Chapter 4
Megan
The bell rings at three fifteen, and twenty-two second graders explode into motion like someone fired a starting pistol.
“Chairs up, friends!” I call over the chaos, clapping twice. They clap back—our signal—and start flipping their chairs onto their desks.
Bennett’s chair tips sideways and crashes to the floor. He freezes, wide-eyed, like he just broke a priceless vase.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I say gently, crossing the room. “Try again.”
He lifts it up again, this time carefully, and smiles at me when it doesn’t fall. I give him a thumbs-up and a big smile as I stand.
“Make sure you have that permission slip tucked away safely!” I remind them, moving toward the door where the line’s already forming—or what passes for a line when you’re seven years old.
Ava’s got her sunglasses on upside down. Liam’s trying to stuff his lunch box into his backpack, even though it clearly doesn’t fit. Haven’s standing at the front of the line holding a drawing she made during free time, waiting patiently to show me.
“Miss Keller, look!” She thrusts the paper toward me—a house, a sun, a family and their van.
“Oh my goodness, Haven! Is this your family?”
She nods proudly. “That’s me, and that’s my mom, and that’s my little brother. He laughs when he gets a bath.”
My chest squeezes. “That’s so sweet. I bet you’re a good big sister.”
She grins then tucks the drawing carefully into her folder and gets back in line.
I glance at the clock. Buses leave in eight minutes.
“Alright, friends, let’s practice our walking feet,” I say, opening the door and leading them into the hallway.
The bus riders peel off first, waving and shouting goodbyes over their shoulders. The car riders follow me to the front lobby where the adults are already lined up, scrolling on their phones or chatting with each other.
One by one, they are collected by their parents or guardians. I wave and watch them all disappear to the parking lot.
By the time I get back to my classroom, the silence feels weird. I move to my desk and start sorting through the stack of papers they turned in today—math worksheets, spelling tests, creative writing titled “What I Want to Be When I Grow Up.”
I pick up the first one. Liam’s handwriting is squirrelly, letters switching from uppercase to lowercase
i want to be a fierfiter bcuz they safe peeple.
I smile, grabbing my red pen—not to mark it wrong, just to write a note at the top.
I love that, Liam! Firefighters are heroes. Keep practicing your spelling!
Next is Ava’s.
I want to be a vet cuz I love aminals. My dogs name is Butter he is the best dog.
I laugh softly. Ava talks about Butter at least three times a day.
I love that, Ava! Butter is lucky to have you.
I keep going, reading each one, writing little notes of encouragement. Some want to be teachers. Some want to be famous sports players. One wants to be a YouTuber, which I’m choosing to interpret as content creator.
My phone buzzes on the desk. I glance down.
Mason: How’s your day?
I smile, typing back quickly.
Me: Good! Just grading some papers before I leave. How was yours?
Mason: Slow. Miss you.
Me: Miss you too. Still good to meet for dinner?
Mason: yup. Hope to be there by 5, Love you.
Me: Love you too.
I set my phone down and go back to the stack, but my mind drifts.
Mason and I have been together not quite two years yet, but we talked about the future early on—marriage, kids, where we wanted to be in ten years—and it still feels surreal sometimes that I found him.
A few years ago, I was convinced I’d be single forever. That the whole meet someone, fall in love, build a life thing just wasn’t in the cards for me.
And now? Now I’m planning a wedding. Thinking about what our kids might look like. Wondering if they’ll have his blue eyes or mine.
I pick up another paper. This one’s from Haven.
I want to b a teacher like Miss Keller becuz shes nice and helps me when I don’t understand.
My throat tightens.
I read it again, slower this time, letting the words settle. That’s it. That’s why I do this.
Not for the lesson plans or the staff meetings or the late nights grading papers, but for moments like this.
I blink back tears, grab my red pen, and write at the top:
Emma, you’re going to be an amazing teacher someday. I’m so proud of you.
I set the paper aside and take a slow breath. This is what I was made for. This classroom. These kids. This job. And someday, my own kids too.
A knock on the doorframe makes me jump.
I look up to see Sierra leaning against it, arms crossed, grinning like she just caught me doing something suspicious.
“You’re still here?” she asks.
“So are you,” I counter, laughing.
She steps inside, dropping her bag on one of the student desks. “Fair point. I was just making copies for tomorrow and saw your light on.”
“Yeah, I’m almost done. Just finishing up some grading.”
She walks closer, glancing at the stack. “Let me guess—creative writing?”
“Yup. ‘What I Want to Be When I Grow Up.’”
“Oh, those are the best.” She picks one up, skims it, and laughs. “UPS driver who also plays for the NFL. That’s a dream.”
I laugh too. “Right?”
Sierra sets the paper down and leans against my desk. “So…wedding’s in like two months. How are you feeling?”
“Good,” I say automatically. Then I pause. “Nervous. Excited. Terrified. All of it.”
“That’s normal,” she says gently. “You’re marrying a good one though. Mason’s solid.”
“He really is,” I admit, smiling. “We’re meeting up for dinner.”
She glances at the clock. “Yeah. That’s good.” She shifts back to the door. “I gotta get going. Blake’s working late and I told Addison she wouldn’t have to feed the boys dinner.”
I laugh. “Oh gosh, go save her.”
She laughs too, grabs her bag, and heads for the hall with one last wave goodbye.