Hope This Helps #2
The following day, Kaylee goes straight to the fridge when she gets home from school and cracks open a can of root beer.
“Tough day, huh?” I say jokingly, but she nods. Rolls her eyes.
“Guess who didn’t get any sleep last night?”
“Oh no. Couch uncomfortable?”
“Dad and Aubrey didn’t get home until twelve thirty.”
“WHAT.” Instantly, I have my phone out of my pocket, ready to call Dustin. Kaylee throws her arms around my waist.
“Noooo, Mom. If you yell at him, he’ll be whiny at me about it later.”
I massage my temples with my thumbs. I hate that this is her reality, and I am to blame, and also Dustin is to blame, but Dustin is not trying to make her life easier.
Dustin is oblivious of anyone else’s feelings.
I am on eggshells over here stressing out about trying to do everything right, terrified of messing my kid up, and meanwhile he just does not care.
He feels no guilt, no weight of parental responsibility.
He just says and does whatever! There is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
If I want him to do a thing less, he will do that thing more out of contrariness.
He will remind me that I am not his boss and he is just as much Kaylee’s parent as I am.
“And he didn’t pay me either.” Kaylee makes a face. “Who could’ve seen that one coming? Hey, can Emma and Mackenzie spend the night?”
My mind spins a bit at the change of subject. “Yeah, sure.”
“Oh, and I failed my test again, but this time it wasn’t my fault. Breighdynn dropped my book in the dog’s water bowl. It’s ruined.”
“You’re kidding!”
“He tried to throw my phone in there, too, but thankfully I grabbed it from him.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. Did you ask your teacher for a new book?”
“Yeah, but I gotta pay a fee for losing the other one.” Worry crosses her face.
“Mr. Brice reminded everybody over the intercom this morning that anyone failing a class doesn’t get to go to the Snowfall Dance next Saturday.
I was hoping he’d forget. Literally every single one of my friends is going to be there!
Even Maddie, and she never goes to anything!
And they’re gonna have fake snow falling from the ceiling! With GLITTER. It’ll be amaaaaazing.”
“Glitter?” I repeat, my voice grave. I flash back to Kaylee’s science project from last year, in which a one-gallon tub of glitter spilled all over our living room. It’s still in the carpet, taunting me. “Missing the dance suddenly sounds great. Wanna go see a movie that night instead?”
“Mom.”
“I’m kidding! There’s no way you’re missing the dance,” I say emphatically. “They asked me to chaperone, for crying out loud. They can’t expect me to chaperone a dance my kid isn’t allowed to go to.”
She looks haunted. “If I can’t go, my life is ruined.”
I resist the impulse to invalidate this statement as dramatic, because to Kaylee, the Snowfall Dance is the biggest, most important event going on in her life right now.
She’s got a sparkly new dress hanging in her closet, and she’s tried it on approximately three thousand times so that she could preview her look in the mirror.
Her kitten heels are broken in. Her teeny clutch is pre-packed with Dentyne Ice Arctic Chill gum.
She knows exactly how she’s going to do her hair and nails.
“There’s got to be a way to bring your grade back up.”
“By next week?” she says dubiously.
“Yes. I’ll ask your teacher about extra credit.” I’m feeling confident now that I’ve got the shimmerings of a plan coming into focus. “There’s got to be something.”
Dear Mr. Gladwin,
Hello! Kaylee’s mom here again. I would normally NEVER ask for an exception for my child regarding today’s test, but please allow me to explain the extenuating circumstances.
Her book was destroyed (which was completely out of her control), making it impossible for her to read/study.
Could she please have another chance to take the test?
It’s very important that she brings her grade up so that she doesn’t miss out on the dance.
Audrey Thorn
I hit send and nestle into the couch with a fluffy candy-cane–covered blanket and some pizza that was probably warm at one point, but not anymore as I spent so long tweaking my email.
“Now to wait for his response on Monday morning,” I say to myself, opening the Netflix app.
The Princess Switch 3 and four-cheese pizza go great with a stressful day.
I turn up the volume a few notches to fight the commotion of giggling and dancing footsteps in Kaylee’s bedroom, which is directly above me.
She and her friends have been listening to the song “Rasputin” for seventy-three minutes straight.
It sounds like some kind of cult ritual is going on up there.
Bzz bzz.
I check my phone, shocked to find a Gmail notification with the subject line Re: Hello. “Ha ha!” I crow. “At home checking your inbox on a Friday night. What a loser.” I pause and decide not to self-reflect.
Dear Miss Audrey Thorn,
“I would normally NEVER ask for an exception for my child.” I’m sorry, what? If you just heard a loud sound coming from far away, that was me laughing. Please feel free to scroll through this email thread for easy reminiscing of all the times you have asked for an exception for your child.
Best regards,
Joel Gladwin
I hop to my feet, pizza forgotten. “Excuse you!”
I have been nothing but polite! And he has been rude and condescending at every turn!
Why did the school even hire this guy? He has no people skills.
Or negotiating skills. You know who does have negotiating skills?
Me. I’ve been reading a lot of “how to co-parent after divorce” books.
I glance at my latest read, which sits on the coffee table, called Your Broken Home and You.
When Kaylee saw it, she howled with laughter and called me dramatic.
I should be enjoying exactly seven things right now: mozzarella, cheddar, provolone, Parmesan, and Vanessa Hudgens talking to another Vanessa Hudgens, who is talking to another Vanessa Hudgens. But instead I am pacing, and I am vexed.
Okay, I know what this looks like. I know.
It looks like I think my daughter can do no wrong, and that I think she should receive special treatment.
But the thing is, it isn’t Kaylee’s fault that she stayed up late at a concert and performed poorly on a test, it’s mine, because I made the decision to take her.
It isn’t Kaylee’s fault that her father’s girlfriend’s toddler drowned her copy of The Great Gatsby in a bowl of water.
I just don’t want to see Kaylee get the speeding ticket when she wasn’t the one behind the wheel, so to speak.
How dare he laugh at me when I am trying to be earnest! Joel Gladwin messed with the wrong mom.
Mr. Gladwin,
Your attitude is not very pleasant. I think flexibility is a necessary skill for any teacher to have.
You say that you don’t want any of your students to fail, but you’re also just going to watch while they sink, even when they yell for a lifeboat?
It’s eighth-grade English! This is not the bar exam.
Audrey Thorn
Dear Miss Audrey Thorn,
Thorn! What an apt name! Did you know that in the last month, a staggering number of my students have neglected to turn in their homework due to extenuating circumstances beyond their control? It is an epidemic. These circumstances include such classics as:
I wasn’t feeling well, and when I’m coughing I can’t read.
It just disappeared!
Someone must’ve stolen it!
No, YOU lost my homework, Mr. G!
My grandmother died again.
I hear everything, Miss Audrey Thorn. But I usually hear it from thirteen-year-olds, and not from a grown adult. Here’s an idea: let your child make mistakes and then experience the consequences! Great learning moments abound from this, I promise.
Best regards,
Joel Gladwin
Mr. Gladwin,
I am not lying about Kaylee’s book being destroyed.
I think your bias against me has caused you to treat Kaylee unfairly.
And I know I’ve probably been getting on your nerves, and I apologize for that, but all this sarcasm is not very Rhinoceros Pride of you.
I suggest that you reread the school motto, “Arrive, strive, thrive,” and remember that children are our future.
Audrey Thorn
Dear Miss Audrey Thorn,
I am filled TO THE brIM with Rhinoceros Pride. I embody everything about it. I will not let others walk all over me, much like the mighty rhinoceros. But by all means, do keep trying! I’ve got nothing else to do with my time but grade eighty papers clumsily cobbled together by ChatGPT.
Best regards,
Joel Gladwin
How am I even supposed to respond to this?
I’ve had my movie paused for so long that Netflix is running the screen saver, and I resume my pacing.
A furious reflection of myself in the living room window joins me, back and forth and back and forth.
Snow drifts from a dark sky, frosting the branches of my sycamore trees and making the yard sparkle wherever moonlight touches.
Only one more week until winter break. Only five more months until summer break.
I cannot wait to be rid of middle school and Mr. Gladwin.
Mr. Gladwin,
How about extra credit? ’Tis the season to be giving!
Once again, he hits back in record time. It’s as if he can somehow see my emails while I’m typing them, and has his replies ready to go zero-point-one seconds after I’ve pinged his inbox.
Dear Miss Audrey Thorn,
Extra credit would be much appreciated. Or any credit at all, really. You can start with this: “Thank you, Mr. Gladwin, for providing my child with an incredible education.” The rest is up to you; I wouldn’t want to impede your creativity by giving too many suggestions.
Thank you for finally giving me some credit!
Best regards,
Joel Gladwin
This man is drunk.