Chapter 6 #2
“I’m living with my dad right now,” Ryder yells out. “His house is really nice, and he has a really, really biiiiig…”
I swear, he’s pausing for effect, and now I’m really sweating.
“TV! It’s the biggest TV I’ve ever seen, and it has its own room! With rows of soft chairs and a popcorn machine and a mini bar!”
Well, good for Ryder’s dad. I guess he’s too busy watching movies in the comfort of his home to write a decent response to my emails.
“That’s so cool, but we put our hands up and wait to be called on, remember? Anyone else?”
A sweet-faced boy named Miguel raises his hand.
“Yes, Miguel?”
“I think you’re really pretty.”
“Why, thank you.”
We also try not to pick a favorite, but Miguel just rocketed to the top of the charts.
“And I think you should wear shorter skirts so guys will ask you out.”
Aaaand there goes your Student of the Year award, Miguel.
“You should wear your hair down,” Chloe informs me. “Like the lady on the show.”
Great. I have a classroom full of Franklins. I would fail all of them, but then I’d have to deal with them again next year.
Thankfully, the end of day bell finally rings.
“Well, this has been such a wonderful first day, and I’m so happy to get to know all of you! Don’t forget to give the letters to your parents, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Class is dismissed.” I always have to bite my tongue to prevent myself from calling out, “love you, bye!”
Okay, so maybe next year I won’t ask them if they have any questions for me upfront.
I’m still pretty new at this.
Lesson learned.
After inhaling a protein bar and half of the salad that I’d put in the teachers’ lounge fridge this morning, I get up to leave for my one o’clock meeting with the principal.
The lounge has been strangely empty aside from me, but as I’m walking out, a woman who looks to be around my age comes in and gives me the once-over.
According to her Hello, my name is sticker, she’s Miss Farrell.
I might be imagining it, but her eyes seem to narrow when she reads my sticker name.
“Miss Stiles?” she says with a big toothy smile. “You must be the new second-grade teacher. I’m Paige. First grade. Room Six.”
“Hello! Yes, I’m Room Fifteen. I mean, I’m Emilia. Hi.”
She offers me a cold, limp hand to shake. “Cute cardigan.”
“Thank you. Cute shoes.”
She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Thanks. So do you have Ryder in your class?”
“Ryder Tully-Vega? Yes.”
“I had him last year. Such an angel.”
“He seems to be very bright.”
“Mmm. He’s got good genes.” She gives me a wink before passing me and calling someone on her phone without saying goodbye to me.
Which is fine because I have to get to my meeting.
Mrs. Woodard is inhaling a protein bar and salad at her desk while typing on her computer and talking on the phone when I arrive.
She waves me in and gestures to one of the chairs in front of her desk.
When I take a seat, I can see that she has about twelve documents and forty browser tabs open on her monitor, but she’s currently scrolling through images of shoes on .
“Sweetie,” she says into the phone, “I need to hang up now because I have a meeting, but if Daddy tells you that you can’t have a cookie, then you can’t have a cookie.
He’s in charge when I’m not around, right?
Put Daddy on the phone, really quick…Jerry.
Give her the damn cookie.” She hangs up, swallows another bite of salad, and winks at me.
I think I love her. I’ve only spoken with her once since she hired me, so this is our follow-up meeting.
“Well, look at that fun cardigan!”
“Oh, thank you. I like your blazer.”
She wipes her fingers down the front of it. “It smells like Cheetos, but I look like a boss bitch in it, don’t I?”
“Absolutely.” Shit, I hope she wants to look like a boss bitch.
She holds her hand up for a high-five. “Absolutely! How was your first day? You settled in?”
“It was really good. I really like it here, and the kids are wonderful. I can hardly believe it’s a public school, to be honest. It’s the perfect size, and it’s so well-run. I mean—I’m not just trying to blow smoke up your butt.”
“Oh, please do! I quit smoking ten years ago, and I’ll take it any way I can get it. Well, I only have ten minutes before a conference call with some school board shithead, but I just wanted to mention a few unofficial policies that we have here.”
“Okay.”
She continues to finish her lunch while telling me about the school culture and then informs me of their unofficial No-Googling policy regarding the students’ parents.
“This is Los Angeles,” she explains. “Not all celebrities send their kids to private schools, believe it or not. Some of our kids have notable parents. Obviously, I can’t enforce this, but we don’t want any unconscious preferential treatment.
At least until you actually meet the parents in person.
” She shrugs. “Then it can’t be helped.”
“I can definitely not Google.”
“Good. Now, you are one of only a few unmarried teachers here and certainly one of our youngest… I just want to say that your life is your life, and while we don’t have an official policy regarding involvement with the parents of their students outside of school, we do also have an unofficial No Friending/No Following policy on social media.
And I’m just going to say it—what with your cute cardigans in fun colors—we don’t encourage fraternization between teachers and parents of their current-year students.
Although, again, I can’t enforce anything. There. Said my piece.”
Well, shit. Now I remember why I kept staying with and going back to Brent. It’s so much easier to be a new young teacher when people know you’re in a stable relationship.
“Mrs. Woodard, please know that I am one thousand percent dedicated to my students and this school, first and foremost.”
She holds her hand up to pacify me. “My dear, I’m not worried about you. It’s something I bring up with all of my teachers. I knew as soon as we met that you’re not one to cause any trouble.”
I try to look extra responsible, with my hand on my heart. “I appreciate that, because the last thing I’d ever want to do is create any kind of drama or conflict at work. Or anywhere else in my life for that matter. Not that I have much of a life outside of work.”
“Word. Oh! Also, I wanted to tell you about the Winter Festival.” She pauses to swallow her last bite of protein bar.
“Each year we do a Holiday Show as part of it, on the stage in the gymnasium, and each year one lucky class is selected to perform it. Guess whose lucky class gets to do it this year.”
“Mine?”
“Yours. I know it’s four months away, but you should start thinking about it.
No pressure. We take the quality of our shows very seriously here—but no pressure.
Maybe find the YouTube video of Miss Farrell’s show last year, just to get an idea of what I’m talking about.
It was top notch. But no pressure.” She claps her hands together, startling me.
“Okay! We’re done. You’re dismissed. I’m sure you have a million things to do. ”
I start to rattle off all of the things I have to do before returning home to my dog and my housemate who forgets to eat dinner just as frequently as I do when we’re working. But I very quickly realize she’s not listening to me at all. Meeting over. Emilia, out.
Off I go, to do my job and not have any kind of life outside of it.
Fuck you, Brent.