“Do you have any reason to talk to her?”

“Aunt Becky?”

“No. Your principal.” Loud clattering on Ava’s end made Olivia wonder if her sister was using an adequate amount of packing paper. “Crap,” she mumbled into the receiver.

“Not really. Maybe. My last-hour kids are putting together a proposal to do an end-of-year supply drive for the shelter. Once it’s finished, I will.”

Samson lumbered along as they headed deeper into the park along a pedestrian trail. He hoisted a back leg to pee on a light post, then hoisted it again in another two feet to mark a LEASHED DOGS ONLY sign.

With the late-afternoon sun warming her back and a picture-perfect view at every turn, Olivia was in no hurry to urge him along. She’d known the park would be incredible in full spring, and it was. Brilliantly colored flower beds lined fountains and mulch islands, and the redbuds were in full bloom.

“Well, I suggest you help those kids finish it up and get in there,” Ava said. “Once you’re face-to-face, just ask if there’s anything she can tell you about next year’s openings.”

“That’s actually a good idea.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear the ‘actually.’ And I know you like it there, but any other callbacks?”

“Not a one. I think it would be different if I could get a year or two of experience at one school. Switching midyear like that in my first year out of Teach for America didn’t do any favors for my résumé.”

“You shouldn’t be dinged for taking temporary positions.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Ava was starting up about all the junk Wes had accumulated in their basement storage when another call came in on Olivia’s line.

“Oh crap, Ava. Someone’s calling from Westbury Middle. I’ll call you back.”

Olivia switched over without waiting for Ava to respond and offered up her perkiest hello.

“Olivia Graham?”

“Yes, this is her.” Or is it she? Damn, I can never remember.

“Olivia, this is Principal Garcia. Am I interrupting anything?”

As Samson pulled in his haunches to take an impressively sized poop, Olivia replied that she wasn’t.

“I wanted to apologize for the delay in getting back to you about next year’s returning teachers. I suspect a couple of you have been waiting on pins and needles.”

“I’m sure it’s a complicated process.” Her ribs seemed to be locking tight around her heart. It was Principal Garcia’s tone—stiff and formal. Olivia knew before she said it. This wasn’t good news.

“The thing is, we’re such a small school that we have to make the most accurate call we can when it comes to anticipated class sizes for the next school year.”

The ground at Olivia’s feet began to spin. All those desperate hopes toppled like a row of dominoes even before she spoke again, confirming her fears.