37. Penelope
thirty-seven
penelope
“I understand your frustration, Mr. Davis. Unfortunately, there isn’t anything further I can do about Caden’s grade.”
I put on my best telemarketer robot voice and reiterate the spiel I’ve already given him four times.
“As I’ve previously stated, Caden’s grades have been poor since the beginning of the year. After he dismissed my offer of tutoring during study hall three times, I did contact you. I left several voicemails and emails. Caden did not utilize my opportunities for homework, quiz, or test corrections that would have afforded him credit back. I also contacted you each of those times. At the end of the semester, there is simply nothing more I can do to change his grade. It will stand as a D on his report card.”
Mr. Davis shouts in my ear, but I tune it out.
Add another tally in the pro-leaving-teaching column. He barks something about contacting the principal , and I have to laugh inside my head.
Go ahead. Nathan Harding is pro-teacher, and I have a spreadsheet of all the times I emailed you without a response .
A glance up at the clock tells me I’ve only wasted a third of my lunch hour. I need to get out of this room. I snag a stack of papers that need to be copied for later in the week and figure getting ahead in the game on any day will only benefit my after-school activities.
Those of which are slowly being taken over by Anthony Ellis.
But I can’t think about that—not in my place of work, where he could be feet away at any given moment. I shake the fantasy of him from my thoughts and send a group text to Lucy and Juliet, telling them to meet me in the break room for lunch instead of Juliet’s classroom.
“What’s with the change of scenery?” Lucy asks, sliding into a seat at the table closest to the copier.
“I needed to get out of my classroom,” I groan, punching in the number of copies I need and praying to the Xerox gods that it follows all of my double-sided, hole-punched directions the first time.
“Amen,” Juliet says, lifting her yogurt to the ceiling in solidarity. “I always forget that the weeks between Thanksgiving and winter break are more brutal than the beginning of the year.”
“They’re wild animals,” Lucy agrees, folding her arms on the tabletop and resting her head there as she mumbles into her elbow, “If we have to break up one more fight, I’m going to lose it.”
“I thought Ant had a lot of that calmed down,” I muse.
“Oh, he does. Trust me. I cannot wait to break down this data at our next admin meeting and get a few more kiddos on the program list. They could all benefit from a little mentorship and counseling.”
“Are you taking on all of the counseling?” I ask, doing my best not to beam at the praise she just sent my man’s way.
“ My man?” Pull yourself together, Penelope.
“Yes and no. Phyllis and I are splitting a lot of it, but we both have caseload minutes that have to be met. It will suck to lose her next year.”
“Which is why we need to convince Claire to write a grant for a permanent social work position in the building, and apply when they inevitably agree,” Juliet cuts in. “I’ve found four different ones. The district can’t say no.”
“I miss her,” I pout. “We need another girls’ night soon.”
“Yes! Book club meeting?” Juliet perks up. “The boys at home are also driving me nuts. Mainly because Mason is driving, and all he and Sam do is argue about what does and does not constitute a ‘complete stop’ at a four way stop-sign.”
“Back to books—can we dish on the new PJ Layne, or is it under wraps?”
Lucy asks this with both a waggle of her brows and a glance around the work room. It’s vacant aside from us—most people usually eat in their classrooms—but since we’re connected to the main office, she keeps her voice down. Still, at the mention of my pen name, my body warms.
“It’s uh… almost finished. I think I have two more chapters and then the epilogue.”
“Girl, good for you,” Lucy says. “I don’t know how you manage two full time jobs. Do we get any sneak peeks?”
“Umm…”
I hesitate, not because I don’t trust my friends, and not because I don’t want to tell them about my stories. It’s because the closer I get to the ending, the more and more this book is starting to look like a picture of Ant and me with different names. They’ll know the second they crack open the book to its prologue of Finn and Delilah on the beach. They know my story backwards and forwards. It’s just a matter of it being printed on the pages. If I don’t do something soon, my stomach is going to knot itself into an unsalvageable pretzel. Because as good as this book is—and it may just be my very best writing to date—I don’t know if I can publish it.
“Just let me know when I can get my hands on the newest,” Juliet demands. “If there’s anything to be said about Finn from the other two books, that man has a dirty mouth in bed.”
“Maybe if I get Aaron to read your books, he’d learn a thing or two,” Lucy snickers.
Our book chat is interrupted when Amanda White, Meadow Ridge’s seventh grade science teacher, walks in with her lunch bag.
“Are you guys talking books?” she asks, taking a Tupperware container from her lunch bag and sliding it into the microwave.
We all tense, but Lucy says, “Yeah, do you read at all?”
Ever the includer, our sweet Lucy is.
“When I can. I’m more into thrillers. Sounds like you ladies are into that trashy romance that’s all over the internet nowadays.”
Amanda didn’t give us a very good first impression during the wiffle ball night, and Sam hasn’t had great things to say about her since. It seems like she either doesn’t know how to make friends, or really isn’t looking to in the first place.
“I love a good romance,” Juliet says. “The smuttier the better. Gets me out of my head for a little while.”
Amanda snorts. “Don’t you have a husband for that?”
“If you’re asking if my husband benefits from my reading, then absolutely he does.”
Her face screws up, and I hide my snicker in the whir of the copier. The microwave dings, and Amanda makes a hasty exit. When the door snicks shut, we all let out sighs.
“Sam says she’s awful,” Juliet moans. “I feel so bad for him. She contradicts what he says almost out of spite. He’s doing his best not to give in, but he’s about to lose his mind.”
“I wonder how she was in her own building?” Lucy asks. “Pen, could you do some digging? Maybe ask Ant?”
Just the mention of his name stirs up butterflies in my chest.
“Yeah, I can check. He hasn’t really been home most nights though. He’s been working on his house.”
I take my warm, dead tree from the copy machine and hug it close to me. Ah. Like bread fresh from the oven .
“I’ll see if I can catch him. I’m usually in the writing cave when he rolls in.”
Yeah, but he texts me on my way home so I can wrap up my chapter and be naked in his bed in the fifteen minutes it takes him to get across town .
We wrap up lunch, and as I’m dropping off my copies on my desk, I get a call to my classroom phone from Nathan. Apparently, Mr. Davis did make good on his threat to call my supervisor. I sigh, roll my head back and forth on my shoulders, and head to the office where they have Mr. Davis on hold.
I’m stunned when Anthony is there too.
“I had Caden on my baseball team last year,” he supplies when I take a seat. “I figure, if worse comes to worst, he might take my advice as his coach and start checking his email.”
He offers me a tight lipped smile, and then I turn to Nathan.
“Mr. Davis has stated that his son received a D in your class, and you are refusing to let him make up the work. He is adamantly upset because a D disqualifies Caden from trying out for baseball after break.”
Ah. There it is .
“I’m assuming you contacted him several times before we got to this point?”
“You know it.” I lift my brow and hand him my laptop, pulled up to my communication log. He takes a second to read it over, then nods, and says, “This will be quick.”
“Mr. Davis, hello. This is Nathan Harding, interim principal at River Valley/Meadow Ridge. Here with me are the interim assistant principal, Anthony Ellis, as well as Caden’s math teacher, Ms. Penelope Barker.”
He lets Mr. Davis bark out complaints, orders, and a few empty threats, essentially letting him get everything off his chest. Then, Nathan gives him the same speech I did. He even goes so far as to cite my syllabus and the district policy on make-up work, all of which I followed. But Mr. Davis still isn’t having it. That’s when Ant steps in.
“Listen, Chuck. I’m going to level with you. Caden had this problem last season, and I did everything in my power to make sure he kept his grades up—but it took you being on the other end to get us to that point. If he’s going to have any chance of playing, his grades have to come first. That means doing his homework, taking Ms. Barker up on her offers of study hall and lunch—which she gives up freely , might I add—and getting the work done.”
Oh. I should not be horny at work. But this man standing up for me to a parent is really doing it for me.
The call ends with a compromise—Caden Davis has to do lunch tutoring three days a week until his grades hold steady, and if he has a C+ average by the time tryouts roll around in February, he’ll be allowed to suit up. When Nathan hangs up, I slump in my chair, and Ant does a full body exhale, deflating like a balloon. I hide my giggle behind my hand.
“His dad was a pill last year, but the poor kid’s mom died a few years back. Dad doesn’t quite know how to handle all of the things she used to manage. I think he’s a good candidate for the program. Nate, are you okay with me following up with Dad later this week to get the okay? I think Sam could be a good mentor.”
Nathan and Ant discuss the logistics of getting Caden Davis signed up for the behavior program, and my heart swells. He is so, so good in this role. I don’t know how he could have convinced himself otherwise.
As I’m leaving Nathan’s office, with a reminder to myself to go a little easier on Caden, I hear Ant’s, “Wait up!” and I stop in the hallway outside the office. He exhales into a smile, leaning up against the wall and staring at me like it’s the most relaxed he’s been all day.
“Nice work in there, boss.”
“Thanks,” I smile, rolling my eyes to ward off the way that silly little nickname makes me feel. “All part of the job, right?”
He nods, and I can see his heart in his eyes. The passion he has for this job is more than enough to make him the best for it.
“You okay?” I ask. “You said this dad gave you problems last year…”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” His voice softens, like people don’t usually check in on him, and I make note to ask him how he is more often. “Are you?”
I nod. “It comes with the territory.”
Territory I feel myself slipping further and further away from every day.
“Good stuff,” he nods. “I have some work to do by the house today, but I’ll be back for dinner. I was thinking we could order in tonight?”
“Oh. Yeah, I’m cool with that. Text me your order.”
I’m the one with the soft surprise in my voice now. Ant standing up for me and checking in is one thing, but to tell me where he’s going to be, and make plans for later? That’s starting to sound a lot like foundation hardening beneath my feet. My heart tells me to tread carefully, but my head tells me I can trust it.
“I’ve gotta run. See you at home?”
He asks like a dog eager to see its owner. Like he genuinely just can’t wait to see me when he gets home. Suddenly, my earlier visions of dropping to my knees for him as soon as he walks in the kitchen are replaced by take-out on the couch, telling him all about my day, and then listening to every little detail about his. I want to know about his work in the administration end of the school, and how the house is coming along. I want to know everything about him, from his highs to his lows. I want to let the ground keep hardening beneath us.
Most of all, I want more of that soft smile that he only lets out when I’m around.