Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
DARBY
Darby had to admit that the Christmas lights on her house were a nice touch, but as she got ready for Monday’s classes, she put thoughts of Samesh aside and prepared for the last week of school before winter break.
The energy in a high school building the week before vacation was unparalleled.
Hallways buzzed, the tension was palpable, and getting students to concentrate on lesson plans or engage in discussions was nearly impossible.
That’s why Darby used the last week of classes to weave fun back into reading.
Their week of reading for pleasure would culminate with a book bash on Friday.
She was assigning each student a role this morning.
They would be required to come in costume and bring food served in the book’s pages to share with the class.
If the book they had chosen didn’t feature food, they could get something from the time period the book was set in.
Last year, one of Darby’s students read How to Eat Fried Worms. The class had voted his dish the best—deep-fried gummy worms.
This was the part of reading that brought her students joy.
She had found that her students’ creativity shined in the exercise.
From cupcakes themed like How the Grinch Stole Christmas to peach pie from James and the Giant Peach, her students embraced bringing their childhood reads or a book that completely captivated them and sent them on a path of becoming lifelong readers.
That was her sole goal as a teacher. If her students never mastered appropriate comma usage, she knew they could google the answer (which, in her book, was the Oxford comma); however, igniting a love of reading had the potential to shift the course of these young lives.
She would consider her job complete if she could arm them with a stack of books that would see them through future successes and heartbreak.
Her greatest delight was bumping into former students who would share that they had taken her advice to heart and never left home without their library card or ebook. That was the reward of teaching. That’s what kept her going, at least for now.
Lately, Darby had been considering retiring more and more.
The district had offered her an extended leave of absence after Jim’s death.
She had declined. Looking back, it probably wasn’t the best decision she’d ever made.
But in those first days, she had to do something—anything.
Teaching gave her a purpose. She wouldn’t have had a reason to get out of bed if she hadn’t kept teaching.
That wasn’t as true now. The problem was, what would she do next?
She could travel. But traveling alone didn’t have the same allure as traveling with Jim by her side.
She had always wanted to write a book about some of the women who paved the way in American literature but had never received the same kind of attention or accolades as their male counterparts. If she retired, she could finally start giving the book real thought.
Darby sighed and gathered her things after parking in her designated space.
Olivia and her group of friends were waiting at the entrance with more boxes of candy canes.
School didn’t start for another hour. “Good morning. You all are up early,” Darby noted with a smile.
“Let me guess, more candy canes?” They were slotted to pull off the prank tomorrow night, and it couldn’t come fast enough.
Darby’s classroom could moonlight as a candy cane factory.
“Yes. Good morning, Mrs. Reynolds. Can you let us in?” Olivia asked. Her cheeks were pink from the cold. They matched the stack of pastel candy precariously balanced in her arms.
“Sure. As long as you’ll solemnly swear that you’re up to no good.” Darby winked.
Oliva and her friends chuckled. “We’re gearing up for Project Candy Cane and a little something else that we can’t tell you about, but I promise it’s something good.”
“Oh, a mystery.” Darby raised her eyebrows and used her key card to open the doors. She trusted Olivia. This particular group of students was active, engaged, and high-achieving. Darby wasn’t worried that they would vandalize the bathrooms or graffiti lockers.
Olivia’s friends peeled off to the gym after they deposited the final batch of candy in Darby’s classroom.
Darby tidied the desks and set out worksheets for their first assignment. Olivia hung back, fiddling with the zipper on her puffy, rainbow-striped vest. “Did you need something?” she asked, sensing Olivia wanted to talk.
Olivia gnawed on her pinkie. “You know our discussion about Shakespeare last month?”
“Sure, of course.” Darby wasn’t expecting a Shakespeare question, especially this early.
“I guess it’s just hitting home.” Olivia blew out a long sigh.
“Really, how?” Darby could tell her student was upset. She turned on the soft lighting in the cozy reading nook and waited for her to say more. Over the years, she’d learned it was better to say less and hold space for her students to share when they were ready.
“It’s a boy,” she said, sticking out her tongue and scowling.
“It usually is,” Darby agreed with a knowing smile.
“Yeah, well, I keep replaying your introduction of what you called the ‘unwitting philosophers’ in his work, and how you raised the point that he often used the character of the fool as commentator on society and its bigger issues, but I just I feel like a regular fool for falling for a guy who is nothing like he seemed originally. That’s also straight out of Shakespeare, isn’t it? ”
“Sadly, it is.” Darby rearranged the snack section, refilling glass jars with crackers and cookies.
“So, I guess I proved your point that Shakespeare is timeless.” Olivia made another face. “That and maybe perfect images on social media aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Maybe it’s more about showing up, you know? Being authentic. Being real, and flawed, and vulnerable.”
Darby gulped, feeling a rush of emotion sweep over her.
Out of the mouths of babes.
“Anyway, I should get going. Another project awaits. See you later, Mrs. Reynolds, and thanks for the intro to Shakespeare. It doesn’t take away the sting of being completely wrong about a guy, but I guess it does give me a little perspective.” Olivia hurried off with a wave.
Darby finished prepping for the day, feeling Olivia’s words repeat in her head—being real, flawed, and vulnerable was exactly what Samesh had done.
She heated water for tea in her electric kettle.
When she first suggested the idea of offering morning drinks to her students to her principal, there was pushback about safety concerns, but Darby insisted.
Her first class started at seven twenty in the morning—a ridiculously early hour for developing brains.
She had repeatedly spoken at school board meetings advocating to push the high school day back to eight thirty or nine.
It was a bus issue. She understood that, but people who’d never been in a classroom failed to realize that teens needed sleep.
Study after study supported by the CDC and doctors had shown that early start times for high schools translated to poor academic performance and even attributed to other health risks like drinking, smoking, and drug usage.
The first twenty minutes of Darby’s class were used for her students to warm up—literally and figuratively.
They could help themselves to a cup of tea, cider, hot chocolate, and a healthy snack since many of them skipped eating breakfast, instead sleeping in for an extra half hour.
Darby played music and used the first part of their class time for students to free-write in their journals.
She found that a slower, more mindful, and purposeful start to the day led to better discussions and focus for the rest of the period.
Other teachers had followed her lead. Now, if they could convince the school board to rearrange the bus schedules, but that was a battle for another day.
The tea kettle whistled as Darby continued to push thoughts of Samesh aside.
Was Olivia right?
Was she being too harsh?
He had shown up after all, and there was no denying his attempt at grand, sweeping romantic gestures.
Darby passed out journals. She never graded the students’ personal writing. She merely scanned them to make sure they were actually using the time to reflect. Journaling was a private, spiritual, and essential practice for maintaining mental health.
Maybe you should journal.
Darby always hoped that some of what she was trying to impart to these young minds would stick. Beginning a journaling habit at this stage of development could establish coping strategies and ways to calm the mind for years to come.
Maybe you should take your own advice.
She was saved by a commotion in the hallway and checked the clock.
There were still fifteen minutes before class. Students would begin trickling in soon, but she was surprised to hear so much noise this early. She peered out her door to see marching band members lining up near the cafeteria.
Was there an assembly this morning?
She hadn’t received a notification unless it had come in over the weekend.
She checked her email. There was nothing about any special events for the day.
Darby returned to prep, trying to make sense of her muddled feelings about Samesh as drums thudded in the distance.
Maybe the band was practicing for the Starlight Parade. Typically, they rehearsed in the gym or outside, but it was cold, dark, and snowy, so the director might have asked permission to practice inside before the first bell.
Darby enjoyed the upbeat sounds of the drums and percussion instruments as she finished setting up the classroom. The band continued while students arrived. She let them settle in. The principal came over the loudspeaker after the final bell had rung.