Newbie (5 page)

Students sit on the rug as I read a story aloud, their wide eyes fixed with rapt attention to the book as my voice lilts with the story. Lunch recess was great for them. They are so quiet, so focused. A little time to run off energy is all they need to get to work again. The story ends, then the students go back to their desks as we start writing time. Jacquie’s desk is empty.

I can feel the blood in my head coursing faster. Where is she? “Shaunee, did Jacquie go to the bathroom?” Shaunee just shakes her head and continues writing her name on her paper. “Has anyone seen Jacquie?” No one looks up. My face, neck, and chest prickle with alarm. College never covered this.

Ellie raises her hand. “Teacher, don’t you think you should call the office now? They need to know you lost Jacquie.”

My heart is racing. I really did. I lost someone. After three deep breaths, I call the office to explain the problem to the secretary, Mrs. Johnson. Even after this confession, my dread kicks up to panic. In fact, it seems more real—she’s lost, and I’m to blame.

“Okay, Sophie. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll get back to you.” Mrs. Johnson hangs up before I can add to the conversation, apologize, or plead for amnesty. She seemed oddly unconcerned. I wonder if she understood?

W
hat do I do now? Am I just supposed to go on teaching? My stomach is clenched as if gripped by a tight fist—like when you first fall from the top of the Towering Death Drop in an amusement park. You’re scared and sick and filled with regret. Yeah, it’s just like that.

It was too quiet and peaceful—I should have known Jacquie was gone. How can I keep teaching when Jacquie is lost? I’m sure her mom is terrified. Can anyone trust me again with their child? I failed my very first day. Not even a day—three hours. This is why I should be a real estate agent. You can’t lose people—just deals.

During the next lesson, I glance back and forth to the door, hoping for Jacquie to enter. When anything outside the window moves, I look to see if Jacquie is out there.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Johnson calls. “Sophie, Jacquie went home for lunch. She’ll come again tomorrow. Her mom is explaining to her that first graders stay all day.”

“She went home? She’s safe?”

“Yes, she’s fine. Bye.”

Note to self—count students after recess and lunch.

By the end of the day, I’m trying to get the students to call me Miss Sophie, but that’s going about as well as Miss Kanakaredes. Ellie stops at the door as she leaves the room. “Teacher, actually, we’re just going to call you Teacher. Okay?” She’s gone before I can respond.

I turn off the lights, kick off my shoes, and lay on the couch in the book nook. If I quit now, then what? I’m obviously not suited to this. I didn’t even notice a student was missing!

After a few minutes, the lights flick on, and I peep over the back of the sofa to see Mr. Chavez in the doorway. I right myself as he walks across the room. “Hi.”

“Coming to see how your first day went.”

Terrible. Children sucked on markers. I ate fast enough to have hiccups for the next half hour. I lost a person. “It was fine. Um, except for the Jacquie bit. Did you hear?”

“Ellie mentioned it, and Mrs. Johnson filled me in as well. You know we lose one every year. They’re used to going home at lunch in kindergarten. Pretty scary. You okay?”

“Yeah, okay after Mrs. Johnson called back. I’ll count them from now on.”

“Good first day.” He walks back out the door.

I cross the hall to Beth’s room and see her standing on a group of desks, hanging art projects from the ceiling over each child’s seat. “Come talk to me before you leave, ’kay?”

Mrs. Hays steps in the threshold as I stand on one of the tiny desks to hang the art in my room. “How was everything?” she asks, her voice syrupy sweet.

“Fine.”
As far as you’re concerned.

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that. It must have been a rumor that you lost a child today. It’s a relief to know our neighborhood children are in the professional and capable hands of someone who accepts her role of teacher as a moral responsibility. Bye now.”
Just leave already.
Her hand flicks over her shoulder and she departs as quickly as she darkened the door. What
is
her problem?

Just as I’m hanging the art pictures above the last row of desks, a bee practically flies up my nose. In my panic, my head snaps backward while my arms flail wildly. I feel my heel slip off the edge of the desk. I try to step back onto the chair, but my balance is off. Overcorrecting doesn’t help much as I thrust my head and chest forward, but gravity and momentum are already winning.

It isn’t at all like slow motion, but I am acutely aware of every movement my body makes. You really find out who you are when you fall off a chair. I know I’m not going to heaven because of the string of swear words racing silently through my brain before I hit the floor. I land squarely on my tailbone. No damage, but it really hurts. Just rub it out. Moving slowly, I try to shift down the hemline of my skirt which is somewhere near the top of my thighs, and notice the slit has ripped a couple of inches higher.

As I’m pulling my skirt around to get a better look at the tear, he clears his throat. Of course someone saw. I look up to see him walking toward me…and he’s hot. He’s the man who held the door for me at my interview. When he’s closer, I know it is. Those eyes have to be unique.

“Did you fall? Are you alright?” Instead of answering I’m just staring at his sandy hair and green eyes. After my inept pause, when I should have been able to construct an answer (if I were any kind of normal person), he continues, “Beth asked me to drop these off.” He hands me a stack of flyers. “Are you all right?” His eyes flick to my skirt.

I look down too and realize that the extra high rip is still turned to the front. There is no way to be stealthy about turning my skirt, so I drop the flyers low in front. Yeah, that’s not awkward. “All right, sure, I’m fine. Hi, I’m Sophie. It was a bee,” I say, pointing toward the ceiling.

He nods without looking away from my face. “I’m Liam. We’ve met before. I held the door for you.”

Yay! “You remembered. I really didn’t think you would, so I wasn’t going to say anything. Of course I remembered you—I mean, who wouldn’t with your green eyes. They’re more the color of evergreens than grass, or moss, but good moss.” Oh, Sophie.

He smiles and glances down before his smile widens. He looks back up before he leaves. “Be careful up there.”

“Right, thanks,” I mumble. Don’t check him out. He’s probably someone’s dad from Beth’s class. I do anyway. Confirmed, Hot Dad.

I look to see that the bee is gone and get up on a chair to finish hanging the pictures.

Beth stops by while I straighten desks. “Oh, good, you got the flyers. Put them…in the…kid’s…backpacks…tomorrow…Sophie? Did you know your skirt’s backwards? And ripped?”

I reach down to spin my skirt back around. Nope there’s no way to save this. The slit can’t go in the back—too high—or the front—same problem. I swing it to the side and offer a feeble explanation for being disheveled. “I fell off a chair. I’m fine.”

As we walk out together to the parking lot together, I ask, “We’re having a barbecue this Saturday. Would you and McKay like to come, about seven o’clock?”

“Love to. What do you want me to bring?”

“Chips or drinks, you choose.”

“Chips. Sounds fun. See you tomorrow.”

I limp home to find Mina jazzercising in the front room. My feet hurt. My butt hurts. My head hurts, and I’ve never made so many rapid-fire decisions in a whole week of my life let alone in a day.

Mina’s eyes drop to my skirt. “Went that well, huh?” she asks in the middle of a grapevine.

I nod and decide a warm bath is just what I need. I peel off my shoes, tossing them into the closet. Where are my ballet flats? I don’t think I can take another day with any kind of heel. And I really just hope I can take another day.

By dinner, my feet have returned to their normal size.

“So, why was your skirt ripped? Or maybe you’d rather not say?” Mina asks.

I lean on the table and sigh. “It was not the best first-day a teacher has ever had.” I look at my hands and tell her about the highs—the parents and their pictures, and the wide-eyed, expectant faces of all the kids sitting in their desks.

I hesitate as I get to the slightly terrible parts of the day, like the fact none of the children can say my last name. “And during art, I had a kid eating markers, and a little girl thought school was over at lunchtime and left—as in she walked home. And I didn’t notice for ten minutes after they got back from recess. Really? What teacher loses a kid and doesn’t notice? Yeah, me.”

An overwhelming need for dark chocolate fish in a river of marshmallow fluff pushes me out of my chair. I grab two spoons, accurately assuming Mina wants some, and return to my seat to continue the story. “Then I ruined my pencil skirt.” Mina nods. “I was standing on a kid’s desk after school hanging some colored pages from the ceiling and fell off. There was a bee.”

“A bee?”

“Yes, and a super-hot dad came over from Beth’s class to give me some flyers for the kids tomorrow and probably saw me rubbing my butt, and he definitely saw me pull my skirt up and around to inspect the tear!”

“Hmm…A hot dad huh? Interesting. Was he wearing a ring?”

“Mina, he’s probably a dad at the school where I work. I don’t really think that
that
is allowed. You know? And no, he wasn’t.”

“Whatever. Every single man is fair game in my book. If you see him again, flirt a bit.”

“If I see him again, I’ll walk the other direction. I looked ridiculous.”

“Sorry about your day. Really it can’t be worse tomorrow.”

We put away the ice cream and dinner leftovers and watch a movie before bed. While getting ready for bed, I hope the rest of this first week goes smoothly. At night, I dream half my class disappears during reading groups. I look at a book and when I look back up they’re gone. This may be a really long week—well, really long year.

On Tuesday, I walk to work, in flats. Not much better than the slingbacks. Now my arches ache as much as my toes, seat, and back. I notice Nelson is obviously sick enough to stay home today when he sneezes and blows gobs of green snot on the sleeve of my jacket, which I fold into a spare trashcan liner for the rest of the day. I get an ew-shiver just thinking about it.

I drive to work on Wednesday. Guilt nags at me for driving when I only live a couple of blocks away. I’ll find another way to love the earth. And yes, Nelson is in school again, so it becomes my priority to teach him to blow and pinch with the tissue. I can’t believe I really have to teach someone to pinch.

Today is a library day for my class. As my class follows me up the hall, I see Hot Dad talking with Mr. Chavez outside the office door. Maybe he’s divorced. He’s tall—six one, six two. I could wear heels with him. His shoes are brown Diesels, and he’s wearing tight-fit Volcom pants. Mmmm, they have that little pocket on the side of his knee. My eyes continue their slow gaze upward. His lightweight brown-striped DC sweater shows off his athletic build, slim waist, deep chest, broad shoulders…definitely an athlete. My cheeks flush a bit as I remember my peek at his chiseled abs. His eyes turn my way and his smile deepens. Beautiful. Did he just wink? He winked. How long was he looking at me? Oh, my gosh, how long was I looking at his…sweater?

I ditch into the library and practically take out Miss Torris, the librarian, who is standing by the door to greet us. She’s maybe fifty with long, graying blonde hair. Her eyes are excited, and she’s clearly trying to hide a smile. “I see you’ve noticed Liam.”

“That obvious?”

“No, I’m sure one or two of your students missed it.”

A soft giggle escapes—I hope she’s exaggerating. The mirth in her eyes tells me she might be. But really, Liam was standing in the middle of the hallway as I walked a good fifty feet with nothing else to look at but him—so I took a really good look. I shrug to let her know there is no way I am denying what she might think. I’m guilty.

She isn’t going to let me off the hook that easily, and she raises her eyebrows, suggestively, but I say, “Sorry, we’re a bit late today. You’ll still have time to read to the kids, right?” Miss Torris accepts my clumsy switch of topics with just a pinch of disappointment wrinkling her brow.