Chapter 3
THREE
Playing: “wildflower woman” by little luna
My first day teaching went well, but the second day was absolutely fantastic.
The second I entered Miss Blue’s classroom, my nerves completely disintegrated.
She’s warm and kind, exactly the kind of person to show me the ins and outs of being a first-grade teacher.
She’s receptive to silly questions, encourages self-expression, and shines with positivity.
Being paired up with her was the best choice my academic advisor could have ever made.
Also, it’s nice to know that—even though my world is basically falling apart—there’s one good thing working out in my favor.
First-day jitters are hard for everyone, so when the children started showing their personalities and appearing more comfortable, it felt like I had won the lottery.
My fear of not being a safe place for these kids immediately disappeared as they asked me questions and showed me everything from stickers to drawings to the new stuff they got over the holidays.
One of the students showed me her new light-up sketchers, and they literally brightened up my entire day.
Stepping out of school and into the parking lot, I feel better than I have in over a month.
There’s a new spring in my step, and I imagine how bright my scent would be right now if I weren’t on my blockers; flowery, peppery, and full of the sweetest lychee nectar.
My omega beams in my chest, letting me know that she is indeed as happy as I am.
I decide to get some errands done while I’m on a high.
That, and I don’t feel like going back to my sad couch and possibly ruining my good mood.
Grocery shopping might be stressful to others, but it’s a kind of therapy for me sometimes.
I like going to different markets and getting my essentials.
I have a tradition where I always get one interesting thing to try.
The choice is harder than normal today, but I find some wasabi-flavored chips that I’ve only ever seen online and toss them into my cart.
After I pay, I walk outside and call Rory, who usually gives me a ride after grocery shopping, but my phone randomly buzzes in my hand. The caller ID practically glows on my screen, and hope flares through my body. I don’t think twice before bringing the phone to my ear.
“William,” I answer, greeting my landlord. I cough, trying to ease my enthusiasm. “Hi, what’s up?”
“Opal! How have things been?”
I swallow my frustration as I recount surface-level details about my past few days. When I can’t take the small-talk anymore, I blurt out and ask, “Is the house done fumigating? Can I move back in?”
When he doesn’t immediately answer, hope dwindles inside of me. Slow, like air being gradually let out of a balloon.
“I’m really sorry, Opal. I wish neither of us were in this situation, but it seems like there might be more problems than I originally thought.”
That balloon of hope starts to deflate faster. “More problems? How much longer will it be?”
I try to psych myself up for the answer, reassure myself that it won’t be much longer. Just a tiny bit longer. Just a few weeks, maybe. Even a month could be doable, as long as there was a finish line in sight.
“Opal, I don’t have any choice but to terminate your lease. There’s mold under the deck and the plumbing—”
He goes on and on about the many issues the home inspector found, but I can’t hear any of it.
I’m suddenly underwater, the pressure rising faster with every word.
I want to scream. I want to yell at him that it’s his fault that this happened.
That kind of stuff doesn’t just appear; it takes years of neglect, and how dare he rent the property if…
But none of that matters. Now all I’m thinking about is going back to Cindy’s apartment with her judgy roommates, and her passive-aggressive comments, and the fact that I don’t have my own closet, or bed, or even a private sink to brush my teeth, and everything comes bubbling up.
The strength I’ve tried to hold onto diminishes fast. I blink rapidly, the frustrated tears finally falling.
All I want is to go home… but I don’t have one anymore.