“Morning,” she reverts, the words costing her too much pride. “With all the howling your class was doing, it looks like you can’t manage them,” the Vice Principal taunts.
My smile drops for a split second before turning into a sickeningly sweet one. People like her thrive on knowing that they have power over the emotions of others. They relish that their words can cause the intended hurt to their target.
So, naturally, I do my best not to let her have that.
“They’re kids, and kids are supposed to enjoy. It makes the class all the more lively. Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Deena?” I turn my head toward the students, my hand pressed to my chest toemphasize the point.
She huffs, “Fun is not why they come to school, Ms. Moore. They come to gain knowledge, though I wonder how much you are succeeding in giving it to them.”
“I think their report cards will be the judge of that.” Her eyes practically squint at the corner, stressing her wrinkles as she looks me up and down.
I hate that.
My hands barely restrain themselves from curling into fists. People like her undo all of my therapy. I hate that she thinks she can judge me based on how my body looks. She can’t. No one can.
And yet, they always do.
“Well, I’m here to tell you,” she diverts the topic because what else can she do, “that you’re now in charge of the end-of-year school play for all of the second-grade classes.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I blink at her, giving her the chance to correct herself because I couldn’t have heard her right.
She can’t just decide something like that on her own. “You’ll be planning the play for the children.”
“No, I heard what you said. I meant, I never volunteered. And I wasn’t told anything before this conversation.”
She cocks an eyebrow at me, unimpressed. “Well, I’m telling you now. Aren’t I?” This time, it’s she who gives me a fake smile, getting back at me in her own way.
My shoulders stiffen. I’m not ready to take on such a huge responsibility, especially when I’m still on contract.
“Mrs. Deena,” I clear my throat, “I don’t believe I’m the right person for this job. I’ve never done something like this, and I think I could be of more use as a helper to someone who could do a better job at handling it.”
I try placating her, but my pleas fall on deaf ears. Her back straightens as she slides a hand through her neatly straightened gray hair. “I was not asking, Ms. Moore.”
“Remember, your position in this school depends on how well this showcase goes,” she warns. “One misstep, and you just might lose your place here.”
I open my mouth to say something, anything that could possibly change her mind, but she interrupts, raising her finger, “I’ll leave you to it.Nice chat.” With a smug smile plastered across her face, she struts away, leaving me drowning.
As I head back inside to teach the students, I realize one thing. This end-of-year play will either secure my job and let me relish in the joys of teaching, or I’ll have to go back and complete my law degree to secure myself a stable income and to keep a roof over my head that’s mine.
And the latter is not an option I am particularly keen on.
* * *
That evening, I’m correcting the students’ assignment, sitting cocooned in my couch with a bottle of wine on the table and the Bluetooth speaker serenading me with Taylor Swift songs.
With a sigh, I close another notebook and take a sip of wine straight from the bottle. Letting the bottle rest on my lap, I stretch my neck, massaging the tight muscles, my eyes taking in the television hanging on the opposite yellow wall.
Looking down at the notebooks continuously usually makes my muscles sore. But I’ll take this pain any day if it means I get to shape childreninto something beautiful and quench their thirst for knowledge.
The responsibility of the showcase weighs on my shoulders, adding more than usual. The ringing of my phone through the speaker interrupts Taylor’s regaling ofME!and my anxious thoughts.
I grab my phone from the table when the screen lights up with Ezra’s name. Disconnecting the Bluetooth, I swipe the green button and place the device next to my ear.
“Hey, Kiddo,” he greets.
Kaeli’s voice follows as she enthusiastically yells, “Hello, Andie!” Some shuffling sound crackles through the speaker.
A year ago, Kaeli would’ve never been so overtly friendly, not that I knew her then. But being with my brother has opened her to a new world of possibilities. She may have been hurt in the past, but she’s trying not to let that stifle the relationships she could have or the type of person she can grow to become.