Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
CHARLIE
I’m in a rare mood when we part ways for the afternoon, weighed down by a heaviness I didn't expect. Alice goes to the general store for a nice public writing session, and I head to Ponderosa Elementary. Because it’s the last day of school, and nobody throws an end-of-the-year party like Mama Roscoe.
As much as I love helping out in her classroom, my mood doesn’t improve. This is the last time these four walls will be hers, the last school year her name will be taped up on the door. Carl and I help her set up her room each August and take it apart each May. It’s the end of an era.
Her old classroom probably won’t be mine in the fall either, not with the Victorian fixated on my bad reputation, but I try not to dwell on that. This is supposed to be a celebration. I have a pi?ata to man and an entire stack of picture books to read out loud—with voices. Though every once in a while, I can’t help wondering who will be in here next. Who will get the honors if it isn’t us.
I don’t have to wonder for long. Two minutes after dismissal, while my mom is outside at the car line and I’m sweeping up pi?ata dust, her classroom door swings open. My old kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Marks, walks in, the one who hated me. The first adult who ever told me I was a bad kid and treated me accordingly.
She retired a long time ago, but she walks in like she owns the place, and she isn’t alone. A woman trails behind Mrs. Marks who is at least half her age. They pause by the doorway, sizing up my mom’s classroom like they can’t wait to move the furniture.
Dread knots in my chest. I don’t have to ask why they’re here. The younger woman is the epitome of a small-town kindergarten teacher, and I mean that as a compliment. Pastel cardigan, kind face, no makeup—her blonde hair is pulled into a friendly ponytail, and if she broke out in a “Days of the Week” song right now, I’d probably join in.
She’s getting this job.
I don’t know anything about her, but this is an easy one. Everything about that woman is picture perfect. She smiles warmly as she walks over to introduce herself, and the dread in my chest knots a little tighter.
“Fiona Birdsong,” she says, and I almost choke on my lime pi?ata jawbreaker.
Fiona Birdsong?
That’s a Disney princess name, and she’s definitely getting this job based on moniker alone. Mr. Roscoe could never compete with Ms. Birdsong. One of those names sounds like they sent an angel down from heaven to nurture children and fill their lives with wonder, and the other name…doesn’t.
I can see the writing on the wall, but Mrs. Marks reads it to me anyway. Just for fun. “Fiona’s my niece. She had her final interview today for the kindergarten job. She’s only been teaching five years, but she’s already been nominated for Teacher of the Year twice.”
Of course she has. I’d be more surprised if she hadn’t been nominated. The fact that she hasn’t won might actually be a travesty.
To her credit, Fiona seems uncomfortable with her aunt saying all that out loud, and she gives me a humble shrug. “This is such a great community school. I’m sure there are plenty of qualified candidates.”
And me, Fiona. There are plenty of qualified candidates and me.
I don’t know why I do that to myself, how I take her arrival so hard, so fast. Why I meet one kind-faced woman and decide fate has spoken. Maybe it’s my past and where I come from, or maybe it’s just the mood I’m in. Either way, there’s no stopping it.
I can’t explain the feeling that comes over me, but it’s familiar, a unique mix of disappointment and shame that I know all too well. It’s a thrift store coat with holes feeling. An everyone’s eating school-lunch pizza but I’ve got a homemade peanut butter sandwich feeling. Made on expired bread my mom had to get from the discount place one town over.
The fact that she’s more qualified than me doesn’t help. When compared to Fiona Birdsong, I’m out of my league. There’s no way Principal Sutter would pick me over her—she’s been nominated for Teacher of the Year multiple times. If it was my decision, I wouldn’t pick me either.
My confidence and hope crumble before their eyes, and Mrs. Marks is loving every second. Though I once tossed her reading glasses out the window during nap time. So I get it.
“Charlie is applying for the job too,” she tells her niece, “but his résumé is a little…different than yours.”
I know where this is going, but I don’t have the energy to stop her.
“What grade were you in when you dropped out of high school to get your GED?” she asks.
“Tenth grade.”
“And college didn’t work out the first time, either?”
“Art school wasn’t a good fit.”
I’m not much of a blusher, but my face burns, and I feel sick to my stomach. Goodbye, dream job. Hello, shame.
Fiona cuts her off and tries to help me. “It happens,” she says kindly. “College is just like that sometimes. I was a biology major when I started, and we all see how that turned out.”
It’s a noble effort. She seems genuinely mortified her aunt is acting this way. As if Fiona has just realized she accidentally brought a demon with her to Ponderosa Elementary instead of her beloved aunt.
But there’s nothing we can do; that fork-tongued retiree is on a roll. We fight the good fight shoulder-to-shoulder, but there’s no stopping Mrs. Marks. That woman has the truth on her side, even if it hurts.
A truth I’ll never be able to get away from, no matter how hard I try.