Chapter 9 Brynn #2
and Wes, and the next thing I knew, the bus was moving. That hadn’t stopped Mrs. Stoddard from flagging down the bus, climbing
on, and telling me, “My oversight is safety, not hormones,” in front of every boy my age within a sixty-mile radius.
I cleared my throat and gave my cheeks a little lecture. You will not turn pink. You will not turn pink. “Good morning, Mrs. Stoddard.”
“You haven’t changed a bit, Brenda Cornell.”
“Brenda?” Orly and Sebastian asked in incredulous and amused unison. Well, Orly was incredulous. The smirk on Sebastian’s
face made it very clear he was going with amused.
“Um, it’s ‘Brynn’ now, Mrs. Stoddard.” As you very well know.
I began studying her almost as intently as I had Sebastian. Wow. I was pretty sure she had not been complimenting me when she said I hadn’t changed, but I wasn’t sure how to wrap my head
around her after twenty years. It was really weird. Mind blowing, actually. In my head, I’d been imagining her how she’d always looked.
At least, how I remembered her looking. And then, of course, I’d expected to need to add on a couple decades. The reality in front of me just didn’t
make sense.
It was like when the Sex and the City reboot came out, and everyone realized that Carrie, Miranda, and Charlotte were all roughly the same ages Rose, Blanche,
and Dorothy had been on The Golden Girls . It’s really difficult to make sense of it in your brain. That’s how I felt looking at Mrs. Stoddard. I would have sworn
she was a Cloris Leachman or Angela Lansbury or something when she was teaching me in high school. Realistically, she had
probably been in her fifties, which meant she was in her seventies now. But she was in her seventies in a Sigourney Weaver
or Jane Seymour in their seventies sort of way. You know—in a way that defies logic and the laws of nature.
“You look really great,” I said aloud, though I certainly hadn’t meant to. I hated that that was my comeback to something
she had said with likely intent to demean me. To put me in my place. But I just couldn’t get over it. I tried to reconcile
the woman in front of me with the memories in my mind, to see if it was just a lifetime away playing tricks on me. And sure,
maybe there was a little of that. But some of it was undeniable and unmistakable. She looked fresher and more active and happier
than I had ever seen her. “I mean... you look so alive .”
She tilted her head. “What did you expect, hon? D’you think we all just shriveled up and died after you left?”
“No. I didn’t mean that.” I shook my head and looked to Sebastian for assistance.
I don’t know why I thought he would be there for me.
His head was bowed, looking at his feet—probably in discomfort.
He certainly wouldn’t be the first person to cower in Mrs. Stoddard’s presence.
I turned my gaze to Orly, and he just shrugged. A lot of help you are.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Stoddard. I just...” I dug my fingernails into my palms. This begins now, Brynn.
If you can’t gain the support of the closest thing you ever had to a mother, what hope is there of getting anyone else to welcome you back with open arms?
With a forced smile that I really hoped would pass for natural, I said, “Can we please start again? I just meant to say how
nice it is to see you. And you do look really great. That’s just fact.”
How long was she going to keep staring at me, hand on her hip, eyebrow raised? It was 1999, and I was waiting for her to grade
my oral presentation on King Ptolemy I and his role in the Hellenistic period. Would my public-speaking skills be enough to
earn me a passing grade, or would she expertly cut through my proficiency and determine I had no idea what I was talking about?
The silence was agony, and so familiar.
“Come on, Jo.” Sebastian spoke to her under his breath and nudged her with his elbow. “Cut her some slack.”
My eyes snapped back to him. In surprise, sure, but also in fascination. Confusion. New guy wasn’t cowering? New guy was issuing
instructions? New guy called her “Jo”? He lifted his eyes and peered over his glasses at me and then back at his shoes.
Mrs. Stoddard released a deep, heavy sigh. “I hope your room was comfortable for you last night. Were you able to get some
rest?”
Mrs. Stoddard listens to the new guy?
“Um... yeah. It was great. I slept like a baby. Thanks.”
She nodded, slid off the stool she was sitting on, and headed back toward the kitchen. “We have breakfast burrito fixings
if you’re hungry.”
I glanced at my watch and then at Sebastian, who was doing the same.
It was eight on the nose, and I knew I was running the risk of having my carriage turn back into a pumpkin, but my apple and slices of cheese had long ago worn off.
The smell of bacon and green chile in the air was too powerful to resist.
“Did you eat, Orly?”
His eyes began practically rolling back into his head, and I was pretty sure I heard him slurp some drool back in. “Best breakfast
I’ve ever had.”
“Well, how could I say no, then?” I smiled at Sebastian, he smiled back, and I began to walk past him into the kitchen. But
I had clearly been mistaken when I interpreted his smile as indulgent permission.
“See you later, Jo. Thanks for breakfast.” He hopped off his own stool, grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch, and
walked to the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked him in the same moment that Mrs. Stoddard handed me a plate with a giant, warm flour tortilla
on it, just begging to be filled, wrapped, and devoured.
“You ready, Orly?” he asked.
Poor Orly. He looked like the little kid in Kramer vs. Kramer when he’s asked which of his parents he wants to live with. On second thought, I don’t know if that’s an actual scene in
the movie, but it might as well have been. Just to see if they could make it a little more depressing.
“Okay.” Orly stood up and looked back at me while picking his equipment bags up from the floor.
“Well, wait just a minute!” I stormed at Sebastian, plate in hand. “I know you said you were leaving at eight, but...”
“But what?”
“But... I’m hungry.”
He shrugged. “Orly understood the schedule. Didn’t you, Orly?”
Panic filled Orly’s eyes again. Your Honor, can’t I live with Meryl Streep and Dustin Hoffman? “Okay.”
“I think I might have some beef jerky in the car if you want it.”
I erupted at him. “You just told Mrs. Stoddard to cut me some slack! Why can’t you practice what you preach?”
The tip of his tongue licked the corner of his lips as a smile spread across them. “I thought she should cut you some slack
for just being you . But there is no slack when you break the rules.”
A growl bubbled up in me. Today. You’ll get rid of him today. “Fine.”
My face clenched up tight and I huffed and puffed air—maybe fire?—out of my nose as I spun on my heel and marched back into
the kitchen. I set the plate down on the counter and unballed my fist before I slapped the flour tortilla onto my flat palm
and added a small amount of bacon, eggs, hash browns, green chile, salsa, and sour cream. Then, rather than take the time
to create anything resembling a burrito, I pulled the tortilla up around the contents like I’d packed them into a drawstring
gift bag, tore a paper towel from the nearby roll, and stomped toward the door. “Get in the car, Orly!”