Chapter 3: Sibling Rivalry and Sandwiches

Three questions, zero time to think. My head spun. Did I really look that young—or just that shady?

But I’m 24! Sure, I get carded at every brewery, but this was a new low.

He gave me a clinical once-over: bleach-blonde hair, band tee, Crocs—like he was mentally filling out a “worst-dressed” checklist.

Finally, he seemed half amused, half exasperated: “You’re not a student, are you?”

I started coughing violently—great timing, as always. I hacked so hard I nearly lost my sandwich.

I quietly pulled up my phone’s camera: messy roots, oversized tee, ripped shorts, hideous toe socks, and Crocs. I looked like the warning photo for ‘Don’t Try This At Home.’ No wonder he thought I was a delinquent.

He brought me back to reality: “So, what did you just say?”

That deep, pleasant voice snapped me out of it. The kind that makes you actually pay attention in class.

I cleared my throat: “Wanna talk?”

I sounded braver than I felt. He actually considered it. My eyes caught that little mole by his Adam’s apple again—crush confirmed.

A moment later, he said, “Let’s talk.”

“My name is Derek Mason. You can call me Mr. Mason.”

He said it with that perfect balance of firm and funny, like he was used to scolding kids but secretly rooting for them.

I raised my eyebrows, a little surprised. He had major teacher energy—but not the ‘rulebook tyrant’ kind. More like, ‘I’ll give you a second chance, but don’t push it.’

Derek Mason launched into a thirty-minute motivational monologue about being a good citizen. He covered everything from ‘respect and kindness’ to ‘integrity and hard work,’ and even managed to work in ‘national progress.’

Somewhere between “community service builds character” and “America needs responsible young people,” I realized I’d wandered into a TED Talk instead of a conversation. My legs were cramping by the time I interrupted: “Mr. Mason, what exactly are you trying to say?”

He turned serious, looking me right in the eyes: “Did you bully our student, Noah?”

Noah? Oh, that brat.

I answered automatically: “Yeah, what about it?”

I’ve been tormenting Noah since he learned to walk—pretty sure I’ve given him more noogies than he’s eaten school lunches.

Derek Mason’s expression darkened—instantly going from cool teacher to protector mode.

“Miss, no matter what school you’re from, if you’re bullying our student, I can’t just ignore it.”

His voice had an edge, like a crossing guard spotting a runaway skateboarder.

Me: ......

So now roughhousing my own brother is a crime? I almost laughed.

He continued, totally earnest: “Don’t make Noah bring you food anymore. If you need help, I can help you.”

He sounded like he volunteers at soup kitchens and hands out coupons for food pantries. I couldn’t resist poking at his good-guy act. “Okay, Mr. Mason, can we exchange contact info? In case I can’t afford food and need a hand?”

I tried to keep a straight face, but the mischief was basically glowing.

He hesitated but handed over his phone. I could see him weighing the pros and cons, responsibility winning out.

Before I left, I tried to sound extra mature: “Mr. Mason, I’m really not a student. I’m an adult.”

Not sure it worked, but I walked away with his contact—and a weird flutter in my chest.