Caught Running Read Free Page A

to slap them into Jake's palm with a sheepish smile. “I got it next time,” he said confidently with an inclination of his head before tossing the paper in the can and heading back to his seat. Jake had told the perpetually lazy freshmen that if they shot a trash basket and made it, he'd acknowledge their brilliance in an appropriate manner according to the difficulty of the shot. But if they missed, it was a dollar fine for being too lazy to get up and walk the ten feet to the can.
    Brandon stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching the little scene, hard pressed to keep a smile off his face. He wondered what Jake had offered to do if they made the can shot. Then a couple of girls started whispering loudly and looking his way. He blinked, wondering if he had something on his shirt or tie. Glancing down, he remembered he'd taken off his tie and rolled up his sleeves after his last class, and unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt in agitation as he'd dropped his glasses on the desk before going to see Tom. He'd even dragged his fingers through his hair enough times while talking to the principal to pull it out of the tie that usually held the shoulder-length dark hair neatly at his nape. Christ. He must look like hell.
    When Brandon looked up again, three girls were whispering and pointing and blushing. He raised an eyebrow in surprise and glanced to the teacher at the front of the room. Jake followed the whispering and turned to look at the open doorway with a raised eyebrow. “Mr. Bartlett,” he said, covering his surprise and confusion with his usual friendly, somewhat cheeky style of greeting. “What can we do you for?"
    The girls squealed quietly, and a few of the boys snickered, while Brandon just shook his head. “I'm the new health teacher,” he answered, which caused even more of an uproar amongst the girls. God! Why were they doing that?
    Jake frowned at the squeaky little freshmen girls and looked back at Brandon with a slightly confused smile. “My apologies,” he offered wryly with a smirk, earning him a few playful boos as he stood up and strolled to the doorway. “Oh boo hoo, go practice your bank shots,” Jake drawled to the class. “They're all yours,” he said to Brandon softly as he stepped out into the hallway. He stopped and leaned against the wall by the door, peering back inside. “They're a generally good group,” he murmured to Brandon softly. “You shouldn't have much trouble.” He paused, looking the man over. Something was different about him, but he couldn't figure out what it was, besides looking a little rumpled. It wasn't the glasses. The missing tie maybe? The slightly annoyed glint in his eyes? Jake gave a mental shrug and pushed off the wall. “Want me to stick around through announcements?"
    The P.A. crackled to life, and Brandon smiled a little. “If you don't mind hanging around, Tom said I should talk to you,” he said below the front office secretary's voice blaring out of the speakers. When the bell rang, the kids were off like a shot, walking between them, though several of the girls walked more slowly. “Bye, Mr. Bartlett.” “See you tomorrow, Mr. Bartlett.” “I'm looking forward to health class, Mr. Bartlett.” Brandon's face got more and more mystified as the classroom emptied out.
    Jake grinned as the last of the class trailed off down the hallway. “You certainly wowed them, Stud,” he laughed. “What did you need from me?"
    Brandon's brows shot up. Stud? He'd certainly missed that message. “Ah, Tom Berry dropped this class on me like a ton of bricks about half an hour ago—and then he steamrollered me with another small tidbit. I'm supposed to be a coach, too."
    "A coach?” Jake asked with a frown. Was his leg being pulled here? “For what team?” he asked suspiciously.
    "Your team,” Brandon said, a little annoyance creeping into his voice. “He said you were short a baseball coach. And pretty much that I'm the bottom