Chapter Four
A week later, I’m on my way to monitor first lunch. The scent of baked cheese enchiladas smothered in canned chili has been seeping through the vents and cracks of my office door for the last hour, and I am almost salivating in the hope that the kids won’t try wildin’ out today so I can enjoy a plate.
“Excuse me, where is your hall pass, little miss thing?” one of the gym teachers, Paul, says while coming in the opposite direction holding a tennis racket.
I don’t waste time looking around; I know he’s talking to me. As the distance between us shortens, I wait for it to hit him. When it does, his eyes bug out and his face goes red.
“Oh, Miss Rogers, sorry! I didn’t realize it was you,” he says in his country drawl.
I nod and offer him a tight smile. “It’s okay, Paul. I get it.” Today’s spirit day theme is Dress like Your Principal, and while most of the kids who participated are in slacks and a button-up to imitate Principal Major, the eighth-grade girls took it to the extreme in dressing like me. I’ve come across countless mini-Briannas walking around with their cute goddess braids in varying colors from jet black to honey blond, and maxi skirts paired with cowboy boots. Add in the fact that today I’m wearing a yellow maxi skirt with brown cowboy boots and I forgot my lanyard at home, and it’s been a hilarious morning of confusion watching the teachers try to figure out who the real me is. So Paul thinking I was a student walking around is understandable.
“ Little Miss Thing though?” I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Oh, ah.” He flushes even redder. “Yeah. It won’t happen again.”
I nod and Paul goes on his way.
When I walk into the cafeteria, it’s already at full volume, with kids shouting at each other across tables and claiming their spots while still in line.
Angie is on lunch-monitoring duty as well. She passes me with her upper lip raised to her scrunched-up nose, signaling that she’s smelled something bad. Before moving on, she complains, “Why is it so chaotic and musty in here?”
I cover my mouth before I can bust out laughing. She really should be used to the smell of teenagers still learning about self-care by now. I’ve become pretty much nose-blind to it, which is why I can only smell the food.
“Miss Rogers!”
I scan the crowd and see Monique waving me over from her seat at one of the long brown tables. I walk to her and bend down. “Hey, Miss Monique. How can I help you?”
“I don’t need help today. I just wanted to show you the book I picked out!” She reaches into her backpack and holds out her book like a trophy. “ Nic Blake and the Remarkables . And look, she looks just like me!” Monique holds up one fist like the girl on the front cover with a high puff, then goes on to tell me how she put her own hair up this morning and even managed to get the edges just right. “I asked Mrs. Yates if she can get a copy of The Hate U Give so I can check it out next year. She didn’t seem too sure, but I hope she can. I read all the good books already, there’s nothing left. I’ll probably end up donating this one to the school when I’m done so y’all can have something .” She shrugs and I fight to quash the lump in my throat.
It’s a shame that donations from a child is the best our library can hope for. I don’t want to think about the canceled upgrades anymore, but how many great books are these students missing out on by not having a fully functional library here? How many of these students would benefit from seeing characters on book covers that look just like them? Camille made the point that there are thousands of kids all over the state losing access to libraries. Instead of helping me accept that I can’t help everyone, the desire to do something about it is even stronger. Without the budget approval, I just don’t know what that “something” would be.
I stand up straight and take in a slow breath. “Let me see that pose again,” I insist, and Monique crosses her left arm over her chest. “Yass, that’s what I’m talking about!”
Monique grins and I give her a high five, the only acceptable form of contact with students, before continuing to move through the tables. Eventually I stop walking and lean against a wall where I still have a good view of the whole cafeteria. Jordan, a math teacher, stops a few feet away from me. He’s talking to Roman’s friend Kareem. I would move along to give them privacy if it weren’t for two points: One, I’m nosy. It wouldn’t be professional for me to gossip with the teachers, so I have to listen in when I can to keep a finger on the pulse of what’s going on with everyone. Two, a small part of me hopes they mention Roman. But I try not to dwell on that.
“But it won’t be a waste of your summer,” Jordan is saying, and I don’t need any other context clues to know what they’re talking about. Jordan is trying to recruit Kareem for a Mars simulation program.
After Christmas break, Jordan asked permission to represent the school in a six-week challenge where teachers try surviving in a Mars-like environment. It was easy enough to get the okay from Principal Major and the superintendent, but the real challenge for him has been assembling a team. Jordan, who loves all things space but for whatever reason decided to become a math teacher instead of pursuing a career with NASA, thinks I, as the sister of a real-life astronaut, walk on the moon. I was one of the first people he tried to get on board, but even if I wasn’t adamant about boundaries with the staff, I’m not willing to give up my summer break for anybody, especially after the year Principal Major put me through. Unfortunately for Jordan, most of the teachers he’s asked feel the same way.
I continue scanning the cafeteria and only halfway listen in as Jordan tries pleading his case.
“Come on,” Jordan says. “Teachers who participate in the simulation and make it through the full term get twenty thousand dollars. Easy money, bro. And if the team successfully completes all of our tasks before time is up, the school gets five hundred thousand.”
Wait a minute . I come to attention immediately at his words. Jordan didn’t tell me anything about getting money for participating, and he sure as hell didn’t say a word about earning money for the school.
If our school had an extra five hundred grand, Principal Major wouldn’t be able to justify not using it for the library.
Kareem apologizes to Jordan after making it clear, Dr. Seuss–style, that even if the grand prize were a million dollars, he would not, could not be caught dead in an enclosed space with five other scholars. Just thinking about it makes him shake his head and want to holler.
As Jordan sighs as Kareem walks away, I slide right into his personal space.
“If you’re about to ask me if you can leave because you finished lunch early, the answer is no. You know the rules…Oh.” Jordan blinks when he gets a good look at my face. “Sorry, Brianna. I thought you were a student. What’s up?”
“I couldn’t help but notice that when you told me about the Mars simulation, you didn’t mention anything about the money.”
He frowns and scratches at his short locs. “I didn’t? Dang, I guess it must have slipped my mind. What can I say, you know? I’m doing it for the journey and not the money. Some experiences are priceless, am I right?”
“Oh yeah, no doubt. I love experiences. Anyway, so what you said about the money is true then? There’s a prize for teachers and the school?”
“Yeah, there is. Wait—did I forget to tell everyone else about the money and that’s why they turned me down?” He gives a self-deprecating shake of his head.
As I open my mouth to ask more questions, Jordan’s eyes widen as he looks somewhere over my head. “Marcus, why would you throw cornbread at the back of her head?” He sighs and stalks toward the cornbread-throwing fiend.
I consider stepping in to help so Jordan and I can get back to our conversation but think better of it. Jordan may be easygoing and at times forgetful, but he’s been teaching for eight years and knows how to get the kids in line. And while variables have changed regarding the Mars simulation—in the amount of $500,000, to be precise—that still doesn’t mean I’m willing to throw my whole summer away and join him. I might have flitted around trying to find the right career for a while, but I’ve never had aspirations to explore, or pretend to explore, space. Besides, Jordan probably won’t be able to pull a full team together anyway. And if he does get the team, we probably wouldn’t win the grand prize. I remember him explaining how only 30 percent of teams complete each objective. The whole thing would be a waste of time.
Throughout the other two lunch periods, in between grabbing a plate of enchiladas and stopping any more potential fights, I replay each reason why joining the simulation is a bad idea. But as soon as I’m in my office, I send Camille a message.
Me: On a scale of 1 to stealing peaches from Old Man Willie’s yard reckless, how unhinged would it be to join a Mars simulation for the summer?
Emails are answered, parents are called back, I’ve checked in on three classes, and still Camille doesn’t respond. I’m sure she’s busy with things that are infinitely more important than what I’ve got going on—like bringing life into the world—but can’t she sense my emotional turmoil? With only a few days of school left, I need to make a decision about the simulation. I can’t go to my mom. She almost went into a midlife crisis when my brother went on a mission into space last year. My dad would say he supports me no matter what without giving me his actual opinion, and Vincent wouldn’t see any negatives since he thinks space is the bomb. The only person I can count on to look at this objectively is Camille.
I give it a few more minutes before I can’t take it anymore. I get up from my desk, squeeze against the wall to get to the door, and march out. When I’m in the math wing and at Jordan’s classroom door, I peek through to see if it’s a good time to talk. It looks like the students are playing some type of relay game where teams try to solve a math problem on the board as quickly as they can before moving on to the next person. Once it’s over, the winning team members high-five one another while the other teams slink back to their desks. As Jordan erases the problems, I knock on the door. He sees me, then quickly writes more problems on the board for the students to work on and excuses himself.
“Did you catch that? Impressive, right?” he says as he steps into the hall. “I promised the kids that whichever team won would get full-size candy bars, but everyone did so great I’m just gonna give them all one.”
I smile at him. “Candy, the great motivator.”
He smiles back, and I can’t help but appreciate how he’s always got a great attitude whenever we speak. If only his presence made my heart pound the same way it does when I see Roman.
Ugh. I cut that line of thinking right away. After my talk with Camille, I made the decision that I’m not thinking about Roman anymore. I’m getting over this crush, and I’m not fixating on a different teacher. What I really need is to find a well of men who don’t report to me and who I can be attracted to without any complications.
“So,” I say, “we never got to finish our conversation earlier.” I wait for his eyes to register in recognition. “About the Mars simulation.”
“Oh yeah,” he shouts, then lowers his voice back to acceptable hall levels. “Did I win you over? Do you want to join as part of Team Jordan?” He squints and shakes his head. “I gotta keep working on the name. How about Team Craft? Yeah, the name of the school works better.”
“Before I commit, I have a very important question. Well, I’ll have several, but first: When we complete the simulation, who decides what the money for the school gets used for?”
“I’m not sure. I’d guess the school board.”
“How about this—we stipulate that when we win, the board will use the money to remodel the library.”
Jordan nods. “I like your vision and I like your attitude. I’m all for it.”
I didn’t want to do this, but Principal Major forced my hand. “Then let’s shake on it.” I stick my right hand out and Jordan clasps it, shaking vigorously. “Well, okay. I guess the next step is to get the rest of the team together.”
He grins wide. “We’re already halfway there. After talking to you earlier, I realized that I hadn’t told anyone about the prize money. I went back to a few people and already got a yes from Simone. She’ll be our medical person.”
Simone is one of our nurses. I haven’t spoken to her much during the year, but she seems nice and has a calming presence.
“We still need two more, but I’m confident we’ll have a full team.” Jordan looks about ready to burst as he rocks on his heels.
“Great. I’ll let you get back to your class, then.”
Once Jordan heads back inside and the door closes behind him, I bite down on my lip to fight a smile. I’m going to get that money for the library remodel. Take that, Major Pain.