4. Foster
FOUR
FOSTER
I stifle another yawn as I stand in front of Sophie’s office. I got to school early, wanting to make sure I had time to adequately thank her for what she did for me yesterday, but I seem to have forgotten that me being early doesn’t make anyone else early. Now here I stand shifting from foot to foot, holding a Christmas tin full of chocolate chip cookies, practicing how to say thank you like a normal person whose breath isn’t immediately stolen away by the other person.
I’ve lived so much between the last time I had seen Sophie and now, but I may as well be sixteen again.
When she finally comes around the corner, her head is bent as she searches for something in her bag. Just before she reaches me, she throws her head back, mouths a word that has no place in these halls, and turns, retreating in the direction she had just come from. Checking my watch, I see I’ve got about eight minutes before I need to be outside to greet my students so I stay where I am. I just have to hand the tin over, I don’t need to stick around making small talk.
Five minutes later, Sophie scurries around the corner again, this time seeing me immediately. I won’t pretend the smile I get from her doesn’t do things to my insides. Saying hi seems inadequate. She deserves more than a two-letter greeting.
“Morning, sunshine!” comes flying out of my mouth before I even realize what I’ve just said.
She blinks back in surprise. “I haven’t been called sunshine in years.”
I’d have called you that every day if you’d been in my life . “Guess I’ll have to make up for it.”
“Go bananas,” she says, unlocking her office and beckoning me to follow. “I forgot my fu– ugh, my lunch in the car.” She looks apologetic. “I’ve really gotta get my language under control, sorry.”
“It’s okay. There are people who have been working here for years who still struggle. I’ve gone in the opposite direction.”
“What’s the opposite direction?” she asks, setting her bag down on her chair and turning to face me.
“Instead of saying the f word, I say something like…” I can’t even say it now in the presence of an adult, as if my tongue has its very own censor. I don’t plan what I say, so it takes me a minute to recall something that has escaped my mouth recently. The first thing I thought when I saw Sophie immediately pops into my head. “Holy moose muffins.”
“‘Holy moose muffins’? Are those muffins for moose or muffins made from moose?” she inquires.
“You know what, I’ve never thought that deeply about it, and surprisingly not a single one of my students has ever asked. Speaking of students.” I sigh, glancing at my watch. “I’ve gotta get out to them. I’ll see you later.”
Sophie offers a small wave, and it’s not until I’m walking outside that I realize I’m still carrying the tin.
“Mr. Walsh!” Pete happily calls the minute he’s got himself balanced on his crutches. Despite the challenges that come with cerebral palsy, he’s always got a smile on his face, a go-getter attitude, and way too much stuff in his pockets, which I can see are already bulging with today’s treasures.
“Pete McGee!” I hold my fist out, and his much smaller one connects softly with it as he balances on one crutch. “What did you get up to last night?” I ask as we make our way into the school.
“I had a swimming lesson and then we got pizza.”
“What did you get on your pizza?”
“Pepperoni and green olives,” he says, looking up at me with a sly smile. He knows he’s going to get a reaction out of me.
“Eeeeeewwwww,” I whine. “Green olives are the worst green things.”
“Worse than brussels sprouts?”
“A zillion billion times worse.”
“Agree to disagree, Mr. W.” He shrugs. “What did you do last night?”
“I had a swimming lesson too,” I say, enjoying the shock on his face. He doesn’t need to know that I was swimming through the dating pool.
“But you’re old!”
“Hey now, I’m only twenty-eight. To some that’s very young.”
“But you’re too old to learn how to swim.”
“Not true. You’re never too old to learn new things.”
“Mr. Walsh, did you really have a swimming lesson?” Pete asks as he slides into his chair and begins to empty the contents of his pockets onto the desk. A few hockey trading cards, three game dice, some crumbled stickers, stegosaurus and triceratops figurines, and six individually wrapped LifeSavers. Less than I expected.
“Nah, I stayed home and baked cookies.” I hold up the tin, dragging my eyes away from today’s collection of pocket treasures.
“Are they for the class?”
“They’re for Miss Hore, the new social worker.”
“Why?”
“Because she did something nice for me yesterday so I made them as a thank-you.”
“If I do something nice for you, will you make me cookies?”
“If I can find a good recipe for egg-, flour-, and butter-free cookies, I will definitely make you some.”
He looks at me skeptically. “Never gonna happen. Mom gave up trying.”
“Well, now that sounds like a challenge, and ya know what?”
“What?” he asks, his eyes narrowed.
“I love a challenge.” I wink before going to hang up my coat and stash the cookies at the top of the closet.
“Any Oreos today?” Jessica asks as we walk our class to the gym for an assembly.
“I think I saw some crumbs, but nothing whole. He did have six peppermint LifeSavers, though.”
“Wrapped?”
“Surprisingly, yes.” We laugh, remembering the mess that a couple vegan caramel candies had made back in October.
“Well, I guess if I need to freshen my breath at some point today I know who to go to,” she says as we file into the gym.
The assembly is not overly interesting, and Jess and I spend most of the time giving kids the stink eye for talking. The best part is when Principal Wong introduces Sophie and asks the kids to give her a warm Dundurn Elementary welcome. She looks nervous until the kids erupt. I think everyone in the gym falls a little in love with her when she smiles out at us. I whistle, and when her eyes find mine, I swear her smile gets bigger while my palms definitely get wetter.
“Miss Hore, he made you cookies.” Pete points at me when he sees Sophie in the hall on our way back to class. Her eyes go wide.
“Me?” she asks, slowing to walk beside us.
“Yeah!”
“Just as a thank-you for yesterday,” I say quickly.
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Are you saying you don’t want them?”
“You can give them to me.” Pete looks over hopefully.
“Pete, stop being nosy,” I scold. “Scoot!”
“I’m going as fast as I can.” He pouts.
“You’re moving at half your normal speed, buddy.”
“Fine,” he grumbles and picks up his pace. He’s still not going as fast as he can, and he’s not overly subtle about continuing to eavesdrop.
“So, sheep eat grain, and frogs like rain, and I hate poison ivy,” I say and watch as Pete stops and turns, looking confused. “See!” I exclaim. “Nosy!”
When I glance over at Sophie, she’s looking at me like I’ve hung the moon. “What?”
“You’re really good at this.” She gestures between me and Pete.
“I hope so, or else I’m in the wrong profession.”
“True.” She reaches out like she’s going to touch me and my skin preemptively tingles, but then she seems to think better of it and slips her hands into her pockets.
“I’m winning, Mr. Walsh,” Pete cackles as he swings his crutches faster, starting to move at a decent clip.
I look at Sophie one last time, let my eyes roam over the side of her face as she looks down the hall at Pete. “I think he may just win this one.” She peers over at me with a tiny smirk on her face. I don’t know if it’s a challenge, but that’s how I take it.
“I’ll stop by at lunch. Now, you’ll have to excuse me, I’ve got a race to win.” I wink at her before walking quickly after Pete who immediately speeds up.
“No way, Mr. Walsh,” he shouts.
The hour between the end of the assembly and lunch drags like no other hour before it. Pete excels at math, which means I end up helping some of the other students who have a harder time with the subject. When the bell finally goes I practically run from the classroom, Pete’s eyes on me and a knowing smile on his lips.