Simone #2
“No,” Cillian said. He hesitated, measuring his words carefully. “I had a falling-out with another friend, Matthew. It split the group. Johnny took his side.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Simone said, sincerely.
Cillian shrugged. “Thank you, but these things are usually for the best.”
For a moment, Simone wondered what it would be like to talk to Cillian openly.
She would, in turn, say that she was thirty years old, and born and raised in London.
That although she didn’t see herself living anywhere else, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t.
That her social life consisted solely of a chaotic but lovable young woman named Remy, and that for as long as she could remember, she’d only had one friend at a time, and each time, that one friend had been more than enough.
She also loved to teach but didn’t want children of her own.
Her hobbies included reading and anything food related.
She didn’t go out much, but she never really had.
And, because reciprocity was the hallmark of any human connection, she would trade an anecdote for his own.
But then the bell signifying the end of break rang and she decided against it. However, as she walked back into the school with Cillian by her side, she couldn’t help but think about how close she’d been to sharing.
Each student in Simone’s class at Linwood Primary School liked her.
Some, without a firm grasp of the statement’s magnitude, would say they loved her.
These feelings came from the fact that Simone was kind, patient, and understanding.
However, for students not in her class, Simone emitted an unmistakable aura of no nonsense.
Kids only took liberties when they knew they could get away with it, and Simone knew the secret was to never let a student assume they could.
She held her head high, her back straight, and she had an unnerving ability to maintain eye contact, all of which meant that students who didn’t know her were a bit fearful.
So, when Simone, headed to the staffroom on her free period, passed Bethany’s class, she stopped to peer in, and the bedlam ceased.
“Is everything all right in here?” Simone asked Bethany while eyeing the class.
Bethany nodded, relieved when her students immediately found their workbooks of sudden interest. Simone made to leave but Bethany caught her breath and stepped forward.
Simone sighed and accepted the nonverbal request to stay.
“Mind if I sit in the back?”
Bethany straightened her dress and said, “Please.”
Evidently, there was something about having two teachers willing to attest to a class’s behavior that caused this class to quietly pay attention for the remainder of the lesson.
Having doled out a spoonful of confidence, Simone witnessed Bethany teach, and teach excellently.
She knew her history well and had enough love for the subject that her passion shone through.
Simone eventually found herself following Bethany’s lesson, even answering some of the questions inside her head.
However, only one ear remained on Bethany’s class while Simone thought about how she’d ended up in this room in the first place.
Today was not the first time Simone had passed by during her free period to see a frazzled Bethany attempting to tame her class, but it was the first time Simone had wanted to help rather than continue on.
Simone wondered if she could again blame Remy for this sudden bout of openness she had toward her colleagues.
First gossiping on the school bench with Cillian and now aiding Bethany in her class—what would come next?
A part of Simone cautioned her to shut this down immediately, but for once, she couldn’t see the reasoning behind the warning.
Before their students arrived in class the following day, Bethany knocked on Simone’s classroom door.
“This is for you,” she said nervously, depositing a small bakery box on Simone’s desk. “To thank you for your help. During my class?” She suddenly flushed pink, and Simone briefly worried spontaneous combustion would be next, before Bethany all but ran out of the room.
Simone opened the box to reveal a cinnamon roll with the most perfect swirl.
Simone did think it a little reckless to present someone with a cinnamon roll considering she could have a deathly allergy to pecans, or at the very least, a triggering distaste for cinnamon.
But then she considered how reminiscent it was of Remy showing up with a cake on her birthday and Simone smiled as she lifted the roll out from its box.
Although it was too early for something so heavy, Simone took an indulgent bite—so indulgent, it left frosting on her nose.
The dough itself was light and fluffy, flavored with toasted butter, speckled with vanilla, and stuffed full of cinnamon sugar, topped with a respectable spread of sweetened, whipped cream cheese and a sparse scattering of pecans.
While she chewed with her eyes shut, Simone again thought of Remy. She considered the possibility that when Remy had willfully nudged open the door of Simone’s life, she may have allowed others to peep through, too. For so long, Simone had let the Do Not Disturb sign speak for her.
Perhaps she was ready for that to change.