Underneath It All (Storm Series) (2 page)

“Obviously since I’m a professional athlete
, I make a habit of talking a blue streak around small children. I couldn’t help myself, ogre that I am.” His tone was defensive.
But geez, who pissed in this chick’s cornflakes this morning?
He was pretty sure kids heard worse than
hell
on the school bus.

“I need to protect them.”

Rob briefly debated what to say then went with, “You’re their teacher, Ms. Rossa. You feel responsible for them. I get that. I’m not going to do anything bad, I promise. Despite what you obviously think, I’m actually a pretty good guy, or so I’m told. I’m guessing they didn’t pick names out of a hat for this program, so there must have been a reason they chose me. Now can we go in and stimulate their developing brains with some exposure to great literature?”

He
had laid it on thick with the sarcasm, but damn, he could practically see the stick shoved up this woman’s ass. At least if the thing was a hockey stick, he’d have some use for her. Rob snorted to himself. In all his years of playing hockey, he wasn’t sure he’d ever been insulted so quickly and so thoroughly, even by his most bitter rivals. Just because she was a teacher didn’t give her the right to judge him.

Sweeping her arm toward the classroom,
Ms. Rossa said, “After you.”

“Oh no. After you.” He held the door open
, wondering if she’d faint in shock at the chivalrous action, but she slipped through without so much as a glance at him. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t drag his gaze from the back view as the woman walked away.

Was she purposely putting an
extra swing in those hips?
No, definitely not.
Considering she clearly subscribed to the “all athletes are stupid, insensitive jerks” theory, he doubted she was trying to impress him. But if her hips naturally moved like that…

Why a
m I even thinking about her? She’d be a total waste of time to pursue, and I’d end up looking like an ass, since she hates me and would surely reject any invitation to spend more time with me than she’s forced to.

Ms. Rossa
pulled the chair from behind her desk, and mostly to irk her, he instead perched on the front edge of the desk, pulling his jersey on over his head once he’d settled himself. With a sneer she wasn’t quite able to hide, she handed him the book then scooted to the back of the room, where she leaned on the wall and raised her eyebrows in an unmistakable “get on with it” look.

Okay,
woman. If that’s how you want to play, fine. But remember, you mess with the bull, and you’ll get the horns.

He grinned. “Hey
, everybody.”

Fifteen
small faces stared at him.

“Class, say hi to Mr. D’Amico
,” Ms. Rossa prompted. “He’s here to read you a story.”

“Hi
, Mr. D’Amico,” went a chorus of voices.

“Today we’re going to read, well,
I’m
going to read,” He smiled and a couple grinned back, “
Fancy Nancy
?” Glancing toward the back of the room, Rob schooled his expression. She’d have to try harder than that to rattle him. He was an NHL player who’d go toe-to-toe with anybody and wasn’t about to let this sprite of a thing intimidate him. “
Fancy Nancy
it is.”

Opening the book, he
brutally suppressed a grimace as the glitter on the front cover brushed off onto his hands, with some settling on his jersey. He ignored the snicker from the back of the room, refusing to give this Ms. Rossa the satisfaction of knowing he had heard her.

After Rob began to read, h
e discovered he needed to hold the book out to the side so the kids could see the pictures and he could still read the words. Good thing he hadn’t done an intense arm or shoulder workout beforehand. Lifting a coffee cup, much less a book, after one of those was a potentially painful experience.

He read and read.

How freaking long is this book?

At least the kids
finally livened up, pointing out things and leaning forward in their seats. When he finished, he closed the book with a flourish. More glitter fell to the floor and this time he smiled; he’d had the foresight to hold it away from him.
Can’t get me twice with that crap.

“Pretty cool, huh? I love reading. See, I’m a hockey player.” He indicated his jerse
y, clearly violating Ms. Rossa’s “don’t talk to the kids” rule. Rob had a sudden urge to stick out his tongue at her like Sebastian had done during scrimmage earlier in camp, but managed to hold himself back. “We spend a lot of time waiting for buses, flying on planes, sitting around our hotel rooms before games, whatever. If I couldn’t read, I’d be pretty bored.” Not entirely true since his tastes ran more to engaging in video game tournaments against his teammates, but he wasn’t about to mention that. Obviously he could read; he just preferred something a little more active.

One little girl raised her hand. “I saw a hockey game on TV with my daddy.”

“Oh yeah? Did you like it?”

She c
rinkled her nose. “Do you fight like those guys did?”

Think fast, D’Amico.

“Things can get heated in the middle of a game because everybody’s trying so hard, but I always play fair.” Total cop-out answer, but he doubted she’d know the difference.

That was a close call.

A boy in the class was waving his arm like one of those guys guiding a plane to a gate.
Enthusiastic kid.
Rob couldn’t help but smile. These kids were giving him a kick; that was for sure.

“My dad says the Storm
won’t go anywhere without a change in the front office.”

Seriously? How the hell do
kids remember stuff like that?

Rob looked to
Ms. Rossa for guidance. She was half turned away, silently shaking with laughter. Fat lot of help she would be.

With a level voice, he answered,
“I just play the game. I let other people worry about that kind of thing. Anyway, I need to get out of here since you guys have a lot of important learning to do, but I’ll be back soon. Maybe we can read something about dinosaurs or race cars.” Ms. Rossa had turned back by then, and he skewered her with a withering look, but she smiled sweetly.

Yeah, saccharine sweet
.

“
Class, thank Mr. D’Amico for coming in today.”

“Thank you,” they chorused
.

Do
they actually practice to get that kind of harmony?

Rob
set the book on Ms. Rossa’s desk and stood, idly scanning the room. Since he’d walked in, he’d felt like something was out of place since. Though Ms. Rossa had obviously tried to make the room look cheery with construction paper letters taped up around the room and some other cheap decorations, the walls were painted four different, hideous colors. There was an old-fashioned radiator heater running along only one side, which probably meant that area was like a furnace while the opposite side ran to cold.

Nowhere did
Rob see a cache of toys or art supplies or really much of anything like he would expect in a kindergarten classroom. He swallowed thickly. Sure, this was inner-city Buffalo, but still. The students were awesome and deserved better than getting the shaft like this just because of where they lived.

Ms. Rossa
led him out. “Thank you for doing that. The kids enjoyed themselves.”

“You’re welcome.
I tried to be as diplomatic as I could with the questions, but I thought it would be rude to ignore the kids.”

“
Yes, I suppose,” she answered, and Rob understood what people meant when they mentioned pursed lips. It was as if Ms. Rossa was sucking on a lemon. “Especially since you started the conversation.”

Don’t hurt yourself agreeing with me.
She’d also not-so-subtly reminded Rob that she’d ordered him not to talk to the kids. In an effort to remain diplomatic, he changed the subject. “I think they gave you a list of dates and times I’d be here?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Okay then.” With nothing wittier to add, he continued, “I’ll see you next week.”

Totally lame
, dude.

“Bye.” She
turned and went back inside the classroom.

Well, I guess I’m dismissed.

After he got back in his truck, he called Sebastian. “Hey, are you with Sarah? Can you put me on speaker?”

“Sure, man. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I want to run something by her. You can stay too. Actually, I could definitely use your opinion, since your mom’s a teacher.”

“Hi
, Rob,” Sarah said.

“Hi
, Sarah.” He took a deep breath, not sure of how to ask what he wanted to know. “I went over to that school to read to the kids today.”

“Good for you,” Sarah answered.

“I liked the reading. Little kids are fun. Anyway, while I was in the school I saw how…”
God, how do I put this?
“Desolate their classroom looked. I mean, the teacher had stuff up on the walls she’d clearly made herself, but all the things you’d normally see in a kindergarten classroom weren’t there. No toys, no art stuff, no big shelves crammed with books. Just, I dunno, nothing. Pretty sad. I was surprised to see that. I never saw a classroom in Canada that was so ill-equipped.”

Sebastian spoke up. “
They fund schools here differently, right?”

“Yes. I think there’s less subsidizing by the government,” Sarah explained.

“So if the school is here in the city,” Sebastian said, “they probably do not have much money to buy those things. The city of Buffalo is not doing well in some areas. I’ve been reading about the situation in the paper.”

S
ince he was French-Canadian and had been raised in a non-English speaking house, Sebastian read every Sunday paper cover to cover in an attempt to learn better English. He’d been doing it for years.

Rob blew out a breath.
“I know, but I feel bad. There I was with my two-hundred-dollar jeans and my Rolex and the kids were coloring with stumps for crayons.”

“You can’t feel bad about having money, Rob,” Sarah argued. “
It’s not your fault you do and they don’t. I know it’s hard not to feel guilty, but you haven’t done anything wrong. You worked your ass off to get where you are.”

“I realize that. I do.
It’s just—”

“
You felt like a jerk. You shouldn’t.”

“I guess you’re right,” Rob grumbled. But then why couldn’t he let this go?

“Even though her school is pretty nice, my mom still has to spend her own cash on supplies,” Sebastian said. “There’s not enough from the government to go around, even in Canada, where the tax rate is higher.”

“She
spends her own money?” Rob was incredulous. That totally sucked.

“They all do.”

Sebastian had spoken as if the statement was no big deal, but Rob was appalled. Teachers made so little for the incredibly important job they did, and on top of that, they were forced to spend for things themselves just to do that job?
That’s ridiculous.

“Sebastian’s
right, Rob. Every teacher I’m aware of, from preschool straight up through college, buys their own stuff to some degree.”

“Wow, that’s so wrong.”

“It is,” Sarah agreed, “but also the way of things. Taxpayers bitch when they have to pay more, but they also complain when the schools can’t properly prepare their children for the world.”

“I had no idea.
”

“
I send my mom money before every school year, so she won’t have to spend her own,” Sebastian said.

“I fe
el so bad for these kids. Maybe not all the classrooms look like theirs, but I bet they do. I mean, why would one be totally devoid of things all the others have?” Rubbing a hand over his short hair as he drove, he shook his head even though his two friends couldn’t see him. “I should do something. But shit, where do you start with something like that? The problem can’t just be Ms. Rossa’s classroom, or even just that school.”

“It’s not,” Sarah answered. “Most inner-city schools in this country are probably pretty similar.”

“I still can’t believe what the room looked like. I just stood there, feeling so helpless. And now I want to fix the problem, but I don’t know how. The whole thing just seems so, I dunno, big and intimidating to contemplate.” Sighing, he shook his head again as if the action would clear the vivid images of those kids and their classroom from his mind.

“I understand.”
Then Sarah said, “Not to change the subject, but are you coming for dinner? I need to know how many bracciole to make.”

Leave it to Sarah not to let me dwell on stuff.
Rob allowed her to steer the conversation elsewhere. “You’re making bracciole?” He groaned. “I haven’t had that since the last time I saw my grandma. I wanted some at the Italian Festival, but even though I dragged Jordan from one end of that place to the other, I couldn’t find any. I had to console myself with stuffed peppers. Good, but not bracciole.”