Staff Feature: Leslie DeVooght
“A hush falls over the crowds surrounding the eighteenth hole at Augusta National as Tye Collins lines up his putt. Winning the coveted green jacket all comes down to this shot. And he does it,” I said in my best sports broadcaster voice as the golf ball slipped into the hole of the putting green I’d set up in my classroom.
While I was good enough for the country club circuit, I was never going to make the tour. Still, I’d landed a pretty great situation. What could be better than teaching civics at my alma mater and coaching one of the winningest high school golf teams in the country?
Not much. Maybe a woman to share my life, but I’d let the right girl go.
The ancient windows rattled as a gust from the tropical storm blew through, and I checked the buckets I’d positioned to catch rainwater dripping through the ceiling panels. A building that’s over a hundred years old had some quirks, but it kept things interesting.
With the end of my putter, I guided over another ball. I pulled the club back and swung—
“Ahhh!” A high-pitched screech echoed down the hall.
I jerked and my club head smacked the ball, sending it soaring and eventually decapitating my bobblehead of Phil Mickelson.
“Mouse.” I yanked open my door and hurried down the hall.
It was only a matter of time with the flooding outside. Most of us were used to our friends, but a student told me that a new substitute was filling in for Mrs. Saunders. I hadn’t met her. No time like the present.
Brody flew out of the classroom. “Coach! It’s another one!”
More screams met me along with the sound of metal chairs and books banging onto the floor.
“There it is!” A girl shouted. “Daniel, get it!”
“I’m not messing with it, Bethany. And since when do you want help from a guy?”
“Now, Daniel! Right now!”
Young love. I stifled a chuckle as I stepped into the classroom. “Daniel, relax, I’ve got it.”
“Thanks, Coach Collins.” Bethany stood on her chair. “Real man.” She shot a side-eye at poor Daniel, who was trying to appear cool while perched on the windowsill.
“It’s over there.” Red-faced, he pointed to where the teacher’s desk was positioned.
I pivoted, but spotting our furry friend became immensely more difficult as a pair of brown riding boots claimed my attention, hugging shapely legs that must belong to the new teacher finding safety on her desk.
As my eyes lingered an inappropriate amount of time absorbing this development, the shouting started again, and I caught a grey blur scurrying along the baseboard.
Lifting my club, I crossed the room. Hopefully, no one noticed my momentary lapse. I’d always had a thing for tall boots, but this obviously wasn’t the time. Once I saved the day, I intended to have a chat with the owner of those legs. I mean boots. Okay, so maybe I’m a leg guy too.
“Wait! Stop!” The teacher stomped. “Don’t kill it!”
“I wasn’t planning to, ma’am. Daniel, trashcan.” Might as well help the guy earn back a smidge of his dignity.
“Yes sir.” He appeared at my side with the metal bin.
“Hang tight.” I grabbed the rim and lowered it to the ground. Then with the skill of a PGA star, I used my putter to gently guide the trembling mouse to safety. “Please take our friend to the maintenance shed and tell them to find him a new home. Miss—” I shifted my attention to the still nameless teacher who I hoped might be a Miss and not a Mrs.
When my gaze met hers, I dropped my club with a clank. It might’ve been ten years, but I’d recognize those emerald eyes and that cinnamon hair anywhere—Ainsley Waters.
The corners of her mouth tugged up with amusement, hinting at the teenage girl I’d once known and often thought about. Memories charged the energy, and the years evaporated with an intensity that captured us.
“Coach, what’d you want me to tell maintenance?” Daniel, who’d apparently made it to the door, looked between me and his teacher.
“Tell them that Miss”—I glanced at Ainsley and she nodded, sending adrenaline zipping through me— “Miss Waters would prefer to only teach humans.”
With the crisis averted, but the subject of my unrequited love still standing on her desk, I lifted my hands to her waist and lowered her to the floor. “Welcome to Glynn Academy.”
A sweet blush highlighted her cheeks, but her eyes remained fixed on mine. “Thank you.”
“Coach, y’all are so cute together.” A girl’s voice followed by a chorus of agreement reminded us of our audience.
“Yeah, Coach, ask her out.”
“Yeah, ask her out!”
And before they started chanting as high school kids have an incredible ability to do with absolutely no prep, I held up a hand and silenced them with my teacher glare. “Do you think y’all could behave if we leave you alone for a minute?” I took Ainsley’s hand, enjoying the warmth infusing me.
“Yes, sir.”
In the semi-privacy of the hall, I closed the door behind us. “I know it’s been a long time and I know we left things unfinished, but—”
“Yes.” She leaped into my arms, wrapping her legs around me.
“Um, wow, that was a more enthusiastic response than I expected.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Not that I didn’t appreciate your leadup, but our mouse has a friend.” She pointed.
Near the door, a mouse peered at us.
Ainsley touched my cheek, drawing my attention to her and that mischievous smile I remembered so well. “To show my appreciation for your warm welcome, how about dinner after you carry me to safety?”
“Say yes, Coach!”
“Kiss her!”
“Shut up, Brody,” someone said.
“I’ve got this, y’all!” But Ainsley’s lips almost rendered me speechless. “Are you free tonight?”
“Yes.”
And the crowd goes wild!
When Leslie isn’t writing, she volunteers with several organizations, cheers on her three children, and enjoys date nights with her husband, who loves that she researches kissing. Leslie is represented by Bob Hostetler of the Steve Laube Agency.
Connect with Leslie on Facebook, Instagram, or her website.
Spark Flash Fiction 