins and my group comes up, I’m ready to kill it. I jog across the sand toward the water and close my eyes for a moment to drink in the moment. If I place here, I can enter the ASP World Tour. Of course, that means more time away from Claire.
The sand has a slightly pink tinge due to the runoff from the red rocks that surround this small stretch of sand at Koki Beach. I block out the cheering as I trot across the sand, my eyes completely focused on the waves ahead. I make it past the bleachers, just a few dozen yards to the water, when I see her.
Lindsay is standing at the edge of the water further down the beach, her blonde hair flowing out behind her as the ocean breeze washes over her. She’s wearing a one-piece bathing suit, probably because she’s pregnant as fuck.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Claire
PROFESSOR LINDA COLDWATER INSISTS WE call her Linda because Professor Coldwater makes her question her decision to quit the theater. When the class lets out, I approach her to ask something I’ve never asked a teacher in my life.
“Um, Linda?”
She looks up from the small table next to the podium where she’s putting away her notes and laptop. Her blue eyes fix me with a puzzled look. I’ve never really participated in this class in the eight weeks since classes began, but something—someone changed me and I finally understand that I don’t just want to make it through this semester. I want to make this semester count.
“Yes?” she asks, her light-brown hair bouncing around her face as she continues to slide stuff into her laptop bag.
I swallow the knot in my throat and take a deep breath. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to meet with me sometime this week? This is a required course for my major, so I was hoping I could pick your brain about your days as a caseworker.”
She immediately stops what she’s doing and stands up straight so she doesn’t have to look at me through a curtain of hair. “Claire Nixon.”
“Yes.”
“Is this for the final?”
I know if I tell her it’s for the final that she will probably reject me, but the truth is that the final is only a tiny factor in this request.
“No, I just have some questions about what path you took and how you liked it. I’d love to get some insight from someone who lived it and walked away.”
The truth is that I’ve been having doubts about whether I’ll make a good caseworker. I’m so screwed up and I cry at the drop of a hat these days. I know this is partially due to the botched adoption agreement and the breakup, but I sincerely doubt whether I will ever have the strength to tell a child that they’re going to live with strangers because their mother died of a drug overdose. I need some reassurance that I haven’t picked the absolute wrong field.
She looks at me as if she’s seeing me for the first time yet she obviously knows my name. “Come to my office on Friday at 2:30. Does that work for you?”
“That’s perfect. My last class lets out at one on Friday. Thank you so much.”
I set off toward the door when she clears her throat behind me. I’m not sure if this is meant for me so I wait until I reach the door before I turn around.
Her expression has softened. “I just wanted to tell you that the paper you turned in last week on parent-child relationships was the best paper I’ve ever received for this unit.”
I don’t know if she knows how little I actually know about parent-child relationships. She certainly doesn’t know how I assumed my paper would come across as the biggest load of crap she’d ever read.