Chapter 10 Christmas Break Countdown
Christmas Break Countdown
“Ms. Haden, I don’t want to use scissors anymore! Scissors are stupid! This is stupid!” Brody Perkins threw up his hands in defeat, almost stabbing himself in the eye with the scissors he hated so much.
“Brody!” My voice was serious, but still patient. If I matched his chaotic, upset energy, forget surviving the rest of the day. These kids would revolt. One slip into panicked disorganization and I would be cooked chat—as the kids say. I would have sold the bag—whatever that meant.
I had to keep my cool, not traumatize the adorable-but-oh-so-naughty six-year-old, and make sure there were no accidental stabbings of self or otherwise as I worked with the class of seventeen first graders on their cutting skills. “Please do not stab yourself in the eye.”
He gave me the fiercest look his big green eyes were capable of. They were too round and Disney-like to do too much damage. He was somewhere between Dennis the Menace and the Little Rascals, and his adorable factor was off the charts. But so was his bad behavior.
“I’d rather stab myself in the eye than keep doing this stupid thing,” he growled at me.
His r sounds had not quite developed yet, and the barest lisp turned everything he did into a heart-melting moment.
He sounded more like “I’d wather sthab mythelf,” and it was enough that I had to look at the ground so he couldn’t see my laughter.
It wasn’t just how cute he sounded, it was his over-the-top, exaggerated, dramatic movements, too.
He’d been so aggressive that he’d knocked his project off the table.
I looked at it on the ground, a massacred outline of Santa, his hat missing the fuzzy white ball at the end due to a scissors mishap.
I should have made him pick it up. and I probably should have made him apologize for using so many stupids, but last week he’d screamed that he “fucking hated using scissors!” and I’d had to send him to the office for the rest of the day. So this felt like progress.
Swooping down to pick up his very bad effort, I smoothed it out and gently set it on his desk. He crossed his arms across his body, huffed out the biggest sigh I’d ever heard, and dropped his head back.
“Hey,” I soothed in the softest tone I could muster, “it’s okay to dislike cutting.”
“No, it’s not!” he argued. This time I caught the glassy sheen to his big green eyes. “I gotta do it, or you’ll make me go to the office!”
I suppressed another smile and dropped my voice to a whisper. “You had to go to the office last time because you said a bad word, not because you hate using scissors.”
Polly, the little girl he shared a table with, made an exasperated sigh that told me she was over Brody and his antics.
I’d only been here two weeks, and Polly was the third tablemate change I’d had to make, but so far, she was the best. She let her annoyance of Brody’s antics be known by rolling her eyes and groaning like she was sixty-five years old—I was just thankful she hadn’t taken a swing at him, nor had she run up to my desk sobbing.
She was either the toughest cookie in the class, or she had older siblings that made Brody a tolerable pest, but not a traumatic bully.
Gosh, these kids were too cute for their own good.
“Keep working, Polly. You’re doing a great job.”
She shot me a skeptical look. She was hip to my tricks.
“Brody, it’s okay to dislike cutting,” I repeated, “but it’s still a skill you need. I want you to keep trying.”
“You hate me,” he muttered, echoing something his older sibling might say.
I didn’t know Sam’s sister Sarah very well, and I hadn’t seen her in a long time, but I did know Brody was the youngest of seven.
I also knew he had a good, but busy homelife and that some of his bad behavior probably had more to do with wanting attention and getting lost in the family shuffle than lived trauma.
“I don’t hate you. I opposite of hate you,” I told him.
He narrowed his eyes at me, wanting to believe me, but not trusting me yet. “Then why are you making me do this?” More dramatics. More adorable baby talk voice. More big round eyes on the verge of tears.
I picked up his scissors and slid them toward him. “Because I know you can get really good at cutting if you practice. I bet you can even become one of the best in the class.”
He frowned so hard his mouth turned into a literal upside smile, the corners of his mouth drooping almost to his chin. He belonged in the movies, this kid.
“You don’t think that,” he argued. “You think I’m the worstest in the class.”
I looked at the sweet face of Sam’s nephew and wondered when he had started to look so much like his uncle. Then I looked at the Santa head he’d turned into ribbons. He was definitely the worst in the class. Maybe the whole grade. “I never said that.”
He pointed a pudgy finger at me. “Your’s thinking it!”
“I’m not lying to you. I’m not a liar. Ask your uncle Sam. He’ll tell you.”
Brody rolled his eyes in the most exaggerated way. “I can’t trust Bam Bam! He has a big crush on you!”
Polly gasped loudly next to us.
“Erm, okay, that was my fault. Let’s, uh, let’s stay focused on the project.” I picked up the scissors and started trying to fix his project myself. Santa looked like he’d been in a blender, but I could maybe make it look like he’d had a bit of work done instead, snatch those cheeks . . .
“He said your disappeared,” he continued, as if we weren’t in the middle of class. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, then added, “He said you’re the one he threw away.”
“Threw away?” I asked, but dawning panic spread through me as I realized what he meant to say. “I’m the one who got away?”
Brody grinned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger. I’d hit the nail on the head. “If you marry Uncle Bam Bam, no more scissors forever!”
“Brody, if I married your uncle in the next five minutes, you’d still have to finish this project.” Okay, he’d lost a little bit of the cute factor.
“Are you really going to marry his uncle?” Audra, a blonde with pigtails asked from the front of the class.
“No.” Class had clearly gotten away from me.
“What?” Brody shrieked, floppy hair flopping. “You don’t love Bam Bam?”
I stood back up, deciding this conversation needed adult height.
“Brody, wait—” When real tears appeared in his green eyes, I tried a different approach.
“I don’t even live in Mistletoe. I’m just filling in for Mrs. B while she’s home with her new baby.
” The entire class looked traumatized. I needed to pivot.
Again. “I love teaching you guys. You’re my favorite first grade class.
But I need to get a job. I need health insurance. ”
Brody threw his ugly Santa on the ground again. “Uncle Bam Bam’s right! You are a disappearer!”
The class erupted in cries and some tears and some aggressive agreements, as if they had personally been affected by my disappearing. Oh, brother.
What happened? How did I get here? And why was I opening my mouth to tell him, “Okay, maybe there will be a different job for me after this one, and I won’t have to leave Mistletoe.
And I’ll just magically get my savings back.
And can find health care benefits somewhere, and maybe also affordable housing that makes it possible to also buy groceries. ”
Brody nodded seriously. “And marry Uncle Bam Bam.”
I swallowed my pride and nodded with him. “Mmm-hmmm, maybe.”
Polly pounded her tiny fist on her desk. “Say it, Ms. Haden. Say you’ll marry Bam Bam.”
Sure, why not. What did I have to lose? Only my dignity. “Sure guys. And maybe I’ll marry Uncle Bam Bam.”
Brody bent over and picked up his Santa, then his scissors, then happily went back to cutting. He immediately cut through one of Santa’s eyes, then overcorrected and cut a huge chunk out of his nose. But he was quietly working, and nobody was crying. And it was fine. Everything was fine.
I’d just have to quick marry Sam so I could survive the next week and a half until Christmas break. No big deal.