Page 41 of So This Is War
She glances at it, then back at me. “Is that a book about Vermont?”
“Yup,” I say. “Very passionate about the state. Did a fourth-grade report about it, and well, I just love me some maple syrup and changing leaves. Would love to know more about that sliver of heaven. So yeah, if you could type that up for me, I’d appreciate it.”
“Uh, sure. Can I give it to you in chapters? Might take me a while.”
“Installments will work,” I say even though I know that’s not what Coach Wood asked for.
“Also, I have this stain,” I say, lifting one of my placemats that I doused in barbecue sauce this morning. To hell if I was about to stain my rug or carpet not knowing her stain defense techniques. A placemat is easy to let go of if she royally fucks itup. And it’s not like Coach Wood will be able to tell the difference from the picture I took of the stain. At least I hope he won’t.
“Oh, that is quite the stain. Looks like you smeared barbecue sauce all over your placemat.” Yup, pretty much.
“I can be a clumsy eater,” I say. “Think you could get this stain out? I have an attachment to this placemat. I eat best when using it.”
Her brows raise in question, and I don’t blame her. That’s something one of my idiot friends would say, not me. I don’t say stupid shit. I correct stupid shit.Except when I’m nervous or I’m put in an uncomfortable position. Like making myself look like an absolute dick.
“Well, have no fear. I’ll take care of the stain, and you can eat your best once again.”
“Thank you,” I say while putting the placemat down. “I also have two other things that are meticulous but necessary. You know, superstitions and all.”
“Oh, I know all about them.” She leans a little forward and whispers, “Did you know that my dad has to do the sign of the cross over his underwear before he puts it on every game day?”
Oh fuck, that’s amazing.
I hold back my snort, but it makes my eyes water. I try to blink away the tears of amusement, but God, that’s great intel.
Coach Wood, blessing his fucking underwear. If hiring Wylie as my assistant means I get special snippets about Coach Wood to make him less . . . scary, then this was one of my best decisions.
Blessing his fucking underwear. *mentally shakes head* That will be shared with the boys.
“Oh yeah, blessing the underwear, I totally get it,” I say even though I don’t. What does blessing your crotch have anything to do with the game? The man must think very highly of his penis—like it has magical powers on how the game plays out. To each their own, I guess.
“So what can I do to help you with your superstitions?” she asks.
I clear my throat and hope she doesn’t judge me for this. “Well, now that school is in session, it reminds me of my elementary days when we would go back-to-school shopping.”
“Yes, I know what you mean. Nothing smells better than a new box of crayons.” She smiles up at me.
“That and number two pencils,” I say, hating myself and Coach Wood. “I like them so much that I like to fill the apartment with them.”
She shifts and stares at me quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I just think they’re nice to have, you know, around the house, on display.”
“Ohh-kay. So do you want me to get you some pencils?”
“Yes,” I say, feeling like an idiot. “Fifty.”
“Fifty?” Her eyes widen.
“Yes, fifty. And I’d like them to be sharpened. But not with a motorized sharpener. I don’t like the burnt smell that it gives off when you sharpen a pencil. I’d like them to be sharpened manually and placed in a vase.”
She slowly nods. “And where do you want this vase placed?”
“Uh, dining room table, like flowers.”
She glances back at the dining room table with nothing on it, the one space I’ve yet to decorate, mainly because it’s a forgotten space. I never use it. The only reason I have the table is for . . . well . . . extracurricular activities, hence the hidden hooks underneath for, well, you know, restraining someone.
“So you want fifty manually sharpened number two pencils placed in a vase on the dining room table?”
