Chapter 3 — Parallel Lives
Calla Merritt
The rhythmic ticking of the classroom clock punctuated the air, a metronome to Calla Merritt’s carefully structured life. She stood by her desk, arms crossed, her brown eyes scanning the room of pre-teens hunched over their math problems. Rows of mismatched desks were arranged in neat clusters, each student immersed in solving the quadratic equations she’d assigned moments ago. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, warming the scuffed wooden floors and casting an orderly glow over the space, but inside Calla, a knot of unease tightened—a barely perceptible wobble in her otherwise steady compass.
“Your answers should match the examples I gave you earlier,” she reminded the class, her voice calm but precise. “Remember, the process matters as much as the solution.”
A few students nodded without looking up, pencils scratching against paper. Others fidgeted, their focus waning. Calla’s gaze lingered on Ellie, a shy girl in the third row with a perpetually furrowed brow and a tendency to erase answers until the paper nearly tore. Ellie’s worksheet was smudged with faint graphite streaks, an eraser sitting heavily in her tense grip.
Calla moved quietly through the rows, stopping beside Ellie’s desk. She crouched slightly, softening her tone. “Ellie, you’re overthinking it again. Don’t worry about making it perfect on the first try.”
Ellie glanced up from behind oversized glasses, her deep brown eyes filled with hesitation. “But what if it’s wrong?” Her eraser hovered over the paper, her voice trembling just enough to betray her frustration.
Calla softened, her voice tinged with warmth. “That’s why we practice. Mistakes are part of learning—they show us where we need to grow.” She gave a small, encouraging nod. “Try again.”
Ellie hesitated, her eraser still poised mid-air. Then, with a deep breath, she lowered her pencil tentatively to the page. Her strokes were uncertain but steady, the lines of the equation forming with growing clarity.
Mistakes are part of learning. The words rang in Calla’s ears, carrying an edge of hypocrisy. She wasn’t one to embrace mistakes—far from it. Calla lived for control, for the predictability of a well-thought-out plan. Yet yesterday’s hybrid car mishap, stranded on a country road with a salesman who seemed to carry chaos as his companion, had left her feeling… off-balance.
Theo Ashcroft.
The name surfaced unbidden, accompanied by the image of his disheveled chestnut hair and the quick, easy grin that seemed to mask a deeper unrest. He’d been annoyingly charming, with his car metaphors and relentless banter, but there’d been moments—brief, fleeting—when his words carried weight. When a vulnerability peeked through that bemused smile.
“You know, sometimes it’s okay to want more,” he’d said.
The memory settled in her chest, an uncomfortable weight. What had he seen in her to make that observation? Did she truly come across as someone afraid to want more? Her fingers unconsciously drummed against the edge of her desk, her jaw tightening. Wanting more wasn’t the problem. It was what “more” might look like—messy, chaotic, unpredictable.
The bell rang, pulling Calla from her thoughts. Students surged to their feet, the cacophony of shuffling papers and chair legs scraping against the floor filling the air. Calla raised her voice above the din, her tone brisk.
“Homework is on the board. I want it completed by tomorrow—no excuses.”
Ellie lingered at her desk, packing her bag slower than the others. Calla watched her, debating whether to say something more, but then Ellie slung her bag over her shoulder and shuffled out after the others, her head down.
The room emptied, leaving Calla in the silence of her chalk-dusted sanctuary. She exhaled, loosening her posture as she moved to her desk and sat down. Taking out her planner, she began jotting notes for tomorrow’s lesson, the methodical process soothing her frayed nerves. Her hands, however, moved slower than usual, her thoughts wandering to the chain around her neck. Almost on instinct, she ran her fingers over the tarnished silver compass hidden beneath her blouse, tracing its engraved surface. The faint wobble in its needle mirrored the hesitations in her thoughts.
“You look like someone who’s thinking way too hard for a Wednesday afternoon.”
Calla glanced up to see Elena Harper standing in the doorway, a wry grin on her face. Dressed in a flowing boho cardigan over her catering uniform, Elena exuded warmth like a ray of late-afternoon sun. She stepped into the classroom, balancing a to-go cup of coffee in one hand and a small pastry box in the other.
“Brought you a pick-me-up,” she said, placing the box and coffee on Calla’s desk. “Because you clearly need it.”
Calla tilted her head toward the treats. “Bribery?”
“Support,” Elena corrected, pulling up a student desk and sitting down backwards, her arms draped over the chair’s backrest. “Spill. You’ve got the ‘Calla’s overanalyzing life again’ face.”
Calla hesitated, fiddling with the corner of her notebook. “It’s nothing.”
Elena raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Calla sighed. “I went car shopping yesterday.”
“And?” Elena prodded, her grin widening. “Please tell me you didn’t scare off the salesperson with your infamous checklist.”
Calla felt her lips twitch despite herself. “Not exactly. He was... persistent.”
“Do tell.” Elena leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. “Was he cute?”
“Not the point,” Calla said firmly, though the faint heat rising to her cheeks betrayed her. “He was... irritatingly charming, if you must know. And maybe a little too insightful for his own good. But the car broke down during the test drive, which was... less than ideal.”
Elena let out a low whistle, clearly entertained. “Sounds like a memorable experience. What’s bothering you about it, though?”
Calla paused, gripping the edge of her desk. “He said something. About how… sometimes it’s okay to want more.”
Elena’s expression softened. “And?”
“And I don’t know what that means for me,” Calla admitted, her fingers brushing the chain of her compass. “I like my life the way it is—structured, predictable. Wanting more feels… messy.”
Elena smiled gently, her voice warm. “Maybe messy isn’t such a bad thing, Calla. Sometimes a little chaos shakes loose things you didn’t even know were weighing you down.”
Calla frowned, unconvinced, but before she could respond, Elena rose, straightening her cardigan. “Think about it,” she said, her tone breezy. “And if this Theo guy shows up again, you might want to listen to what he has to say.”
With that, Elena strolled toward the door, leaving Calla alone with her planner and her thoughts. The faint scent of coffee and powdered sugar lingered in the air.
---
Across town, Theo Ashcroft slouched in his desk chair at the dealership, tapping a pen absently against his notepad. The afternoon lull had settled in, the showroom unusually quiet save for the murmur of distant conversations and the hum of fluorescent lights.
In front of him, his worn leather notebook lay open on the desk, pages filled with half-sketched ideas for his dream repair shop. His latest sketch—a vision of solar panels lining the roof, a small community garden flanking the parking lot—stared back at him. It was the kind of place his dad would have loved. A place that felt real. But it was also a place that seemed impossibly far away.
“Earth to Theo.”
Theo looked up to see Brooke leaning casually against his desk, her pixie cut catching the light. She crossed her arms, her grin sharp.
“You’ve been staring at that notebook like it holds the meaning of life,” she teased. “Care to share with the class?”
Theo smirked, flipping the notebook shut. “Just doodling. Nothing earth-shattering.”
Brooke’s eyes narrowed. “Right. Because you’re totally satisfied selling sedans to people who think hybrids need to be plugged into the wall.”
“Don’t start,” Theo warned, though his tone lacked bite.
Brooke snorted. “You’ve been here for five years, Theo. When are you going to stop drawing solar panels on garages and start building one?”
Theo ran a hand through his hair, his grin fading. “When the timing’s right.”
Brooke’s expression softened, though her voice remained firm. “The right time doesn’t exist. You know that, right? You’re not Dad. You don’t have to get it perfect the first time.”
Theo’s grip tightened on the pen in his hand. The mention of their father hit harder than he cared to admit, a sharp pang threading through the usual background hum of dealership noises. He glanced back at the notebook, his fingers brushing its weathered cover. The faint smell of grease still clung to its pages, a reminder of all the evenings spent sketching side by side in their dad’s garage.
“I know,” he said softly.
Brooke studied him for a moment, then gave a small, encouraging nudge to his shoulder. “Just think about it, okay? You’re better than this place.”
Theo didn’t reply, his gaze drifting out the window. His thoughts turned, once again, to Calla Merritt. Her precise, logical demeanor had been a challenge, sure, but he’d glimpsed something beneath it yesterday—a quiet vulnerability, a flicker of curiosity she didn’t quite let show.
Calla liked structure, but Theo couldn’t help but wonder if she, too, was waiting for something more.
