Chapter 5 Tuesday
Tuesday
(Twenty-Nine Days Left)
My alarm wakes me up at five-thirty. Immediately, before giving my eyes the chance to fully open, I check my texts. Matthew hasn’t responded, which is unusual for him, but I can’t help but let out a sigh of relief.
He must not be interested.
The realization is bittersweet, but now that I’ve sobered up from my adrenaline high, I realize that I may have gotten ahead of myself.
The anxious pit in my stomach reminds me that going on a date with Matthew might still be too much to handle.
I pull my covers back with a resigned sigh, determined not to bring my anxiety with me into the brand-new school year.
In keeping with my first-day-of-school tradition, I pick a T-shirt featuring a beloved children’s book character to wear.
Today’s choice features a mouse swimming in a tub full of milk from If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.
I pair it with a black athletic skort and Converse and gather my hair into a tight bun before heading downstairs to make a cup of coffee.
On the way out of my room, I notice that the door to Jonathan’s bedroom is open.
That’s weird. His alarm doesn’t go off until eight; there’s no reason for him to be awake this early.
An eerie feeling starts taking shape in my gut.
I peek inside to find a fully made bed that hasn’t been slept in, and my chest immediately tightens at the thought of him sleeping somewhere else.
I take my phone out of my pocket to track his location, which I turned on for him one night in college when he was drunk and I wanted to make sure he got back to his room in one piece.
I’m almost positive he has no idea that it’s been on ever since.
I click on Jonathan Cooper and track him to a house on Sweetzer Avenue, which is only a few streets over, but I don’t know anyone who lives there.
As I head to my car, I mentally make a note to text the others to ask if they saw him go home with Cheekbones.
The heat from the morning sun beats down on me through the open window of my Jetta, and I suck on an ice cube from my coffee in an attempt to cool myself down.
My side-view mirror rests in the passenger seat next to me.
I knocked it clean off while trying to park the other day, so now the only way to check my blind spot is by sticking my head out the window like a dog.
By the time I pull up to Brentwood Friends Academy, twenty-five minutes later, my hair is a mess and all the ice cubes from my coffee are gone.
The only other car in the lot is Teacher Rob’s beat-up Prius, his every possession visible through its windows.
It’s a running conspiracy theory that he lives in the teachers’ lounge in the Stone Building.
The earthy smell of the garden feels like home.
The garden stays in bloom all year thanks to Mike the groundskeeper, but the flowers smell especially ripe today, almost as if they’re welcoming everyone back from summer break.
We usually wait until the second week of school to bring the kids out to the garden to sketch the flowers, but the poppies look so vibrant, I wonder if it might be worth it to get a head start on that lesson today.
There are two buildings on either side of the garden, one made of brick and the other made of stone.
The Brick Building, as we so astutely call it, houses the school’s preschool through kindergarten classrooms. That’s where I spend all my time—teaching pre-K.
Because our school is known mostly for its early childhood program, not many kids continue here after graduating from kindergarten.
Those who do move over to the Stone Building, where grades one through eight live.
Each grade has so few students that they require only one teacher each.
Also tucked away in the Stone Building is the teachers’ lounge, which is where I’m headed for a quick visit to the laminator.
I practically crash into Teacher Rob as I’m walking through the front door.
“There she is.” He gives me a slow once-over and smiles wide with a mouth full of coffee-stained teeth.
“Here I am!” I grab the edges of my skort and curtsy. “Hi, Teacher Rob.”
Theoretically, I could drop the Teacher and call him Rob, like every other adult on campus does, but thanks to his heightened interest in me, I’ve always felt more comfortable with there being a slight air of formality between us. The Teacher serves as a buffer.
“Ready for the kids?” he asks. “I hear you and Cheryl have your hands full this year.”
I nod. “We have eighteen kids this year…. I barely survived last year, and we only had fifteen. We’ll need all the help we can get!”
“Durango and I will stop by whenever we can,” he offers. I set myself up for that one. Teacher Rob is our music teacher, and Durango is the name of his guitar. I’m just glad he didn’t mention Maverick. His harmonica.
“Oh, don’t worry about us.” I shrug him off.
“Nonsense! You know how much I love to visit you.” He winks. “And I’ll bring Maverick; I know you get a kick out of that.”
“Of course.” I plaster a smile on my face and nod placatingly. Usually I try to keep these interactions as short as possible, but not today.
Practice flirting with Teacher Rob, the list demands.
I bat my eyelashes, something I’ve seen Nora do over and over again that usually seems to do the trick.
“Oh, Teacher Rob.” I giggle at nothing in particular.
I scan him from top to bottom, trying to find something about his appearance to compliment. He’s almost completely bald, in that shiny, waxy sort of way that only some bald men can accomplish. I say almost because of the long rat tail of gray hair cascading down the nape of his neck.
I survey his outfit, though it’s not necessary.
He’s been wearing the exact same khakis and white T-shirts with yellow stains in the armpits since I’ve known him.
I try to remember the Cosmo article I read on flirting and ways to do it that don’t involve giving an appearance-based compliment.
Teasing is the only other strategy that I can remember.
I reach out and tickle Teacher Rob under his ribs.
He flinches, his rat tail bouncing with the sudden movement. He cocks his head to the side and looks at me with furrowed bushy eyebrows as I jerk my hands back. His mouth hangs open, and then shuts. For the first time, he has nothing to say to me.
I seize the opportunity to quickly make my exit, forgoing the lamination station. That will have to wait.
“Well, I’ll see you at ten sharp for music. Can’t wait!”
I shuffle past him, feeling slightly disgusted by my actions and the fact that I thought flirting with a sixty-year-old man with permanent pit stains would get me any closer to having sex. I guess not all my tasks are bound to be winners. It’s all about trial and error.
I cringe as I make my way out of the Stone Building and over to the pre-K classroom, thanking my lucky stars that we don’t have an HR department.
—
It’s common knowledge that Cheryl, my co-teacher, and I have the best classroom in the school, partly because of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the garden, but mostly because of the way that we set it up.
Most of the kids are playing at the lunch tables with blocks and paints.
Cheryl is with them, going over how to use the materials safely.
The reading nook to the left is overflowing with books, pillows, and blankets so the kids can get comfy and relax while they read.
I’ve spent hours of my life branding all our books with Property of Pre-K labels.
Jane, one of the kindergarten teachers from next door, loves to borrow them, then claim they were hers all along.
Cheryl mutters profanities under her breath every time Jane knocks on our door, but I’m secretly indebted to her for giving me a reason to use my label maker.
Next to the reading nook is the science station, which is stocked with writing utensils and microscopes so the kids can bring in nature from outside to observe.
To the left is a stack of scientific notebooks, one for each kid, organized in alphabetical order and labeled accordingly.
But the real highlight of our classroom is the pretend play area, which we stock with different materials every day depending on what the kids are interested in.
Currently, they’re headed to Disney World, using a row of chairs as an airplane.
I make a note to grab some pilot gear from the storage closet for them to play with tomorrow.
We’re waiting on a few more kids to show up before we start our morning circle time.
Usually we have at least one or two with separation anxiety so severe that it takes weeks, sometimes even months, for them to say goodbye to their parents each morning without crying—but not today.
Today seems to be starting off without a hitch, which I take as a good omen for the rest of the year.
Just as I’m about to express my excitement over this to Cheryl, a woman walks through the door with a little curly-haired boy gripping her leg like he’s holding on for dear life.
The woman smiles in my direction, and I’m surprised she’s able to keep her composure with the boy’s fingernails digging into the exposed flesh below the hem of her skirt.
Cheryl and I give each other a knowing look, and I mouth, “I got it.”
I smile and wave while walking over to the doorway. I crouch down so I’m at eye level with the boy.
“Hi! You must be Charlie.” I recognize his sweet blue eyes and long blond curls from his photo on the attendance sheet. “I’m so excited to meet you. I’m Teacher Phoebe.” I wave again. He buries his face deeper into his mom’s leg.
“Let me show you your cubby; it’s in one of the best spots.” I stand and motion for him to follow, but he plants his feet firmly into the floor.
“Sorry,” his mom mouths to me. I can tell by the pleading look in her eyes that she’s starting to panic.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper to her. “He’ll be great.”
“Let’s go with Teacher Phoebe to see your cubby!” She drags Charlie along behind her as we all make our way to the cubby area.
“Here we are!” I gesture to a row of three cubbies in the corner.
“Do you know which one is yours?” Some kids come into pre-K with the ability to write their full name, while others are still working on recognizing their letters.
The first week of school is spent trying to figure out where each child stands.
Charlie peeks one eye out from behind his mom’s leg and points to the cubby with his name tag velcroed to the top.
“That’s my name,” he says.
“It is,” I agree excitedly. “You’re right in the middle of Ellie and Danny. Those are two great friends to be near. They’re playing in the block area right now; let’s go meet them.”
I hold out my hand, and Charlie gives his mom a look that asks for permission.
“Go ahead, sweetie!” She crouches down to give him a hug goodbye. “Mommy will come pick you up when school is done.”
She tries to make a quick exit, but her plan is quickly foiled when Charlie throws his arms around her neck and starts to sob. I give them a minute before I crouch down to join them.
“Charlie, can I tell you a story that I haven’t told the other kids in our class yet?” This gets his attention, and he turns toward me with a face full of snot. I grab a box of tissues from my desk and continue.
“When my mom dropped me off at pre-K for the first time, do you know what I did? I cried! I was so sad because I was going to miss my mom. Is that how you’re feeling, too?”
He nods, and I hand him a ball of tissues. His mom uses the time Charlie spends wiping his nose to slowly back out of the classroom, which I appreciate. A clean break is always the best.
I whisper the rest of my story, so it seems even more exciting. Charlie leans in.
“Well, here’s where my story gets a little funny.
Are you ready?” He nods in between sniffles.
“My mom was really worried that I was still going to be sad when she came back to get me a few hours later. But when she picked me up, I wasn’t sad at all.
I told her, ‘Mom, I’m not ready to leave yet.
Please come back later.’ When I finally got in the car to go home, I had so many fun things to tell her about. ”
I take another tissue from the box and wipe up all the tears and snot that he missed.
“Can I give you a hug?” I ask. He wraps his little arms around me tightly, and I give him a light squeeze.
“You’re being very brave, Charlie. Let’s find an activity for you to do so you can tell Mom all about it on the car ride home.
Do you want to play in the block area or play pretend?
” He walks over to the block area without looking back.
“Wow, that was impressive,” a male voice comments from across the room.
Still crouched down on the floor, I turn my head in the direction of the voice, to where I spot him leaning against the doorframe.
This is the moment that everything changes.