Olivia
Chapter thirty-four
Sometimes being the youngest of three sisters is the worst. Teachers and even my parents constantly compared me to my older sisters. It’s easy to feel overlooked. I’ve felt left behind as they’ve reached milestones I haven’t gotten to yet. There are a lot of hand-me-downs.
But usually, being the youngest Delaney sister—specifically being Molly and Nicole’s little sister—is one of the best parts of my life, because my sisters are amazing.
When I get on our group text to see if either of them has time for a quick video call, they both drop everything. Of course, asking for facetime with Molly and Nicole isn’t something I typically do, so they probably think I’m dying.
Which I’m not, quite yet. I’m back to keeping my head above water as I figure out my next steps with Gage and my career, not to mention my living situation.
“So, what’s going on?” Nicole asks without wasting time with pleasantries like saying hello.
“Yeah,” echoes Molly. “Are you okay?”
I hold back a smile at their obvious concern. “Hi, Nicole. Hi, Molly. It’s nice to see you both.” They stare at me expectantly, so I grin and add, “Nice weather we’re having.”
Nicole rolls her eyes. “Hi, Olivia.”
Molly waves. “You’re smiling, so this can’t be too much of an emergency situation?”
“Yeah,” echoes Nicole. “Are you okay?”
“Well.” I inhale deeply. “Not really. But I’m getting there. I need some advice.”
“Is it Gage?” Molly asks quickly. “Jonathan said he’s happy to beat him up for you.”
I bite back another smile at the thought of my oldest sister’s sweet, even-keeled husband fighting anyone.
Nicole frowns. “Adam’s not really a beat-people-up kind of guy, but I’m sure we could figure out another kind of revenge if that’s what you need.”
That elicits an actual laugh from me, which takes me and my lungs by surprise. After all that crying, it’s nice to exercise a different kind of emotional response.
“Thanks, guys. It is about Gage, but actually if anyone deserves to be beaten up, it’s me.”
“What happened?”
They already know about the whole “summer fling” thing, but I fill them in on everything else, staying vague about the parts—like Gage’s feelings around his adoption—that aren’t mine to share.
I do tell them about my feelings of inadequacy and how I feel like I’m not smart enough for someone like Gage.
“The bottom line is that I need a plan to convince him to trust me again,” I finish. “Do you have any ideas?”
My sisters are quiet. I wait to see which of them will have something to say first.
It’s Nicole, of course. “I hate that you’ve been seeing yourself as anything less than brilliant, Liv. I wish you would see yourself the way I see you, and Molly and Mom and Dad see you. You’re one of the smartest people we know, especially with the creative ways you solve problems.”
I sniffle and blink back the tears that threaten behind my eyes from Nicole’s praise. “Molly’s the smartest person I know.”
Molly’s expression is soft. “When you say ‘smart,’ do you really mean ‘good at school’? Because those two things are not the same. I’m good at school because my brain happens to be good at most of the things school wants us to be good at.
That doesn’t mean those are the only things that are worth being good at, or even the most important things. ”
“But either way,” Nicole cuts in, “stop comparing! Someone else is always going to seem smarter or happier or prettier or whatever, but that doesn’t erase the fact that you, Olivia Delaney, are worth knowing and worth loving.
“I’m not going to repeat that ridiculous saying that if you don’t love yourself, no one else will, because I don’t think that’s true at all.
All this time while you’ve been too hard on yourself, lots of people have loved you and will continue loving you.
We’ll love you so that you can see how worth loving you are. ”
I have no hope of holding back the tears now, and they’re spilling down my cheeks. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear these words of affirmation. First from Annie, along with the dose of humility she served up, and now from my sisters.
“As for a plan for Gage,” Molly chimes in, “I’m going to suggest therapy.”
“Yes! Therapy. One hundred percent,” Nicole agrees.
Back when I was first diagnosed with dyslexia, I had a couple of sessions with the psychologist at my middle school.
I was so used to masking my inability to read that I carried that skill over to masking how I was feeling from other people.
I insisted I was fine. Though she probably should have, I was relieved when the school psychologist didn’t push.
I’m willing to try again. I’m willing to try almost anything at this point.
“By myself or, like, couples counseling? Isn’t that for married people who are having problems?” I ask.
“By yourself is a good idea, but also together. Couples therapy could be for any couple who wants to learn to communicate and understand each other better.” Molly shrugs. “Jonathan and I have a standing appointment once a month. It’s been really good for both of us.”
I absorb her words and the idea of couples therapy—assuming I can convince Gage to be part of a couple with me. It feels weird and uncomfortable, but we clearly need help communicating and understanding each other better.
“Okay, thanks.”
A plan is starting to form in my mind now. I’ll start with an apology, followed by radical honesty. I’ll lay out all my feelings and pray Gage isn’t too far gone for me to get back.
That settled, I switch topics to update my sisters on another area of my life. “Now, my next news. I have a job interview!”
Nicole and Molly squeal, and I launch into all the details about the Brightline School.
Like I said, sometimes being the youngest of three sisters is the worst, but today I’m grateful for all the love and support that comes with it.
The day of my interview with Carolina Brown at the Brightline School for Science arrives.
As I step out of my air-conditioned car into the scorching parking lot, I’m doubly grateful for the gray blazer I’m wearing over my fitted white blouse and flowy skirt.
Between the August heat and my nerves, I’m sweating through the blouse, and the blazer hides it well.
The two-story school building stands ominously, all beige concrete panels and dark-tinted windows. It looks more like an office building than a school, except for the fenced-in grass fields in the back, with a basketball court and picnic tables under bright yellow canopies.
My would-be classroom. The thought gets my heart thumping, and though the emotion behind my elevated pulse is still part nerves, it’s also excitement.
I walk through the front doors of the main office and am immediately greeted by soft colors and glass display cases filled with student reproductions of DNA strands, cell structures, and solar systems.
I’m also greeted by the receptionist behind the front desk—a short balding man with a colorful necktie and a kind smile.
I give him my name, and he picks up the phone behind the desk, presumably to let Carolina Brown know I’ve arrived.
Her office must be nearby, because I’ve barely taken a seat in the waiting area when I hear an electronic beep, followed by a door opening.
A woman who looks maybe two decades older than me with black hair slicked down smoothly on the top and sides, leading to a curly puff ponytail at the back of her head, comes through the open door. Her lightweight dress flows behind her in a brilliant pattern of yellows and oranges.
She offers me a bright smile and extends her hand. “Hi, I’m Carolina Brown.”
I shake her outstretched hand. “Olivia Delaney. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you. Do you go by Olivia?”
I pause and make a split-second decision that’s been all summer in the making. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
She smiles at me again and ushers me through the door. I walk through it, feeling like the movement is too routine for the extraordinary thing I’ve done. I reclaimed my name. I reclaimed my identity.
I smile to myself and walk taller as we make our way down a hallway and into a small conference room.
The interview goes well. I feel like I have good answers to all the questions, and after a while, the interaction feels more like a conversation than an interview. By the time we get near the end of her questions, we’re on a first-name basis.
Carolina sets her pen on the table and closes the notebook she’s been using for notes. “What questions do you have about the position or the school?”
I’m ready for this question. My sisters coached me ahead of time, and we brainstormed some questions I could ask that would help me learn more about the position but also help the interviewer see my interest.
“In your ideal scenario, how does the new PE teacher change Brightline for the better?” I ask.
Carolina smiles. “What a beautiful question.” She thinks for a moment, and then her words come out hesitantly.
“One of the challenges we’re facing as a school is getting the kids excited about physical education.
Students come here to concentrate on their studies, especially science.
Many of them are very focused on their classroom pursuits and struggle to see the benefits of gym class,” she admits.
I frown. “My brother-in-law is a scientist, and he loves to swim and play basketball. An interest in science isn’t at odds with loving sports.”
Carolina smiles. “Agreed. It’s not at all antithetical. However, I would say the majority of our students have trouble seeing that.”
“Okay,” I say as a way to pause the conversation while I gather my thoughts.
“What if we emphasized the science involved in exercise? The body systems and how regular movement enhances their effectiveness? We could even turn PE class into experiments with physics and biology, using their own bodies as the test subjects.” I realize how that sounds and backtrack.
“I mean not in any way that’s dangerous, of course. ”
“No, I love that! I think the students will too.” She’s quiet for a moment, studying me. Finally, she says, “Olivia, I’ll be frank. Our school year starts on Monday. We need a PE teacher, and I think we’d be extremely fortunate to have you.”
I suck in a breath. The thought of having only a few days to prepare to teach has my heart thumping.
“You’re going to be my hiring recommendation to the board of directors,” she continues. “They need to approve the decision, but I don’t think they’ll have any issues.”
My mouth drops open, and I scramble to close it before Carolina realizes how shocked I am. “Well, this is … thank you. I’d love that,” I manage to splutter.
“I’m certain the board will add a condition requiring you to work on your teacher certification, but that doesn’t need to be in place before you start working.”
I nod. State teacher certification in physical education was something I planned to work toward either way. But now I can do it while working a steady, full-time job.
“We’ll talk about an official offer letter and discuss salary after the board approves. They have a meeting tonight to discuss these last few position vacancies, so I hope to be in touch by the end of the week.”
She stands, and I follow suit. I reach out to shake her hand. “Thank you, Carolina. I look forward to hearing from you soon.”