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too humiliating, even for JohnScott.
    I located an emery board. “I don’t know anything about football or Tinker or replacements, but I heard Grady Cunningham tell Luis Vega he played in junior high but hadn’t decided if he wanted to play for us or not.”
    â€œIn that case, he will.” JohnScott took a swig of coffee. “What can I bribe him with?”
    I focused on a fingernail, running the file lightly across a rough spot. “You could offer him a free haircut. Both he and the preacher are shaggy.”
    â€œYeah, that’s the city. It’ll wear off.”
    The principal, closeted in his office behind me, burst into laughter, causing me to wonder who was on the phone with him so early in the morning.
    JohnScott moved to the other side of the counter, leaned on his elbows, and scrutinized me. “What do you want on your homecoming mum? The usual bells and whistles?”
    My hands fell to my lap. The homecoming game would be the hoopla of the football season, and every female under thirty would be wearing a huge white flower bedecked with glitter, beads, and braided ribbon. “I told you I don’t want one. It’s a high school thing.”
    â€œNo, it’s not. The college girls have them too.”
    â€œI’m not a college girl.”
    â€œWell, Mom’s made you a mum every year since you were thirteen. She’s not stopping now.”
    â€œShe didn’t my sophomore year. I had a date.”
    â€œI wouldn’t count that kid as a date, and his flower barely classified as a mum, but whatever you say.”
    Behind me, the office door opened, but I didn’t turn around. I was too busy frowning at JohnScott.
    Nelson Andrews, our gray-haired principal, breezed past my desk. “Ruthie, I apologize for the short notice, but could you get our new math teacher the necessary forms for insurance and what have you?” Nelson greeted JohnScott with a brief “Coach” before turning to face me. But he looked over my head to his office door behind my back. “Mr. Cunningham, this is Ruthie Turner. She keeps our attendance records, organizes employee files, and performs a million other tasks. She’ll get you fixed up.”
    What did he say?
    The principal gazed at me expectantly, and when I didn’t react, he motioned to his office door. “Ruthie, like I said, this is our new math teacher.”
    Ice water flooded my veins as I rotated my chair.
    Sure enough, Dodd Cunningham stood in the doorway behind me, dressed in khakis and a black polo. From his expression, I’d say he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
    â€œHi.” I felt small and insignificant.
    â€œHello again.” He spoke in his CEO tone, but a bothersome smile played at his lips. It disappeared when he looked at Nelson. “We’ve met.”
    â€œOh, right … the United,” the principal said. “Anyway, this is JohnScott Pickett, history teacher slash football coach. Couldn’t survive without him.”
    JohnScott stepped forward and extended his hand while Dodd said, “Dodd Cunningham. Good to meet you.”
    As the three men talked, I calmed my racing nerves. So the new preacher would be working at the high school. No big deal. I could handle this.
    Slipping to the filing cabinet where the employee documents were kept, I considered the preacher’s actions on Friday night. I still couldn’t make sense of him talking to me, and I speculated on his motives. Probably he was simply being nosy, probing my sinful heart out of curiosity and making fun of me in the process. That was only a half step beyond the treatment I normally received from the local Christians. Still, the thought made me as furious as Uncle Ansel’s Angus bull.
    Retrieving the forms from a file folder, I slid the drawer closed with a clank, drawing Dodd’s attention. He smiled at me before returning his gaze to the principal.
    Nelson tapped