Chapter 6
HE PREFERS MURDER.
Poppy
“Good morning, Julia,” I say, greeting the receptionist at the school office. “How are you today?”
“I’m good, Poppy. Thank you for asking.” She passes me my mail over the counter. “Your new student starts today.”
My smile grows as I take the papers from her.
We rarely get new students, but when we do, I get overly excited about welcoming another child into the fun world I create inside my class.
Being able to dive into my craft world to put their name on their cubby and desk makes me so happy. There’s something about watching the other students welcome and celebrate them, too. Since most of my students are six and seven, they’re at that age where everyone is their best friend.
“Her parents are coming in later to complete the rest of the paperwork, but I gave you what I have so she can get started.”
“Great.”
“I will schedule a parent-teacher meeting for the end of the school day tomorrow if that’s okay with your schedule.”
I nod. “Thank you again,” I say, leaving the office to make my way to my classroom to prepare for the day.
Filtering through the few papers in my hands as I walk, I try to organize them in priority order so they’re ready to put them where I need them on my desk.
A bump to my shoulder makes my steps falter backward, and a hand grips my upper arm to steady me.
Looking up, I’m met with Ben, the school principal, whose lips twist into a full smile when he realizes it’s me.
“Hey, Poppy.”
“Oh, hi.” I smile back politely. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”
“All good. Are those papers the information on the new student coming today?” he asks, adjusting himself to catch a glimpse of the paperwork.
I angle the papers so he can see them, too.
“Ahh, yes.” He nods repeatedly. “I was excited to hear she was placed in your classroom. There’s no better teacher we have here to welcome her with open arms.”
To others, that might seem like a professional compliment.
But I’ve known Ben for a good part of my life.
He transferred here when his family moved to Bluestone Lakes during his senior year of high school.
Since he first laid eyes on me, he’s done nothing but flirt with me.
My problem is that he also flirts with everyone else in town.
So I’ve become immune to him and his ‘‘compliments.”
When I finally trust someone and let them into my world and who I am, it won’t be someone like Ben, who I have to worry about flirting with someone else.
For some strange reason, I had those similar flirty vibes from Dallas at the bar last week.
It was hard to deny the butterflies swarming my stomach with how he talked to me, but the more I thought of it, the more it made me wonder if that’s how he talks to everyone.
“Appreciate that,” I settle on, shaking the thoughts from my head and returning a smile to Ben. “I’d better go get everything ready.”
“See you at lunch?” he asks.
“Maybe.” I shrug, trying not to fall for his antics. “Have a good day, Ben.”
Spinning on my heel and not letting him get another word in, I continue toward my classroom.
When I step in, I look around and see that everything is the way I left it, and that always makes me feel relieved.
After placing the papers in a neat pile on the corner of my desk, I pull my planner out of my bag and place it flat in the center of the desk.
I place a red, blue, and black pen, as well as a sharpened pencil, across the top.
When I glance at the clock, I notice I still have three minutes before the day really begins.
Pulling out my notepad that has my name across the top, I begin making small boxes on the left-hand side of each line.
There’s something about checking off something on a list that tickles my brain in all the best ways.
I’ve become a person who will make lists for anything and everything.
Whether it’s things to do in the classroom, house cleaning to-do lists, or obviously, the regular shopping lists.
I start listing all the priority stuff to do today.
1. Straighten up the drawing table
2. Order more dry-erase markers
3. Print worksheets for the telling time activity
After I finish, I check the dry-erase markers on the board and ensure the caps are arranged with their labels facing the same direction. Today, I pull out the green one and write my morning welcome message on the whiteboard.
Welcome to Miss Barlow’s class, Sage.
Stepping back, I smile proudly at the straight line of letters I made across the board and the perfect bubbly curve of each letter.
It’s the little things that bring me a boost of serotonin and make me smile.
People tend to throw the term “obsessive-compulsive disorder” around like a personality trait, saying things like “I’m so OCD because I like my desk neat.” But it’s so much more than that.
The bell rings across the speaker, signaling that the students are entering the building. I quickly grab the wipes from the table by my front door, wipe down the desks, and position the chairs just right for each student before they filter in.
“Good morning, friends,” I say cheerily.
“Good morning, Miss Barlow,” they say at different times while settling into the routine.
I scan the children huddled in the corner where the cubbies are situated, but I don’t see her yet. They hang their backpacks on one hook and their winter jackets on another before tucking their lunch boxes into the bin assigned to their spot.
Then, my new student walks in.
Sage doesn’t have a smile on her face and looks nervous, which I expected. She’s wearing black leggings and an oversized pink leopard-print shirt, with her jacket already draped over her arm.
As I crouch down to Sage’s eye level, I make sure my smile is warm and my voice is gentle. “Good morning. I’m Miss Barlow. I’m so, so happy to meet you.”
“I’m Sage,” she says, eyes everywhere but on me, one hand plays with the end of her low ponytail resting over her shoulder.
I take one of her hands in mine, and she finally looks at me. “It’s okay to be nervous. I get nervous, too. Especially when big changes happen.”
“You do?”
I nod, keeping a reassuring smile on my face. “Always. But we’re going to have so much fun today.” Holding her hand in mine, I stand as I guide her to the corner. “I have a cubby over here for you. Later today, I’ll make you your own nameplate for it.”
“I can put my stuff in here?”
“Yep. This one is all for you.”
She looks from me to the cubby before removing her backpack and placing it on the hook to the right, then unzipping it to grab her lunchbox and putting it in the bin.
“I like having a cubby,” she says with a smile. And my heart warms at the quick comfort in her face as she looks around the room. “This classroom is a lot nicer than my old one. It’s colorful.”
“I’m glad you like it, Sage. I have a desk set up for you, too.”
“You do?”
“Of course.” I chuckle lightly at how cute she is. “I put it closest to my desk for now. This way, if you need anything, I’m right there.”
“That makes me feel a whole world better.”
“Good,” I say through a laugh.
She makes her way to the open desk, and I take my place in the front of the classroom.
“Waterfall, waterfall,” I announce to the room.
The kids all raise their hands and say, “Shhh,” as their hands fall in a waterfall down the front of them.
“Excellent job. Today is a very extra-special day. We have a new friend in class. Everyone, help me give Sage the biggest warm welcome.”
They all turn to face her, and her cheeks turn a shade of pink. Then, all the students shout their greetings—a mix of hi, welcome, and hello—while they all wave.
“Hi.” She raises a hand in the air shyly to return the greeting.
“You all remember how nervous you were on the first day of school, so we’re going to do our best to use our kind words to make this a great day for her.”
“Sage, will you be my new best friend?” Ally says from the desk next to her.
“Sure.” Sage beams, and they both high-five before facing me again.
I spend the next few minutes settling into our morning routine, which the classroom seems to thrive on. We review the calendar, the day of the week, and the month before discussing the weather. After that, we do a quick review of spelling words that were covered throughout the week.
Sage fits right in, as if she’s been a part of this class since day one. I watch her to learn more about her and ensure she’s picking up on things.
When I wrap up, we go around the classroom and let each student introduce themselves to Sage. As each of them says their name, their favorite snack, and a fun fact about themselves, I notice Sage’s fears melt away in front of my eyes.
“Do you want to tell the class a little about yourself?” I ask Sage.
She nods, standing the way everyone else did. “I’m Sage. Which you all know.” She giggles, and the rest of the students follow suit. “My favorite snack is weird, but I really like croutons dipped in Caesar dressing. But I like what I like.” She shrugs.
“I want to try that,” one student shouts.
“That’s not weird at all. If it makes you feel less weird, I eat my bread from the inside out,” another says.
“I do, too.” Sage smiles with wide eyes. “That’s so cool.”
Seeing and hearing them all interact and make Sage feel welcome is everything I could have hoped for this day.
While she feels less nervous, I do too. She fits right into the crazy crew I’ve come to know over our first few months of the school year, and I know we’re going to have a great year together.
“What about a fun fact?” I ask Sage.
“Hmm.” She brings her fingers to her chin, deep in thought. “I have lots of fun facts. But I really, really love doing puzzles.”
“I love puzzles,” I say, grinning from ear to ear.
“I wish my daddy was good at puzzles to do them with me. He prefers murder.”
My face falls, and I’m positive all the color drains from my face. For a six-year-old, that’s a heavy topic to carry. Julia said her parents—plural—were coming to sign paperwork later.
Oh, my god. Was her father a murderer?
No. If he’s coming here, he can’t be.
My insides crumble, and I can’t help it when my brain goes to the worst-case scenario. Would he come after me? Would he go after her? Is that why she’s in this small town and we haven’t heard about anyone else moving here? Are they hiding?
Irrational thoughts cross my head, as it’s not something I can control if I try. I feel my heart rate pick up, and I know I need a moment to gather myself.
She’s six. She can’t mean that. Right?
“We’re going to break for independent study,” I announce to the class, but even my voice sounds hoarse. “You can either go to the reading corner on a beanbag chair, the magnetic tile station, or the coloring table.”
The students cheer as they all jump from their chairs to where they want to go.
I can’t seem to stop staring at Sage with so many questions. I don’t want to make her more nervous by asking what she meant by that comment. But I know I have to address it as soon as possible because she can’t be saying those things in the classroom.
The longer I watch her at the coloring table, the more I wonder about her.
She wipes the table before opening the coloring book in front of her.
Then, she organizes the crayons with all the pointed ends facing the same way in rainbow order.
She uses precision as she colors, staying within the lines and avoiding mistakes.
Her tiny tongue darts out in concentration.
With one accidental draw outside the lines, she flips the page, exhaling and starting anew on a clean one.
A smile touches my lips, and I know that this will be an excellent year because I know exactly how to make this change smooth for her.