In the middle of August in East Texas, the heat and humidity don’t just bring heat; they bring weight. The kind that clings to your skin before the sun is fully up, pressing into your lungs with every breath and reminding you that nothing comes easy this time of year. Avalon Walker stood beneath the awning outside Blithe Secondary, already wishing she could peel the day off and start over.
A new school year. A new schedule. A new building.
A new version of herself that she wasn’t entirely sure she believed in yet.
Across the parking lot, children darted between cars and sidewalks, their excitement cutting through the heavy air. Kindergartners cried as their mothers pried them loose across the street at the elementary, high school athletes shouted across the fields, already deep into practice, and buses hissed as they released waves of students into the chaos. It was the same scene every August, painfully predictable, loud, and absolutely alive, but Avalon felt slightly out of step with it this year, like she was watching from just outside the moment instead of standing in it.
Blithe Secondary sat sprawled across farmlands just north of Tyler in its usual outdated glory: a cluster of 1970s-era buildings arranged in a wide circle around a manicured courtyard dominated by an enormous oak tree. Avalon fell in love with that tree the first day she came to Blithe three years ago. It was steady. Unmoving. The kind of thing that didn’t fall apart when everything around it did.
Standing outside the English and social studies building, she took a slow sip of her coffee, letting the bitter heat ground her, and leaned her shoulder lightly against Casey Hamilton’s as they stood tucked under the awning. Same spot. Same routine. Same best friend.
At least some things don’t change.
They were in mid-conversation about the new school year and their principal’s ‘joke’ of an assignment when Avalon saw him. There was a shift in the air. A presence that carried just a little too much confidence for eight in the morning.
“Good morning, Beautiful,” Matías Leija’s voice slid between them as if it belonged there. He strutted past the two very different women congregated, flashing a flawless white grin that gleamed off his sun-kissed skin.
Avalon’s fingers tightened instinctively around her coffee cup, her gaze dropping before she could stop herself. Heat crept up her neck, not from the weather this time, and she forced her expression into something neutral before she chanced a glance sideways at Casey.
Of course, he was talking to her. He always was.
Casey rolled her eyes, not missing a thing. She followed Avalon’s glance, then snorted softly into her coffee. “Oh look,” she muttered just loud enough to be heard, “the school year hasn’t even started, and he’s already in rare form.”
Avalon let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and stared down into her cup, watching the surface ripple slightly from her grip. “Well, Case,” she said, aiming for casual and missing it by a fraction, “the summer clearly didn’t stop his flirting. You should probably just tell him you’re not interested and put him out of his misery.”
Casey turned slowly, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow lifting as a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “And what,” she drawled, “makes you think he’s talking to me?”
Avalon blinked, caught off guard. “Because…” She gestured around them vaguely before dropping her hand. “There’s no one else standing here.”
Casey’s smile sharpened, something almost amused flickering behind her eyes as she leaned her shoulder more firmly into Avalon’s. “Ava,” she said, softer now, but no less certain, “you cannot honestly still believe that.”
Stepping away from her friend, Avalon huffed out a small laugh, though it didn’t quite reach her chest. “Believe what? Look at you.” She turned and waved her hand in Casey’s direction, as if the evidence spoke for itself. “You’re tall, gorgeous, young, and, let’s face it, approachable in a way that doesn’t make men question their entire existence. I’m…” She hesitated just long enough for the words to sting. “Short. Older. I’ve got two kids and a divorce that still feels like it’s following me around like a ghost. There is absolutely no reason for him to be hitting on me.”
Casey went still for half a second, just long enough for Avalon to realize she’d stepped into familiar territory. Then came the sigh. “Jeez, Ava,” Casey groaned, dragging a hand through her hair before turning fully toward her. “We are not doing this again. Not this year.” She reached out and took Avalon’s hand in hers. “You didn’t just get a divorce. You dropped the dead weight. There’s a difference.”
Avalon’s lips pressed together, but she didn’t argue. “You’re allowed to exist as something other than a mom and a cautionary tale,” Casey continued, her voice firm but not unkind. “You’re gorgeous. A size twelve is not a personality flaw, and for the record,” she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like she was about to share a secret. “People like curves, real ones. Shows that you won’t snap in half if someone breathes wrong.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, then winked.
Avalon let out a reluctant laugh, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m correct,” Casey shot back immediately, flashing that megawatt grin that had gotten her out of more trouble than Avalon could count. She slipped an arm around Avalon’s shoulders and squeezed. “You’re beautiful. And if anyone can’t see that, they’re an idiot and not worth your time.”
Avalon didn’t respond right away. She let the words settle, familiar and alien all at once. This conversation wasn’t new. It had played out in different variations for the better part of two years. Casey pushing, Avalon deflecting, neither one quite convincing the other.
They were opposites in almost every visible way. Casey Hamilton was the kind of woman people noticed the moment she walked into a room. Twenty-seven, unmarried, effortlessly striking with long, wavy chocolate-brown hair that fell down her back and sharp hazel-gray eyes that always seemed to be calculating something just beneath the surface. She carried herself like she knew exactly what she wanted and expected to get it.
Avalon…didn’t. Not in the same way, anyway. At thirty-one, Avalon Walker had built her life around what she thought was stability instead of craving the spotlight. Two kids. Hard-won independence. A body that was soft where Casey’s was sharp, curved where Casey was sleek. Her pale blonde hair brushed her shoulders in a blunt cut she rarely styled, and her ice blue eyes, too perceptive for her own good, had a habit of seeing things she wished she could ignore.
She wasn’t insecure, not really, but she wasn’t untouched either. There was a difference. Casey saw possibility in everything. Avalon saw history. And history, in her experience, didn’t let go easily.
“Hey, I have got to get ready. Kids will start filling the buildings soon, and I need to get down the breezeway to math and science. I’m gonna miss you this year, but apparently my expertise is needed in their classes more.” Avalon shrugged, pulling a ‘what am I to do’ face, and trudged down the hall. She and Casey were assigned together for the last two years, and they had a terrific working relationship. Avalon knew what Casey wanted, and Casey knew Avalon did everything she could to help the special-needs kids in each class.
Avalon liked English better and knew how to work with that subject. Math and science were foreign, and so were the teachers. Matías Leija, the Biology and Chemistry teacher, had always been nice to her, but she had a sneaking suspicion that it was because she was friends with Casey. However, Carl Cook, the Algebra II and Calculus teacher, barely spoke to her, or anyone really. She was pretty sure he was verging on an impairment in social awkwardness.
She reached the math and science wing in time to see Matías inside his classroom, halfway through changing shirts. He hadn’t bothered with the restroom. The door was half open, the early morning light cutting across the room and catching his bare skin, broad shoulders, defined muscles, and clean lines of his chest as he tugged his polo over his head. His chest and abdomen were chiseled out of jasper, beautifully browned and hard as stone.
Avalon stopped short, then immediately turned her back to the doorway. The hallway clock ticked louder than it should have. She fixed her eyes on it, forcing her focus there. Steady and unmoving, as if that alone would erase what she’d already seen. Her grip tightened around her coffee cup. Her posture was rigid as she waited, giving him time. Too much time.
When she finally turned back, he was there, leaning against the doorframe like he’d been there the whole time, like he hadn’t just been half-dressed seconds ago. His arms were crossed loosely over his chest now, shirt in place, but the effect lingered. His hair was still slightly disheveled, and his expression was easy, almost amused.