Detention
By
Stephanie Williams
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 by Stephanie Williams
ISBN: 978-1-61333-042-5
Cover art by Dara England
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~DEDICATION~
For all those who have forbidden fantasies.
Prologue
Fremont High—Second Semester—Senior Year
Brett Wyndam sat in the lobby awaiting his sentence. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair just to make sure that: one, they knew he was still waiting; and two, he got on their nerves.
“Brett,” came the cultured voice of old man Sampson.
He has to be three days older than God, Brett mused.
“Yes, sir,” Brett groaned, trying desperately to keep the smirk off his face. He knew what was coming next but didn’t want to show too much enthusiasm.
“Come with me.” Sampson turned to leave, then stopped. He faced Brett and quirked his hairy gray brow. “On second thought, you lead the way, since you’re so familiar with the routine.” He extended his hand in the general direction of Vice-principal Bradford’s office.
“Yes, sir.” Brett proceeded toward her office, almost skipping. They stopped at her closed door and stared at each other. Brett knew Principal Sampson saw him as a big disappointment. A loser. Or worse yet, a lost cause.
“Young man, I don’t know what else to do with you,” Principal Sampson sighed in disgust.
Blah, blah, blah. Always the same speech. It wasn’t enough Brett was pulling down A grades like they were handed to him on a silver platter, but they actually wanted him to behave in and out of class!
Sampson knocked on Ms. Bradford’s door. “Ms. Bradford, you have a visitor.”
“Come in.”
If voices were a symphony, hers would be Handel’s Messiah. Brett tried to tamp down his eagerness once more.
Sampson opened the door and allowed Brett to enter first.
Ms. Bradford looked up from her paperwork. “Oh, no.” She sighed, pulled her glasses off, and tossed them down in disgust. “What now?” She rubbed the bridge of her nose, then got up and went to her file cabinet.
“Firecracker in the trash can in the girl’s gym,” Sampson announced, standing at almost-military attention, as though he were reporting the enemy’s next move.
Ms. Bradford let out a long sigh and waved her hand toward the chair in the corner of her office. “Okay, have a seat, Brett.”
Brett sat down enthusiastically, then remembered he was supposed to be brooding. He immediately put on his I-can’t-believe-this-shit face.
“Will that be all, Ms. Bradford?” Sampson asked haughtily. If no one knew any better, they would swear he was her butler.
“Yes. Thanks, Frank. That will be all.”
Hmm. Brett noticed that even though the name plate on her desk read Ms. Mia Bradford, Vice-Principal she could call people by their first name, but not vice versa. He made a mental note of that.
Ms. Bradford returned to her desk and put back on her glasses. She went back to her paperwork. “So, Brett, care to explain?” she asked without looking up from her task.
“Hey, there were other guys, too,” he protested.
Miss Bradford was now looking straight at him. “Yes, but you seem to be the only one who gets caught.”
Yeah, but that’s because I want to, you gorgeous babe.
***
Graduation Day
This was what teaching was all about. Even after she’d been promoted to vice-principal, she’d insisted on continuing to teach. She spent invaluable time with her students, and moments like this were the payoff.
Mia Bradford watched as the students walked down the aisle in perfect order. They stepped in unison with Pomp and Circumstance blaring over the school’s P.A. system.
She was so proud. Over the past four years, she’d had the privilege to teach so many of the graduates walking before her. Thank goodness I didn’t give up my slots with the freshman English classes.
She’d watched them grow, learn, and do outstanding work in the community.
She tried to emphasize that there was more to life than good grades, popularity, and sports. Get out there and make something happen, help your fellow man, et cetera. She was overwhelmed to see most of them had listened.
However, there was one student she had serious doubts about. Brett Wyndam. Mr. Big-Man-on-Campus. Mr. Rich Kid, Mr. Jock. He was nothing but a troublemaker. She didn’t understand it; he had everything going for him.
It was rumored he came from old money. Most of the kids here were the nouveau riche or at the very least upper middle-class. His family owned real estate, yachts, jets, you name it. And even though he never flaunted his breeding, he still walked with an air of privilege.
All-American boy. Blond hair, blue eyes, and blue blood. He had a head start in life. She hated to think that way, but being a black woman and literally clawing her way through the school system, she’d learned a lot. A lot of it was not so good. But she’d made her way through the district politics. And she was damn good at what she did.
Brett would never have to worry about those obstacles. Since his parents were filthy rich, it was only a matter of time before he got his piece of their pie. Twenty-one was the magical age for most of these kids, wasn’t it?
Brett was smart. Despite the fact he got into trouble all the time and was in her office at least four times a month for detention, the kid had a brain and knew how to use it. From the ninth grade to his senior year, he’d kept a 4.0 GPA. He did community service, which surprised her. There was the March of Dimes walk he’d organized not too long ago. He’d sponsored walkers and had even participated himself.
He was athletic. As captain of the football team, he had put Fremont High athletics on the map for the first time in thirty years. And he was handsome. He was still a somewhat gangly kid, not yet filled out. However, his athleticism showed when he ran the football. His body was definitely maturing faster than his teenage demeanor. At Fremont, appearance was everything, and he seemed very conscious of his appearance, especially as he’d become a senior.
Mia walked to the end of the stage and stood next to Frank Sampson. They looked at each other and smiled like proud parents sending their offspring into the world. It was always a bittersweet moment, but for Mia, this year was especially so.
She’d recently found out about Frank’s illness. He’d told no one but her. In the last few months, it had seemed he was getting better. Doctors believed he was beating it, and they were cautiously optimistic. Mia prayed they were right. She’d lost so much in her life already.
She turned her attention back to her students. She waved and winked at several of them as they made eye contact when they marched in front of her.
She waved eagerly at Daphne MacMillan, a student with a learning disability. She had dyslexia, which was rare for females, but she’d learned how to work around it and study a different way. It never slowed Daphne down. She was graduating with a 3.75 GPA and a four-year scholarship to Howard. Administration of Justice would be her major since her ultimate goal was to be a television judge. Mia remembered laughing at that declaration. It reminded her that they were still just kids.
The shocker had come when Brett Wyndam was awarded a four-year academic scholarship to Kinsley University. It wasn’t daddy’s money that had gotten him there, either. It was his brain and his community service. And now he was valedictorian. How that happened, Mia wasn’t sure. She just knew that despite his qualifications, his time in detention should have overridden that. But it had come down from up top that he was to represent his class.
Wonders never ceased.
She and Frank climbed the steps to sit behind the podium. Brett approached the lectern with all the bravado and swagger a young man could possess.
Mia mentally shook her head. A day didn’t go by that one or more female teachers mentioned the fact that he was a heartbreaker and he was charming . They also made sure she knew how “lucky” she was to have him when he served detention.
She didn’t know about lucky. If anything, she’d been getting a bit annoyed to have him in her office every week. She did have a life that didn’t always include sitting behind a desk with a ruler. She was just happy she didn’t have him as a student. Her days would have been spent dealing with him and not helping the other students and doing her administrative duties
She shook her head as Brett’s statements brought her back to the present.
He continued, his voice strong and confident. “And so, my fellow students. When we leave this world, there will be three things on your tombstone: your name, the date you were born, and the date you died. But you know what the most important thing on that stone will be? That dash between the dates. What did you do? What did you contribute to make this world a better place, to make a difference?”
Mia sat there with her mouth open. She glanced over at Frank, who was just as enthralled and surely just as surprised as she. Brett Wyndam—reflective? His father had to have paid a speechwriter.
After the ceremonies were finished and caps thrown in the air, everyone hugged, kissed, and shook hands. Pictures were taken at a frantic pace, as parents with their charges in tow, headed to graduation after-parties.
Mia talked to a few parents and students. She received her fair share of hugs and kisses and shed a few tears.
As things were dying down, she turned to look for Frank, but bumped into Brett Wyndam. “Oh! I’m sorry,” she said, trying to move out of his way.
Brett caught her by the wrist and stared at her. Mia tried to free herself without drawing attention, but his grip was like iron. Probably from carrying that football for so many years, she thought.
“Excuse me, Ms. Bradford. Did you enjoy my speech?”
She looked into his brilliant, expressive baby-blue eyes. “I…yes, it was very—”
“Ha!” Brett threw back his head and began laughing.
She would have called him on his rude outburst, if it weren’t for the fact that he’d let go of her. She rubbed wrists, trying to bring back the circulation. She looked around the field to see if anyone was paying attention to their interaction. Good. The people who were left were engaged in other matters.
“I will admit your speech was very…profound,” Mia said, trying to free herself from his gaze.
“Yeah, it was deep, wasn’t it?” He smirked.
Mia crossed her arms and began tapping her foot. He probably hadn’t meant a damn word of it. Not surprising.
Brett Wyndam would never change.
Chapter One
Ghana—Seven Years Later
Brett slowly started packing his bags. This was a trip he wasn’t looking forward to. He was going to miss his friends terribly, and he worried about the Otoo twins. Derek and his wife Latisha said they would take care of everything and not to worry. But how could he not?
This latest epidemic had hit the village hard, and the Otoo twins even harder. The resident doctor said they had a twenty-eighty chance—not in their favor.
Brett shook his head, trying to remove all negative thoughts. The sooner he was packed, the quicker he would be on the plane and back at Kingsley.
“Hey, man!” The baritone voice of his friend and mentor, Derek Richardson, rumbled through the tent.
Derek and his wife were like the parents Brett never had. During his school years, his mother went from charity lunch to charity gala, and the only time he saw his father get involved was to pay the school tuition at Fremont. But Derek and Tish, as he liked to call her, guided him with unerring, tough love.
They taught him how to give back to the community; they helped him keep his grades up while still playing on the team. From them, he learned self-discipline, leadership, and teamwork. Derek taught him how to be a man, and Tish, for the first time, showed him that unconditional love did exist.
He’d grown up fast. But that was okay. He needed the toughness and cynicism for the stuff he had to deal with in his adult life.
When he asked them about their work, they were hesitant to share at first. Brett was still in college, and they didn’t think he was ready to take on such a task. At that time, Ghana was in a dire state. And even though Brett felt all his community service gave him enough experience, Derek and Latisha knew better and told him no. It was then Brett realized that Derek was right, so he studied the politics, the people, and the culture. When they left to volunteer with Professeurs Internationaux, Brett understood why he couldn’t go with them. But he sent money when needed and helped get volunteers to apply.
Brett focused attention back on his friend. “Hey.” Brett clasped Derek’s shoulder. “Just packing. You know my flight leaves in three hours.”
“You should have been back in the States two months ago.”
“Don’t start, man.” Brett grabbed a shirt, balled it up, and threw it in his duffle.
“Don’t worry.” Derek said, coming forward and holding his hands up in defense. “We should have more dedicated people like you. Makes our work a lot easier.”
“I’ll be back.”
“Not until you get that Master’s degree. Working on your research back in the States will do more good than you being here.” He held both of his hands up again, palms out. “I know you find that hard to believe with everything that’s going on.”
“It’s just that….” Brett sat on the edge of his cot and shook his head. “I know most of the wealthy movers and shakers back home. They don’t give a damn about what’s going on here. Oh, yeah, they talk a good game and break out with their statistics and their checkbooks, but they don’t send people here.” He jumped up and began shoving clothes into his other bag.
“Hey, wait a minute.” Derek pulled Brett aside. “I know it gets frustrating, but you have to keep pushing. Your ideas are great, and the plans for the research center have everyone feeling hope for the first time in decades.”
“I don’t want to let them down.”
“You won’t. Knowing you, you’ll find a way.” Derek gave him another reassuring pat on the back.
“Well, there is my favorite adopted son,” came a soft voice.
Brett turned to see Derek’s better half, a beautiful black woman with skin like ebony silk and cheekbones a runway model would kill for. Like her husband, she wore her hair in dreads, although she styled hers differently every day.
“Tish.” Brett walked over to her and hugged her tightly.
“Uh-oh, someone doesn’t want to leave.” She chuckled lightly.
“Hello, Latisha. We were just having that conversation.” Derek joined his wife.
“I’m going, I’m going. Besides, I have some tests to take before I’m able to enroll in that internship program this summer.”
Brett went back to his cot and grabbed his bags, swinging them over his shoulder.
“I brought you something for the plane trip.” Latisha handed him a sealed plate.
Brett dropped his bag on the floor and sniffed the offered dish. “Sweet potato pie! Damn, you’re going to make me fat yet, woman,” he said, trying to lift the lid.
“Yeah, right. The poster boy for Muscle Incorporated,” joked Derek.
They all laughed.
“I’ll miss you.” Brett tried desperately to keep the tears from welling in his eyes.
“Of course.” Latisha smiled. “But, it’s not like we won’t be seeing you again soon.”
“Look, could you keep me posted, even if it’s a little thing?”
“We’ll let you know as soon as there’s any change,” Derek reassured him as he gently pushed Brett toward his packed bags.
Brett nodded, taking the hint. He looked back over his tent to see if he had forgotten anything, then walked out into the burning summer sun. No formal goodbyes to the rest of the workers. He knew they wouldn’t be insulted. He had to leave.
***
Once on the plane, he began thinking more pleasant thoughts. His friends back at Kingsley, and Ms. Mia Bradford, his vice-principal/detention jailer from years ago, popped back into his mind. Actually, she’d never really left.
He’d read in the local paper that he had sent to him from the States that she had become principal of Fremont High six years ago after Frank Sampson’s death. Brett didn’t know whether to cry or say a prayer for the poor souls who would meet up with Frank in the afterlife.
Truth be told, Mr. Sampson’s death had shaken him. He’d loved that old man. As stuffy as he was, Brett had respected him. He’d looked up to him even as he’d given him a hard time.
Now, Ms. Bradford was in Mr. Sampson’s shoes. More power to her—literally.
She’d always seemed to love power, and everyone knew it. But she was a damn good teacher, too. She had a mother-hen demeanor toward her students, and to Brett, she was beautiful beyond words.
The stoic, always-in-control Mia Bradford. In all the time he’d spent in detention under her eagle eye, he’d learned a lot about her. Ms. Bradford really did care about her students. She cared about him. She had worried about where his life would go. No one else had ever done that, not until he’d met Derek and Latisha. Even now, not even his mother cared one way or another which path he would take in life, as long as he didn’t marry beneath them or otherwise shame the family name. As long as there was money.
Mia worked tirelessly to get students to take the right classes to prepare for college. She made sure every student’s college application was perfect before submission. She helped them get grants, scholarships, awards.
The more he’d talked with Ms. Bradford, the more he’d admired her. She was a rare breed—a teacher who actually cared and fought the system for the betterment of her charges. Brett had helped her with those projects. He’d always enjoyed working with her when it came to the other students’ educations, so detention hadn’t really been a hardship for him.
Cleaning the dry board. Taking out the trash. Running notes to various teachers, and sharpening pencils. That last one, however, chapped his hide. At the time, he’d thought that punishment had gone out with writing ‘I will be a good boy’ on the chalkboard. The scenarios replayed like a broken record in his mind. Although he had put himself in that position on purpose with all the antics, he always sensed she’d gotten a lot of pleasure from controlling his every move. Yes, some of the time he’d spent in detention had been productive, but for most of it, he’d been her personal slave boy, doing one humiliating task after the other.
Of course there was the main reason he hadn’t been stressed about staying after school—her slamming body, her luscious coloring, which was like melted dark honey, and her hair. He mentally rolled his eyes as he thought about her hair, all tightly wound into a bun so severe she always looked surprised. That damned bun…how many times had he fantasized about taking that hair down and putting his hands in it while she….
He wiped his face with his hand. Nope, you’ve never gotten over her.
And he didn’t want to. He had unfinished business with her.
How she might react if the tables were turned?
Chapter Two
Early Summer—Kingsley University
“Mr. Wyndam, we’ve been looking over your application and your academic record, and as usual, everything is exemplary.”
Yadda, yadda, yadda. Brett sat back in the chair, trying with all his might to look interested.
Assistant Dean Richards called him to his office to go over his application for the microbiology internship. It was one of several objectives on the road to earning his Master’s degree and hopefully starting the research laboratory in Ghana. The plans where on paper, but he needed financial backing and a network of people to see it through, so this internship was crucial.
Leaning back in his chair as he tented his fingers, the weather-beaten assistant dean appeared small and frail. The ancient wingback chair practically swallowed him. “You know,” he began, tapping on the table. “We really miss your father.”
No, you miss my father’s money, Brett thought sardonically. Ever since his father’s death six years ago, the vultures had descended on him as though he were fresh road kill.
His father always gave money to his alma mater. Unlike his generous father, however, who found the need to pay good deeds to his old school, Brett saw his millions going to better use. As a matter of fact, going to Kingsley University was the only concession Brett had allowed his father when it came to making decisions about his life.
Brett sat up in his chair, leaned over the table, and looked Richards straight in the eyes. “Forget it.”
“Forget what?” Richards asked, trying to look innocent.
Brett had a knack for seeing through people to their true intentions. Richards was like cellophane. “I’m not giving this university one thin dime unless I see some changes.” Brett got up from his seat.
Richards let out a deep sigh. “I don’t understand your animosity in regards to this institution. You’ve been like this since day one. Didn’t this university, which you seem to hate so much, give you a full scholarship?”
“Yeah, and I threw it right back in your faces and suggested you give it to someone who truly needed it.” Brett ran his hands through his hair, anything to keep from strangling this pompous ass. He thumped the desk. “You were hoping that Wyndam money would continue to come in, and it did until dear old Dad died.”
“I don’t understand. This is a fine university—”
“Yes, this is a fine university,” Brett cut him off, “but your priorities are a little twisted. And I plan to do a little untangling.” He began pacing the office. “Sure, you and your elitist friends give money to every charity known to man, but how about giving manpower? Have you sent any scientists, doctors, or researchers to places in need? You have your conferences about the plight of the helpless people in the world, but you never send anyone to do the backbreaking labor that brings those people hope.”
Brett was exasperated. It was always the same speech to the same type of people—the rich and clueless. He went to the window and looked out over the campus grounds. Damn. I should have gone to Berkeley.
“I know I must sound like a bleeding-heart liberal, especially compared to my father, but I only share his DNA, not his conscience,” Brett said, looking over his shoulder at the top of Richards’ bald head.
“What would your father think of your…ahem…endeavors?” Richards asked.
“He’s dead. It’s a moot point. Okay, let’s talk business.” He walked back to the front of the desk and leaned in close. “I am willing to donate five million dollars,” he said in hushed tones.
Richards’ eyes lit up. “Well, Mr. Wyndam, we would be hono—”
Brett raised his finger before Richards went any further. “You haven’t heard the conditions.”
“But of course, if you want a hall named—”
“I don’t want a damn building named after me!” Brett waved his hand in dismissal. “The five million is for research and development in third-world countries, not for some stale hall or completely unnecessary sports stadium. I want the research to focus on poverty, hunger, and disease.” He began ticking off his demands with his fingers. “I want pumps for irrigation and materials for organic agriculture to be set aside for these countries. I want it ready to go by September. And I want to oversee all of it.”
Richards’ face was unreadable. Brett didn’t know if the old fart suddenly died or had just fallen asleep with his eyes open. Then his jaw moved.
Richards let out a chain-smoking, rattling sigh, and then pulled what looked like more red tape from his drawer.
“Here’s what’s in it for you, old man,” Brett continued. “Your campus will be featured in every major media outlet, announcing the fact that you plan to offer a subsidized major in social work for third-world countries, and more students will enroll in this fine institution.”
Richards sat there, wheels turning in his head; Brett could almost hear the squeaking. “All right, Mr. Wyndam,” he finally said. “I will get the paperwork going and have the appropriate people get in touch with you.”
So far, so good, thought Brett. He hadn’t thought Richards would give in so quickly, but at the first sign the dean or the university were diverting the funds and not offering the courses he wanted implemented, Brett would pull the cash out so fast it would make their heads spin.
“Fine. We only have the summer months to get it all in place. I want to talk to your team as soon as possible.” He sat back down in the chair and crossed his leg over his knee. “Now. You said there were a few additional things my application needed.”
“Ah, yes. You seem to be missing your letters of recommendation.”
That wouldn’t be a problem. He’s been volunteering and doing social work since he was a sophomore in high school. And he made sure word got around to the right people about his work in Ghana, but the need for a recommendation did give him an idea.
Cincinnati. Fremont High came to mind. More specifically, Ms. Mia Bradford.
He slowly shifted in his seat and began staring at nothing in particular. His mind went back to one place: her office and those days he’d spent in detention.
The fact that she kept crossing his mind and the fact that he entertained the thought of going back to Fremont High reaffirmed one thing—he had unfinished business to take care of. He felt a smile creep to his lips. Oh, Ms. Bradford, I got some lessons in discipline to show you.
“Mr. Wyndam!”
Brett shook his head and the unkempt vision of Richards was there. “I’m sorry?”
“I was asking if there is anything else. Any other concerns you might have?”
“Uh, no, that’s it. I’ll get with you about the funding in the next two weeks.” He stood quickly and grabbed his briefcase. “Have a good day.”
***
Brett left the building and proceeded to the parking lot. He slid into his Porsche and put on his shades. Once the top was down, he let out a long sigh. He felt like a new man.
Recommendations from professors at Kingsley were no problem. He would take care of those as soon as possible. Fremont High, however, was going to be very interesting. A lot of his old teachers still taught there, which, he supposed, wasn’t surprising. It hadn’t been that long since he’d graduated.
Brett started his baby and put her into gear. He needed to get back to his place and start making plans.
A day or two back in Cincinnati wasn’t going to do, especially if he was going to pay a visit to Ms. Bradford and indulge in his favorite activity. He would go back to Ghana in between, but not before he made a few things clear between the two of them.
Finally, he was going to live out his fantasy, something he’d wanted to do for a long time. Eight years to be exact, ever since he’d discovered things about himself while he’d sat in her office those days in detention.
Boy, if the gang knew what his secret passion was, they’d throw him in the Sudanese River. But this was his private life, and he’d make sure it stayed that way.
As he drove, he began replaying in his mind the times he’d purposely gotten into trouble just so he could stay after school in Ms. Bradford’s office.
Ms. Drill Sergeant, he’d wanted to call her with the way she barked orders and everyone jumped to attention. She got off on the whole power-trip thing. He could tell by the little smirk she would have plastered on her face whenever he’d groaned his objections.
He noticed it during staff meetings, too. It was amazing how everyone fell into place when she entered the room. They had nothing but respect for her. The power she commanded in a room fascinated him. Why? Because he knew, deep down, it was a need for her to be in control. She was afraid of the alternative.
Yeah, he’d learned a lot in his early years, and he was still learning. But he’d mastered his own desires and needs early on.
Watching Ms. Bradford was like watching royalty. When she graced the halls, everyone stepped aside to allow her passage. Sometimes, kids or some of the staff would bow as though she actually were the queen. She held her head up with a haughtiness that was worthy of a sovereign, that was for sure.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled into a Century 21 office. He asked a few pointed questions and watched with concealed amusement as he was whisked to the large, corner office. The owner, a balding man named Baker, hovered over Brett and the money promised by his prominent family name.
“So you’re looking for a place in Cincinnati. That’s an interesting place to buy real estate,” Mr. Baker said, as he reviewed his list of properties.
“It’s not for investment purposes, per se. I’m actually going to be living in it. I’m thinking of staying there for the summer.”
“Oh, I see. Well, anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“Yeah, close to Fremont High.” Brett thought a moment. “And I need a basement. A large one, some place to do some…entertaining.”
“Ah, yes, people are turning their basements into regular movie theaters nowadays.” Mr. Baker turned the monitor toward Brett.
Brett didn’t have that sort of entertainment in mind.
“I think you’ll like this one.”
He pointed to a 4,000-square foot, turn-of-the-century, Spanish-style with a basement that ran the length of the house. “Location, location, location” was the saying for real estate, and this was a great one. It was within walking distance of Fremont High School.
Perfect. Brett got his jacket and keys. “Contact the seller and make an offer. I’ll have a cashier’s check ready for the full asking price.”
Mr. Baker’s eyes grew wide. “Yes, sir, Mr. Wyndam! Right away!”
***
It had been two weeks since he’d walked into Jonas Baker’s office, and already Brett felt back at home in Cincinnati.
In his absence, he’d hired an interior decorator to re-do the first two floors of his new house. The basement had been last. Everything was finished by the time he’d arrived, and it was perfect.
He sat in his car at a stoplight and watched some kids as they walked back to campus from a nearby fast-food joint. His cell phone interrupted his thoughts. “Hello?”
“Brett, my man!”
“Derek! Hey, how’s it going?”
“Great; couldn’t be better. The little woman and I are back in Ghana. You know we had to go to the UN again for permission to get more workers.”
Brett laughed to himself. If Tish knew Derek called her ‘the little woman’, she would beat him senseless. “Fantastic. Hey, how are—”
“Before you go on, hold up a minute,” Derek said, leaving the phone.
Brett pulled over to the curb and put in his earpiece. He had an uneasy feeling about this. Then he heard what could only be described as music to his ears as two small voices rang through the earpiece.
“Hello, Brett!”
He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks as the Otoo twins greeted him. “Hey, you guys. How are ya?”
“We are both fine,” Kwame said.
“When are you coming back?” Menaya yelled in the background.
“Hopefully by the end of the year. You two sound great! I’m so glad to hear your voices again.”
“We’ve been playing futbol on the new field.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time.” Brett’s voice cracked with emotion. He took off his shades to wipe his suddenly wet eyes.
“Here’s Derek. Bye!” They put the receiver down, and Brett heard their joyful squealing in the background. He was so happy they had survived and seemed to have rebounded with no serious effects.
“Hey, what’s this I hear about you coming back here at the end of the year?”
“Look, they asked me—”
“And they’ll expect you. I told you to get your Master’s and keep working in the States. We got it covered here. By the way, how is the program coming?”
“A little snafu.”
“What’s the problem?”
“One research internship was put on hold until the fall, so I can’t take it this summer.”
“Oh. So what are you doing until then? And don’t say bringing your lily-white ass here.”
Brett burst out laughing and began driving toward the school again. “No, no. I found something to keep me occupied.”
As if on cue, he drove into the parking lot of Fremont High. As he pulled into a vacant spot, he spotted her near the main gate. She was on yard duty, talking to some other adults, probably teachers. She hadn’t changed a bit. She was still breathtakingly beautiful and still wearing that damn bun! He rolled his eyes and blew out an exasperated sigh.
Well, he was here, and there were going to be some changes.
“Brett! Brett!”
“Huh? Oh!”
“I thought I lost the connection.”
“Nope, still here. Say, how’s your better half?”
“Great. Missing you and wants to cook you up something as usual.”
“She’s going to fatten me up yet.” Brett patted his stomach, remembering her good cooking.
“We have pictures of the twins and the new library that was built last year.”
“Fantastic!”
“Can’t keep the people out. Might have to keep it open twenty-four hours.”
“So be it. Can’t get enough reading. Just make sure the girls are getting their equal time.”
“Got it. Hey, I’m going to let you go. Running up the bill on my end here.”
“You two take care, and kiss the twins for me.”
“You got it.”
They disconnected. Brett took out the earpiece and set the phone aside. Pushing the button that raised the convertible roof, he locked it and leaned back against the seat. He took a deep breath. Okay, what to do next?
After careful consideration, and remembering how controlling Ms. Bradford used to be around him, he decided to be sneaky about it. He stepped out of the car, still looking at the gathering of teachers where Ms. Bradford held court.