19. Emily
Emily
Three Months Later
“ O kay, class don’t forget to finish the work you didn’t get to today along with three things that you’re thankful for.”
The hurrying and rustling of work being shoved into backpacks at the end of the day is a teacher's personal soundtrack. I stand at the threshold of the door and see them off to the bus loop.
“Ms. Bailey?” A small voice asks from the classroom.
I turn to see Dylan Montgomery sitting at his desk. His feet swing back and forth as he looks at me with eyes the color of moss. “Yes, Dylan?”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
A huff of laughter leaves me. He’s my most outspoken student, hence why he’s still here.
I check the time on my watch and see we have a little bit of time. “Okay, ya goof. Let’s go.”
He hops out of his chair and together we walk to the bathroom. I wait for him outside and when he’s done, we walk to the front office to see if I have any messages.
“Hi Patricia, do I have any messages?”
She thumbs through her notes before shaking her head. “Not today, sweetheart. But you do have some mail.”
Patricia goes to the mailroom and I glance down at Dylan. He’s in his own world watching his shoes tap together like Dorothy from Wizard of Oz .
“Here you go, honey.” Patricia says and hands me my small stack of mail.
“Thank you. Have a great evening. Come on Dylan, let’s see if your Dad is here.”
I reached out to Dylan’s dad about scheduling a parent-teacher conference. He’s the only parent of my students that I have yet to meet. Not only that, but Dylan is having a hard time focusing and I’m wondering if it’s something at home that’s occupying him. Dylan is still young so it’s possible his brain is taking in the environment at a faster pace.
Out in the main hallway, we both look left and right before deciding to wait by the front door. I stand off to the side as Dylan runs his finger through the grooves in the cinder block walls as I thumb through the mail I’ve gotten.
Junk. Junk. Maybe important. Junk. I decide.
“Ms. Bailey, is this really necessary?” I look down to see Dylan still running his finger in the grooves of the wall.
Tucking my mail under my arm I turn my attention to him. “Do you even know what necessary means?”
His eyebrows scrunch together as he thinks and I have to stop the laugh that wants to be freed. “Um…no. But I heard it from my dad and I really wanted to use it.”
At that, I can’t stop the small laugh that comes out of me. “Well, it’s the right word, buddy. But maybe you should look it up before you throw it into a conversation.”
He shrugs his small shoulders in response.
“Is that my big guy?” A voice sounds from the door.
“Dad!” Dylan shouts.
My eyes follow Dylan as he runs towards…Adam. And I do my best to swallow down my shock when our eyes meet.
It’s been three months since I met him and as much as I hate to admit it to myself, I’ve thought about that night too many times to count.
Now that I’m seeing Dylan in Adam’s arms, the resemblance is uncanny. How did I not catch that? How did I not memorize how good-looking Adam is? Eyes as green as the forest, dark brown hair that looks like he’s run his fingers through it all day, and colorful tattoos swirling up to his neck and peeking out from the cuff of his flannel. Seeing him in the light of day knocks the metaphorical pants off of me. And the well-kept beard that has me fantasizing about running my fingers through it.
He puts Dylan back on two feet and we stand in the foyer of the school. Adam shoves his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. My arms crossed over the mail in front of my chest.
But we both say nothing. Staring at each other.
Silent.
And a little awkward.
Okay, a lot awkward.
A noise from the front office breaks me out of the haze. “Hey, Dylan, why don’t you head back to my classroom and look up the word ‘necessary’? I just want to have a quick word with your Dad before we get started.”
Dylan starts to run, but I stop him before he can get any further. Although I know once he turns the corner nothing can stop him.
I drop my arms from their crossed position and hold my mail in front of my body as I slowly turn my attention back to the not-so-stranger. “So you’re a dad,” I state like him being here isn’t obvious.
“It appears that way. And you’re my son's teacher. It’s a small world.”
He holds his hand out to me to lead the way and we slowly make our way to my classroom. I might be crossing so many lines right now, but it’s completely innocent. We’re just talking.
“Is that why you weren’t at the open house that Tuesday?”
He tucks his hands back into his front pockets. “My Assistant General Manager went into early labor. So I’m covering my restaurant without her help for the foreseeable future.”
“And you were kind enough to talk to the crying girl at your bar?” I attempt to make a joke. We turn the corner of the empty hallway and only the sound of my chunky heels echo around us.
His hand on my arm halts my steps. “That’s not the only reason. I just felt you needed someone to talk to.”
“You’re right. I did,” I get lost in his eyes for a second, before stepping back and reminding myself that he’s a parent of one of my students. “Shall we?”
Adam looks as if he’s about to say something but closes his mouth and falls back in step with me.
“Dylan is incredibly smart, quick on his feet, and helps me out when I get stumped on something. But sometimes it’s too much. I have a class full of twenty-five first graders and I need involvement from them just as much from him.”
Normally my parent-teacher conferences are for kids that aren’t meeting their goals. But in this case, Dylan is overshooting every goal I set and not giving the other kids a chance to engage.
“So the problem is with Dylan over-shadowing the other kids?” Adam looks confused, and rightfully so. Usually, when these meetings happen it’s because the student is misbehaving.
“To put it short and sweet, yes. I need my other kids to shine just as much as him. He does tend to act out a little when I attempt to get involvement from the other students. I love that he’s so eager to learn, but…give me a week. I think I may be able to create a role for him that’ll help shine his quick thinking. Not just for my class, but the whole first-grade class. Is it okay with you if I give that a try? I don’t want to do anything without you knowing what I have planned.”
Adam glances back at Dylan looking through an encyclopedia with awe. “He has always been like that. I say give it a shot.”
“Awesome.” The breath I was holding releases quickly.
“Do you think you could email me your plans when you have one set?”
“Of course! Any involvement from my students' parents is highly encouraged.”
Adam continues to ask questions about what sort of plan could be involved to help Dylan. And I find myself warming up more and more to him. Helping people and finding solutions is what I’m good at.
“I know things get lost in translation, but is it okay if I leave my cell number? Just in case I’m unable to answer my email in a timely manner.”
I see where Dylan gets it. The doe-eyed look that gets me to do anything.
Getting up from the table we’re at, I pluck a notebook and pen off my desk. Walking back to him he takes the offered material and writes his number down. He takes a little longer than I thought he would, but he closes the notebook before I have a chance to see what he wrote.
“All done?” I question him even though I know he is.
“Yep.” His cheeky grin has my face flaming.
Shaking my head, I step back. “On that note, it was good to see you again, Adam. Dylan, I'll see you tomorrow, buddy.”
I watch him put the encyclopedia back before getting his backpack.
“Bye, Ms. Bailey.”
“Bye, buddy. Adam.”
“Emily,” his eyes hold mine until Dylan shouts for him down the hall.
Once he’s out of my classroom, I lean against my desk.
Flustered.
A little confused.
And left with so many questions.
I flip open the notebook and see he wrote not only his number but a little note.
In case you change your mind.
-Adam