First Kiss Fireworks
First Kiss Fireworks
A Port Provident Novella
Kristen Ethridge
Copyright © 2017 by Kristen Ethridge.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Laurel Lock Publishing
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™
Where indicated, some Scripture quotations are taken from THE MESSAGE, copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002 by Eugene H. Peterson. Used by permission of NavPress. All rights reserved. Represented by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Book Layout ©2013 BookDesignTemplates.com
First Kiss Fireworks/Kristen Ethridge – 2nd ed.
Contents
Dear Reader
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Sample Chapter: Shelter from the Storm
SPEND A SWEET SUMMER IN PORT PROVIDENT
Dear Reader
I’m so excited to bring you my first new story from Port Provident in a while. This story is deeply personal to me, and I hope you enjoy it.
As you read the story, you’ll get to know Cole Vasquez, a young man struggling to come to grips with the impact of a concussion on his life. What you may not know is that Cole’s story mirrors my own. One year ago, the car I was driving was struck by another driver in an intersection. I suffered six concussions, a Traumatic Brain Injury and live daily with Post-Concussive Syndrome. My life—and my writing life—has been turned upside down, but like Cole, I’m determined to try new things and work every day to be the best I can.
This year, I’ve learned in a big way that God is in the details. I don’t know why I was in that intersection at that moment on that day, but God does—and he has a plan for me. I know he promises life and restoration. He is our great healer, and his promises never return unfulfilled. In short, as Dane discovers in First Kiss Fireworks, everything in our lives, both great and small are “God things” and if we choose to stay in faith, we can see great things happen even in the middle of situations we don’t understand.
All the best,
FIRST KISS FIREWORKS
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Dr. Cantrell, Dr. Wilkofsky, Dr. Paulman, and especially Dr. Gonyeau for everything you’ve done for me this past year. And to Brian and the kids—it’s been a heck of a walk through the valley, but I believe we will be ready to climb the mountain again soon.
“Yes indeed, it won’t be long now.” God’s Decree. “Things are going to happen so fast your head will swim, one thing fast on the heels of the other. You won’t be able to keep up. Everything will be happening at once—and everywhere you look, blessings! Blessings like wine pouring off the mountains and hills. I’ll make everything right again for my people Israel:
‘They’ll rebuild their ruined cities.
They’ll plant vineyards and drink good wine.
They’ll work their gardens and eat fresh vegetables.
And I’ll plant them, plant them on their own land.
They’ll never again be uprooted from the land I’ve given them.”
God, your God, says so’.”
-AMOS 9:14-15 (MSG)
FIRST KISS FIREWORKS
Chapter One
“So I heard you’re starting your summer vacation a little bit early this year.”
Amanda McGovern looked up from her desk. She could feel the frown lines etched into her face. Her week had started with back-to-back long, frustrating days.
“A little early? It looks like I’m starting a whole semester early,” she said.
Roger Caldwell, the chair of the Education Department at Provident College, leaned against the door jamb of Amanda's office. “Looks like it. So, did they give you any indication at all? Or did they just tell you that the funding was canceled?”
“Well, I mean what else are they really going to say, Roger? I got the feeling from Stavros that the whole thing was kind of embarrassing.”
Roger laughed little under his breath. “I'll say. The whole thing’s more than just kind of embarrassing. It’s totally embarrassing. I mean, having to completely shut the doors to the Institute?”
“Well, they’re not completely shutting the doors,” Amanda’s thoughts on the subject which now defined her life rolled out on an exasperated sigh. “I think they’re still going to have basic classes. But all the peripheral programs are getting the ax. It stinks because I really feel like this program was on the cutting edge. We were finally going to be able to do the research that might lead to providing an option to kids who are struggling to focus in the classroom, due to ADHD or autism, and other similar, brain-related disorders. Right now, it so difficult for them to concentrate and the only thing most professionals have to offer are high-powered pharmaceuticals. What if there’s a better answer? I believe there is. I've been waiting to be part of this research for almost two years—it’s been my passion, my mission. And now because some politicians can’t balance their budgets, the funding is revoked and the whole program is shut down. Instead of diving in with one of the world’s leading experts in my field for a short summer research sabbatical, now I have to exchange a plane ticket to Europe and figure out where my work and I go from here.”
“I know you're disappointed,” her boss said. “And I hate to come here and be the bearer of even more bad news, but we have got to figure out what to do with you for this semester.”
“What to do with me?” Amanda said. Her eyebrows pushed upward into the furrows that had crisscrossed her forehead since she hung up the phone call with Stavros yesterday afternoon. “What do you mean—what to do with me?”
Roger adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Amanda had studied with Roger as an undergrad, and now had worked with him for several years. She knew the little signs and gestures he began to make when he was uncomfortable with the message he was delivering.
“I mean, the Institute, Amanda. Well, specifically, I mean their program money—that’s what was paying you this semester while you were researching with them. Your salary was being reimbursed through this program. No program, no research funds. No research funds, no full salary. And as far as things here at Provident College, you're not on the teaching schedule for the summer semester and it starts in less than a week. If we have to add another section to some class, I’ll call you first, but I can’t make any guarantees on that.”
Amanda stared blankly past Roger, shaking her head slightly. She could feel the motion, powered by disbelief. The back-and-forth twist seemed futile, like laundry dangling in the breeze.
“Okay,” she said hesitantly, trying to sort her way toward something positive. “You need me here for something, right, Roger?”
“Well,” her boss said wryly. “Not for teaching classes. Are you still going to be able to do any of your research?”
“I don’t think so,” Amanda said. The weight of realization started to stack brick-by-brick on her shoulders, pushing them down. She felt the heaviness so strongly that it caused the breath in her chest to squeeze tightly. “When I talked to Stavros, it sounded like the whole thing is shut down, permanently. He’s no longer researching the protocol, therefore I can’t assist him. What am I going to do, Roger? I can’t just take some kind of unpaid sabbatical. It’s not like I’ve got unlimited funds in my bank so I can go down to Gulfview Boulevard and play on the beach for a few months of extended time off with nothing to do.”
Amanda swallowed, tasting a bitter tang of worry. Her mouth filled with something like the sharp alkaline flavor of magnesium powder. She hated coming across as desperate to someone who’d mentored her for almost her entire academic career, but she couldn’t get away from the reality of no real paycheck, so to speak, coming in for a few months.
And it wasn’t just being able to pay the bills. Not being able to do this research could very well push her off the tenure-track she’d worked so hard to get on.
“Let me talk to Marty. We’ll see what we can do,” Roger said, referencing the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. “We’re low on options and time, so don’t get your hopes up—but maybe there’s something I haven’t thought of.”
Another harsh breath forced past Amanda’s lips before she spoke. “Don’t worry, Roger. I’m not sure my hopes could get any lower at this point. You know how when you’re wading out at the beach and then all of a sudden, you step off the sandbar and everything’s deeper? In the last twenty-four hours, I’ve lost track of how many sandbars I’ve stepped off of. I’m just treading water right now.”
Roger wrapped up the conversation with a few well-meaning platitudes, but Amanda didn’t hear a single one. Her eyes darted around her office, looking at the textbooks and diplomas and mementos that had so far made up her career as an educator teaching the next generation of educators how to make a difference for students with challenges. Slowly, her gaze came to rest on a photo of Amanda and her mother in front of a church in Mexico they’d attended a mission trip for a few summers ago.
The simplicity of the cinderblock building, painted a gentle shade of pale yellow brought back memories of hard work and pushing past boundaries.
Slowly, she took a deep breath and tried to shake off the feeling of drowning.
Amanda locked her eyes on the vision of the little church, wishing she could be there again, surrounded by community and a supportive group focused on achieving goals and supporting others.
But nothing kept away the feelings of being battered by the turn of the tide in her life.
She lowered her head into her hands and pressed her fingertips in the space between her eyebrows, trying to relieve the pressure inside.
“I need a life preserver. God, is there one out there?”
“Dr. McGovern?” Dane Vasquez felt like he was meeting someone on a blind date. Only this time, he felt a complete lack of confidence—and that almost never happened when he took someone out. He believed in only a handful of things in this life. His ability to turn a double play when the game was on the line was one. His ability to get a woman to say yes to a second date was another.
There wouldn’t be any appetizers or cocktails right now in the faculty and staff dining hall at Provident College. Only Dane, a professor he’d never met, and a hope against all hope that this woman had the answers he needed.
“Yes, I’m Amanda McGovern. I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“No, I don't think we have. I haven't been here at Provident College very long.” Dane wanted to stick his hand out in the time-honored gesture of greeting, but there was no denying his palms were slick with more than a little trepidation. “I’m the head coach for the Provident College Tidal Waves baseball team.”
“Oh, baseball. That explains it. I’m usually on this side of campus. How can I help you, coach?”
Dane gestured to the seat across the table from her. “Is it okay if I sit for just a minute?”
She pointed at the empty space. “Sure. I was just grabbing a quick bite by myself today.”
“I’m sure you’re busy with trying to get your last-minute details in order with the semester about to start. I eat quick lunches in crazy places while the season’s going on.” The color of her eyes changed from topaz to a dark golden velvet. Briefly, his mind wondered what the change indicated. But, he didn’t have time to indulge that rabbit trail. He needed to ask her his question. “I need some help, and I think you might have the right background for it.”
“Well, if it’s baseball-related, you’re probably looking for my brother.” Her mouth twisted up a little at the corner, revealing a shallow dimple. “But you said this wasn’t about baseball, Coach. So how can I help?” She lifted the glass of iced tea in front of her and took a sip.
“I understand you’re a specialist in the area of students and brains and focus and concentration and things like that.”
She placed the glass back on the white coaster. “Something like that. My CV has some fancier language, but yes, that’s basically my area of focus. I teach the next generation of educators how to best work with children who have barriers to focus and behavior, like ADHD or autism or other conditions. I assume the individual members of your team are connected with the resources available to them at the Academic and Athletic Success Center, if they need some help, right?”
“Yeah, the guys do all their study hall hours and those who are eligible for tutoring get it. My request isn’t for the whole team. It’s for one guy.”
Dane had been in a lot of big moments, big games. He’d had a lot of eyes watching him. He’d made the final out and preserved a win for his team more times than he could count. He wasn’t used to being nervous. As long as his cleats were on, Dane usually felt like there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do.
But today he was here, in the dining hall, in front of Professor McGovern. He didn’t have his cleats or any of his other good-luck charms to appease any of the superstitions baseball players were known for having.
All he had was his heart. And it was beating so erratically he thought that he might pass out. But Cole needed him. He couldn’t give up.
This wasn’t a game, but he had to save the situation anyway. For Cole. For all the times Dane hadn’t been there.
“What do you mean? Usually all requests go through the Success Center. I’m pretty limited as to what I can do with regard to academic tutoring and such. It’s not really my thing.”
Dane decided to lay it all out on the table. Either she’d understand, or she’d reject the request. Cole’s options were sliding away, like watching sand drop through the neck of an hour glass. It made Dane feel helpless. And that meant he had to settle down his beating heart and ask for what he needed.
He wasn’t even against begging, but the woman in front of him with the low ponytail and striped knit blouse seemed way too classy to fall for that trick.
“He doesn’t need tutoring. He’s tried that. Cole was hit by a pitch last year. It hit him just above the temple. He hasn’t passed any of his concussion protocols since then, but I’m not asking for your help to try and get him back on the field. He’s just barely keeping up with his classes, but it’s not because of the material—he doesn’t need tutoring. He said his brain is constantly in a fog and he can’t focus on doing his work. He sits down to read or to write a paper and after ten minutes, he is done. He’s on to something else. He can’t concentrate. The doctors said all they can tell him to do is rest.
But if he can’t get focused and get his grades up, I’m going to have to take him off scholarship.”
“What year is he?” She seemed to be considering his plea.
“He’s a freshman. This is his first year at Provident College.”
A student worker placed a plate in front of Dr. McGovern. She smiled and told her thank you and said she’d hoped the young woman had spent a good summer at home. The student smiled and said she had, and she was looking forward to starting her student teaching in the fall. It seemed like they knew each other well, and Dane couldn’t help but notice the sound of respect in the student’s voice.
He needed someone who was sharp, who was respected, on his team for this project. He just needed Amanda McGovern to agree to at least meet Cole. Dane had done his research. There wasn’t anyone else on Provident Island who had the skills or the background to give Cole any new hope.
“That’s really awesome that you started his scholarship anyway after he was injured before enrolling.” She smiled warmly.
“Well, I needed to. I’m his dad.”
“Oh, so you’re pulling double-duty, Coach Dad.”
The phrase got under his skin a bit. He’d never coached Cole in a single game. Dane was both Cole’s coach and his dad strictly in name only. “I guess you could say that.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ve been told there’s no magic bullet to help someone recover from a Traumatic Brain Injury. TBIs are unique. Everyone tends to respond in their own way. And you’re right, most neurologists recommend rest because that’s the generally-accepted protocol.”
Dane felt his thumping heart fall to his feet. This pursuit had been for nothing.
“So you’re saying there are no other options?”
The professor shook her head.
“I’m not saying that at all. There aren’t many conventional options. But the brain is a complex organ, and most people who work with it will admit that they only know the tip of the iceberg about what it does and how it works. I certainly feel that way with the research and teaching I do.” She tapped her finger on the table resolutely. “In fact, speaking of research, come to my office in Porter Hall in the morning. Bring Cole. Will ten o’clock work for you?”