4. Kendall
CHAPTER FOUR
Kendall
THEN
“So…you were talking to James at the party.”
I watch Sylvia stir in her fifth packet of sugar into her coffee.
The color is that perfect creamy brown color that can only be achieved from multiple single-serve cups of non-dairy creamer.
A long wooden stirrer scrapes against the bottom while she softly blows away the light wisps of steam drifting off the top.
She peers at me over the lip, patiently waiting for my answer.
“Uh, yeah. I guess we were chatting for a minute.” I secure a plastic lid over my own cup of coffee, holding it gingerly in my hands to avoid getting burned.
The sweltering summer heat settling into every hidden crevice on my body has me wishing this coffee was iced. Luckily, our professional development meeting will be over in just a few hours. Sylvia and I have been here since the morning, and we’re both ready to call it a day.
Sylvia showed me where her classroom is when we got here fifteen minutes before our meeting started.
It’s just two doors down from where I’ll be spending the upcoming school year.
I don’t have a key to my room yet, but I was able to see inside Sylvia’s.
She told me it’s pretty much the same. A smart board mounted on one wall.
Shelves lining one corner to make room for a reading nook.
Two identical bean bags stacked on top of each other.
Mason jars of paint brushes that sit hard and dried from not being touched over the summer.
I hear children squeal with delight, the sounds filtering into the multi-purpose room from the black top. The summer day camp is happening outside, and the kids are scattered over the playground and lunch tables. A glimpse of what I have to look forward to once the summer is over.
“That’s nice.”
“‘That’s nice?’” I question with a tilted smirk. “I thought you didn’t like him.”
“What? When did I say that?” We walk back to our seats, two hard plastic chairs tucked under a long table.
The attendance is sparse. Some of the faculty are off traveling, some—according to Sylvia—are silently boycotting an early return to campus during their well-deserved summer vacation.
The meeting isn’t mandatory considering it’s outside of our contract hours.
Sylvia considered not coming too, but with the opportunity to show me around and introduce me to some of the office staff I haven’t met, we both thought it would be a useful way to spend our day.
“When you complained about the kombucha smell in Tommy’s apartment,” I answer.
She waves a dismissive hand in my direction with her cup tilted back.
“What happened to the ‘Breaking Bad of bacteria and yeast?’” I argue.
“I was being dramatic. He’s a good guy.”
“Okay.”
We have about five minutes left of our break before Principal Morrow recommences our meeting.
She’s not as warm and welcoming as the rest of the staff has been.
A little sharp around the edges but nothing that scares or concerns me.
This isn’t the first time I’m meeting her.
My interview was done through a Zoom meeting.
I wore a salmon-colored blouse and flannel pajama pants while I answered questions about my work history.
Generic inquiries like “Why did you become a teacher” or “Why do you want to leave Washington” or the age-old “Why should I hire you.” She prefaced the meeting by stating the position isn’t a permanent one.
It’s a long-term subbing position that could lead to future jobs in the district.
And now I’m here. Sitting through a meeting I wasn’t necessarily required to be at considering I’m not officially staff.
I tear off a piece of bagel smothered in cream cheese before popping it in my mouth. Sylvia watches me like she has something held on the tip of her tongue. I look at her with my brow drawn together and ask, “What?”
She shakes her head with her lips downturned in an innocent frown. “Nothing. Just…he asked about you.”
“Who asked about me?”
Sylvia huffs and bites into her own bagel. She pushes her food to one side of her cheek as she says, “James.”
“He asked about me?”
She nods.
“Why?”
“He just asked who you were,” she answers. “You know, in that prying way people usually ask when they already know who you are but want more information. And I told him you’re new in town, and that you’re very single.”
I roll my eyes. “Sylvia, are you seriously trying to set me up with your boyfriend’s roommate?”
“Yes,” she answers firmly. As if she’s been considering this for quite some time. “I told him you could use a really versed tour guide to show you around.”
“How about I find a dentist first before finding a date?”
“You need a dentist?” Sylvia asks earnestly. “You can go to mine. I’ll give you her card.”
“Thank you.”
“So now can you go on a date with James?”
Aversion. That’s the first thought that crosses my mind when I think about being set up with a complete stranger. Like if someone were to present a bag of stale candy corn in front of me. I’d probably even snarl a disgusted “blech” before I callously hold up my palm and say no thank you.
I have absolutely no business looking to be in a relationship right now.
With adjusting to an entirely new school district and a new city, adding “boyfriend” to the large stack of responsibilities is not what I need.
Especially when I left home under the presumption of being an independent adult after being one-half of a mother-daughter duo my entire life.
How silly would it be of me to dive headfirst right into a relationship the second I got here? Not the liberation era I was going for.
The bottom of my cup hits the tabletop with a piqued hollow clunk. “I’m not going on a date with him,” I argue. “And does he even want to? Or is this some triangulation tactic?”
“Triangulation? What’s that?”
“When you tell two people different pieces of information to get them together,” I explain. “Like a manipulation technique.”
“Kind of like the Parent Trap?”
I poke my index finger in her direction. “I think that’s more about swapping lives.”
“And this triangulation involves a more he-said-she-said type of deception?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly with a shrug. “I’m pretty sure I saw it in a movie once.”
“Okay, I think we’re getting off topic here,” Sylvia points out as more people filter back into the room.
Chair legs scrape along the linoleum floor and hushed tones of chatter linger before the last minutes of our break is up.
“Just think about it. Maybe he can help you find a coffee place since you’ve been craving those chai lattes you can only seem to find in Tacoma. ”
I scoff. “You act like I’m some snob because I like a good chai latte.”
She subtly shrugs a shoulder, a sort of “if the shoe fits” gesture. “You said it.”
Principal Morrow reappears and we’re all shushed into obedience.
Much like how we’d like our students to behave.
The last hours of the meeting go by in a flash.
Turns out, Principal Morrow likes to throw in a few wry jokes when the opportunity arises, making the time go by faster.
When we’re done, Sylvia goes back to her classroom to collect some supplies she left behind over the summer and I walk back to my car.
I’m hooking my bag over my shoulder with my phone in my hand when I notice a new alert.
It’s a text message from an unknown number I don’t recognize at all.
I assume it’s a wrong number or even some spam sent by a bot, but when I thumb through my alerts and read through the message, I see it’s no wrong number at all. Far from it.
Unknown Number
Hi. It’s James.
That’s all there is, and I start to wonder if that’s the end. Whether he simply texted me to hand me the advantage or if this is his usual MO. A maladroit introduction that’s as out of place as it is awkward. But then a second message comes through.
James
Sylvia mentioned you wanted to ask me about chai lattes?
Typical triangulation.
When did she find the time to talk to him? Maybe during our meeting while she covertly hid her phone under the table to tap out a sneaky text message. Or maybe she mapped all this out last week after her party. It was all part of her master plan.
Me
It seems we’ve both fallen into Sylvia’s manipulation scheme.
James
So no chai lattes?
I consider answering with a clear-cut no.
Leave nothing to ambiguity and let him know we’ve both been bamboozled.
But then I remember our stolen cupcake and his hand covering mine.
How he appeared equally confident and intrigued with our shared interest in sugary frosting and who would be the eminent victor. And I bend.
Me
Chai lattes don’t sound too bad actually. Do you know a place? Or are we talking black market-level classification?
I pause before adding another text. Something to kick up the banter.
Me
Which I’m actually okay with because I don’t judge people’s lifestyle choices. As long as it’s not kombucha masquerading as chai lattes.
A sharp knock clangs against my window, and I clutch my chest with a sharp gasp.
“Holy shit!” I shout. I look outside to see Sylvia crouched over at the driver’s side, her hand hovering over her brow to block out the late afternoon sun.
“What are you doing?”
I roll down the window, and Sylvia ducks her head closer inside. I realize I’m just sitting in my car with the engine running and I’ve been grinning like a fool at my phone screen. The same phone that has now tumbled down to my toes resting against the brake pedal.
“Nothing,” I answer, still trying to catch my breath. “Why are you skulking around the parking lot like some cat burglar?”
“I’m not skulking,” she says. She brandishes a pen in her left hand. “I forgot to give you your pen back.”
I take it back from her with a little more force and annoyance than normal. “Thank you.”
“Who were you texting anyway?” she asks.
I stretch my arm down to retrieve my phone. “No one.” I quickly glance at the screen and notice another message has come through. I don’t have time, or enough stealth, to check if it’s James. Instead, I toss my phone into my cup holder and say, “I’ll talk to you later.”
I start to roll up my window when Sylvia tosses over her shoulder, “Bye!”