Chapter Five Olive
Chapter Five Olive
Valerie
“There’s something about the first day of school,” Valerie said to Monique as they made their way to their respective classrooms.
“It’s like New Year’s. There’s a clean slate. You can start over. If you were a bad student the previous year, you can try
to be better. For instance, you and Andrew, it doesn’t have to be World War Three—it can be a do-over.”
“First of all, kindergarten is different. This is their first year, so there’s no clean slate. It’s always chaos. Second of
all, it’s not going to be World War Three. We are going to make it work because we don’t really have a choice. We’re stuck
together, and I’m not quitting, so he’ll have to suck it up.”
“Well, that’s the spirit.” Monique laughed. There were already parents loitering around outside with their nervous children.
“I don’t know how you can do it. Those kinder-parents can be hell.”
“Tell me about it.” Valerie waved her friend off. “Good luck, my friend.”
“You too!” Monique hollered as she walked into her classroom at the other end of the hall.
Andrew was already inside, which was not a surprise, since she had seen his pickup truck parked outside when she pulled in.
“Hey,” he said breathlessly over his shoulder.
“Hi?” she asked, watching him push the heavy metal desks apart.
“I’m just—” He grunted. “We don’t need them that close together.”
“Agreed. I was going to do it yesterday, but they were too heavy.” Those old metal desks weighed a ton. Whoever had set up
the class had put her and Andrew’s desks together, making a square. It didn’t make sense; they’d be staring at each other
instead of at the class. Plus, it was too close. “Why don’t you push mine here and then maybe turn it?” she said, trying to
help him push it.
“That’s what I’m doing,” he grunted as he pushed. “You really went all out on the colors,” he said, talking about the room
decorations. It was the first time she hadn’t stuck with her usual orange and aqua. She’d used primary colors. All of them.
She wasn’t sure, however, if Andrew was being spiteful or observant. She figured it was the former, except he hadn’t changed
anything she’d hung around the classroom; that had to be a good sign.
“I tried to tone it down.”
He finally finished with the desks. He blew out a big breath and a piece of his perfectly parted hair flew up and then back down. “This is you toned down?” he asked, looking around the classroom. “It’s fine. I expected something more...”
“Miami Dolphin themed?”
“Yes.”
She smiled, and then, for some stupid reason she couldn’t explain, she pushed his hair that had fallen forward again into
its rightful place. By the way his breath hitched, it caught him off guard. She quickly took a step back. What was wrong with
her? They had slept together, but they didn’t have the kind of relationship where they touched.
“Sorry. You’re usually all put together,” she said, turning around to busy herself. School hadn’t even started and she was
already acting foolish around him.
“Not the first day.” He came a little closer. “I hate the first day.”
“Really? I’m surprised you’d admit that. To me, of all people.”
“If we’re co-teaching, you should know the good and the bad, and the bad is that I’m not great with crying parents.”
“I’ll handle that,” she said. “I love the first day of school.”
“But the parents?” he groaned. “Just let the child go. They’ll be fine. They cry for a few minutes, but dragging out the inevitable
by coming inside, hugging them, kissing them, joining in on the crying is not doing anyone any good.”
But that was the crux of kindergarten. The separation anxiety of all involved. It wasn’t learning to read or add. It was about learning to be independent. Getting used to being without your family for long hours at a time. The reading and math, they picked up at some point. Her goal for her class was that they enjoyed coming to school. That kindergarten was a pleas ant experience. But she didn’t want to be throwing constant jabs at him, so she kept those thoughts to herself.
As if hearing her thoughts, he added, “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not like I’m not sympathetic, but I’m experienced
enough to know that the more you coddle, the harder it is, and then day two becomes a nightmare because the child knows the
parents are leaving.”
“Not everyone handles separation in the same way.”
“I know. I know. I guess I’m not great with tears is all.”
“Well, this is where I shine. Not to worry. I got this, Wexler. Go hide your broom and cauldron in the closet while I unpack
these muffins I brought for the parents.”
He threw his hands up in the air. “Muffins? Now they’ll never leave.”
“They’re to-go muffins. They need to feel that their children are in a safe place and that they’re cared for. It’s a quick
meet and greet. You’ll see.”
“And that? What’s that?” he asked, pointing to a big box she’d brought in with her.
“Why don’t you help me out and open it up and put them on the tables? I tried to have them ready yesterday, but my Cricut
machine wasn’t cooperating.”
“Your what machine?” he asked, opening up the box.
“Cricut,” she said, and then waved him off. Obviously, he wasn’t an arts and crafts kinda person. “It doesn’t matter. Make
sure you find the name of the student on the desk and match it with the water bottle.”
“Did you buy each student a personalized water bottle?”
“No. I’m not Oprah,” she said with a huff. “I bought the bottles wholesale and then printed the names on my Cricut.” He looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “What? Kids love gifts, and it’s a little something that’ll win them over. Plus, the more they see their names, the easier it will be for them to eventually learn how to write and read them. Lastly,” she said, as she finished placing the muffins on the tray, “it’s hygienic. These tiny little humans share everything. It’ll help them know that they should only drink from their respective bottles.”
“Oookay.”
“And it’s good for the environment,” she added as a final thought. “What was your plan? Had it been your own class? How do
you normally handle first-day jitters?”
He shrugged. “I introduce myself to the parents and the kids. I show them to their seats and distract them while their parents
leave.”
“Interesting,” she said. “I thought you ripped them from their parents’ arms and tied them to a chair until they stopped crying.”
“Har-har,” he said, picking up one of the bottles. “This is nice, though.”
“A compliment. Wow. Didn’t expect one so soon.”
“However—” he singsonged. The other shoe was about to drop; she knew it by the way he said the word. “I don’t think it’s wise
for the kids to think that everything will be a reward. Coming to school is a necessity. You don’t get rewarded for doing
what you’re supposed to do. You’re one of those people who thinks everyone is a winner and everyone should get a trophy, aren’t
you?”
“I’m actually not. But I do pick my battles.”
He harrumphed, loudly, as if he didn’t believe her.
“This is going to be so fun,” she said, trying (but failing) to hide her irritation. “Anyway, why don’t you let me handle
the criers and you can deal with the ones who are okay.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Andrew
Andrew was impressed, but he shouldn’t have underestimated her. She was a people person; of course she would shine today.
Normally, he wasn’t useless on the first day, even if it was his least favorite day. He always handled the criers. He did
so every year. But if she wanted that task... then by all means. It was only fair; after all, he’d likely be handling most
of the curriculum if they were going to meet the school’s high standards and make it to nationals for the spelling bee.
Andrew had brought boxes of crayons and pencils, which he was placing in a little pile on his desk, which was closest to the
entrance.
“Oh, those are great for dexterity,” she said, pointing to a pile of fat pencils he’d brought.
“I know,” he said. Did she think I brought them by accident?
“I thought you didn’t believe in presents?”
“These aren’t presents. They’re supplies. You know very well that no matter how much we ask for supplies, there’s never enough
pencils and crayons. We’re lucky if they last half a year.”
“Sure. Sure. But why don’t you hand them to the students as they walk in instead of placing them in a basket? Make a freakin’ connection with them, Wexler.”
“There’s an entire year to connect.”
She stopped perfecting the muffin tray and walked toward him. Damn, she was beautiful. She’d always been beautiful. Pain in
the ass or not, he wasn’t blind. And after seeing her naked and feeling her body underneath his, it was difficult not to want
her. She had a birthmark right above her left knee, and a small scar right under her right breast... he wanted to kiss
both of those spots right now. He wanted to ask her how she’d gotten the scar. But he didn’t have a right to any of that,
nor did he actually want that. It was the desire and the lust that were driving him crazy. He would feel the same way about
any beautiful woman; this newfound feeling wasn’t specific to Valerie.
But there was something about her now, something he couldn’t pinpoint. Today, she radiated sex appeal. He wanted to touch
her soft skin with the back of his hand or run his fingers through her hair. What was wrong with him?
She’d lost some weight during the summer, and a silly pencil skirt was loose on her. And by pencil skirt, he literally meant
a pencil skirt. A black fitted skirt that had pencils embroidered all over it. She’d paired it with a cream-colored fitted
top and a black sweater. Her earrings were also pencils. The woman was something else.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked.
He cleared his throat, hoping she hadn’t noticed he’d been staring. “Yes.”
“Why do you teach? Or, rather, why kinder? Why not high school? Or, heck, why not college? You have the degree for it.”
“I love teaching small children. Unlocking their potential. Seeing the wonder in their eyes when they learn something new.
They still have that excitement and innocence that you only have when you’re a certain age,” he said in earnest. “Just because
I don’t share your lackadaisical attitude doesn’t mean I don’t like my job. It’s not like I’m doing it for the money.”
Her mouth opened and closed.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m surprised, is all. If I’m being honest, I actually did think you didn’t like teaching.”
“That’s just stupid.”
“God, you’re an ass. Even when you show a little humanity, you turn around and remind me you’re the devil incarnate.”
“Devil? You didn’t seem to think me that bad—”
She held her forefinger out at him. “Don’t say it. Do not say it.”
“Say what... that not only was I not bad, you liked—no loooved—”
“Oh—hi, who do we have here?” she said, looking over his shoulder. Andrew quickly turned to see a happy little boy in his
GPA uniform walk in. The mother and the father were holding his hands, and they both looked weepy. Jesus. Here we go. A second ago, his cock had started to stir, and just like that it deflated.
“This is Timothy Bloomberg,” his mother replied.
Valerie had already squatted down and extended her hand to the little boy. “Hi, Timothy? Or maybe Timmy?” she said with a
big smile.
“Tim,” the boy replied shyly.
“Tim. I like that,” Valerie said, and the boy held out his own hand. “I’m Ms. Valerie and this big guy behind me is Mr. Andrew.”
“Mr. Wexler,” he corrected her.
“Mr. Wexler,” she said through gritted teeth and a fake smile. “We’re going to be your teachers this year.”
Tim looked between the two. One hand was still in his mother’s, and the other one in Valerie’s.
“Come on, let’s go find your name and show your parents where you’re sitting.”
The boy looked between her and his parents.
“We have goodies to give you, but you’re going to need both hands.” It took a moment, but the boy let go of his mother. “Mr.
Wexler, why don’t you give Tim here the pencils and crayons?”
Andrew did as he was told, and then they walked to Tim’s seat. “That is one cool-looking book bag. I love Spider-Man too,”
she said.
“I wuv Batman more, but they didn’t have a Batman book bag,” Tim said.
“But I see you have a Batman lunch box,” Andrew chimed in. “Seems like you have all your superheroes covered.”
Tim smiled proudly.
“Your book bag can go right here, and then I’ll show you all around the class when the bell rings. Sound good?” Valerie said,
and the boy nodded. He seemed nervous, but that was to be expected.
Valerie stood to address the parents. “I’m sure you’ve been informed that due to construction we’ll be co-teaching this year?”
“Oh yes. We’re thrilled to have you both as teachers for Tim. Very lucky, indeed.”
The father bent down and hugged his son, and then the mother followed suit. “We’ll be right back before you know it, kiddo,”
the mom said, her voice quavering.
Without waiting for any further fuss, Valerie shook the parents’ hands as she shuffled them toward the door. It was like a
well-rehearsed waltz. “Here, Mom, take a muffin,” Valerie said by the door, cutting the mother off. “One for you too, Dad.”
The way she did it, she’d practically thrown them out without their knowing. She’d stopped them from making it harder for
a jittery Tim.
“This is so nice, isn’t it, honey?” Tim’s mom said to her husband as they walked out.
Valerie went back to Tim and made conversation, showing him his name on the desk and his water bottle until other kids started
pouring in.
Altogether they had twenty-eight children in their class. Most of them had fared similarly to Tim, but there were about five
who had held on to their parents and yelled bloody murder. One father cried so hard that Andrew had to walk him to his car
while comforting him. By the time the bell rang, only two kids were still crying.
He’d call that a win.
And it was all due to Valerie—although he’d never tell her that.