Picking Up the Pieces (2 page)

“Sorry to interrupt.
I just wasn’t sure if you wanted me to make you some breakfast before I left for work.”

Breakfast? Is this bitch insane?
“No, I’m fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “But help yourself. The kitchen is that way.”

The . . . girl seemed to take the hint, because she scampered off in the direction I pointed.
By the time I turned back to my mom, she had already opened the door and was beginning to pull it closed behind her. But she stopped before it closed all the way and, without turning back toward me, began talking. “You know, you can sleep your way through this entire state, Max. It’ll never fill the void she left. It'll only make it deeper.” And with that, she closed the door the rest of the way and left.

I stood there for a minute, just staring at the door.
Nothing I could say would justify my recent behavior. I knew that she was right, but there was something about having it actually said out loud that affected me on a much deeper level than it had before. I finally ran my hand through my hair and turned toward the kitchen, wondering if I could get another blowjob before I got this chick the hell out of my house.

Chapter 2: Lily

Standing in line at the coffee shop, I deliberated about my order. Today was my first day back to work since the summer ended, and if previous years had been any indication, I had a day of long, boring meetings ahead of me.

But I needed to tread a delicate balance with my order.
Too much caffeine and I’d be itching to get up and move around. I made it a habit of sitting on the aisle during in-service days so I could take frequent breaks. If I took any more, people would start to think I had irritable bowel syndrome or something. But the alternative didn’t seem feasible either: too little caffeine and I’d fall asleep in the auditorium seat. Of course, Glen McCallum, one of our history teachers, dozed off routinely at thirty-minute faculty meetings and no one said shit to
him
.

Finally deciding on a medium mocha latte, I dropped my eyes from the menu above the baristas’ heads and leaned to the right to count the number of people ahead of me.
As usual, I was running late.
One . . . two . . . three . . .
I felt my muscles tense involuntarily.
Shit. No, that can’t be him.
I hadn’t seen him in nearly five months, and I had been to this coffee shop dozens of times since then. Of course, my summer schedule had been much different from Adam’s. I rarely rose before 10:30 in the morning, and he’d already be at work by that time. The chances of us running into one another here would have been slim to none.

As he ran a hand through the back of his thick blond hair and waited patiently for his order, my heart pounded so loudly in my chest I was certain he’d turn around to see what the noise was.
I could leave without being noticed. Just remove myself from the line and slip out the door.

But I couldn’t.
Well, I
could
. I just didn’t want to. There was no denying that I had thought about him often since our break-up, despite the fact that I had become more independent and self-assured. If Adam met the new me, he’d surely realize I had changed. The selfish Lily who needed a man to love her and accept her had vanished. I loved and accepted myself, and that was enough. Sure, I
wanted
someone to share my life with. But I didn’t
need
someone.

In order to get his attention, I thought briefly about pushing in front of him and making some asinine comment like I had on the day we’d met.
But I thought better of it. Instead, I let my eyes appraise his strong shoulders beneath his baby blue dress shirt.

I no longer felt rushed to get to work.
I would happily stare at him for as long as I could.

The line moved up as the barista slid the large coffee Adam’s way.
He picked it up quickly and moved confidently toward the cream and sugar station against the far wall, where he poured a generous amount of milk into his cup and swirled it around.

I didn’t even have to look at his face as he turned to leave to know I’d been wrong.
Adam drank his coffee black with just sugar. The man wasn’t him. I’d just wanted it to be.

***

After our compulsory “welcome back” breakfast in the cafeteria, our principal Mr. Murdock told us we had a ten minute break before the first meeting would commence in the auditorium. The herd shuffled through the halls, some eager to start the new year, but most just wondering where the summer had gone.

Tina and I found seats on the aisle as the superintendent rose to speak.
“Good morning, everyone,” Dr. Edwards began once the noise from the crowd had died down. “I hope that all of you have had an enjoyable and relaxing summer. I know I did.” She rambled on for a bit about her vacation to California, and then directed us to the big screen that had lowered behind her on stage. “As many of you know, I like to open with a slideshow each year. Usually, we show pictures of school events: the plays, field days, concerts. But this year, I thought I’d show the people behind all of that. I thought I’d show all of you because
you
are the ones who make those things happen. A few weeks ago I sent out an email asking for pictures of your summer vacations, and I received an overwhelming response. Thanks to all of you who contributed.” Dr. Edwards stepped to the side as the lights dimmed and the slideshow began to play. The song "You're the Best" began to play as pictures of the teachers flashed on the screen. I couldn’t help but think that the song didn’t apply to every face I saw.

My eyes stared blankly at the screen ahead of me as I took in the pictures of Erin Sutton’s honeymoon in Barbados, Ryan Lonoff and his two sons huddled around a campfire, and Kim Flynn and her husband Matt with their family at the beach.
Some more slides flickered on the screen as I got lost in my own daydream. The last time I had been in this auditorium with music playing and the lights off, I had been on the other side of the curtain, lost in Max’s dirty words and the rough touch of his powerful hands. I had been in my own world, oblivious to what was happening around me. And I don’t just mean at that moment. Things were happening around me . . . to me, and I hadn’t been aware of them until it was too late.

Tina interrupted my trance with an elbow to my side and a goofy laugh.
“It figures you’d send one of you eating,” she joked as she pointed to the screen where there was a close-up of me in Italy devouring a slice of pizza.

I had sent several pictures when Dr. Edwards requested them, and of course she had chosen a close-up of me eating.
Why did I even send that one to begin with?
The waiter had taken my picture from a few feet away. I am sitting outside of a trendy bistro at a black wrought iron table for two, but the other chair is conspicuously empty. I couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of the faculty noticed that as easily as I had. I hoped they didn’t.

“Wow, you
did
manage to stay away from guys while you were traveling through Europe by yourself. I didn’t think you could do it,” Tina said incredulously.
So much for my hope that people wouldn't notice.
"I sure as shit wouldn’t have been able to.”

“Well, almost,” I said with a forced laugh.
“I didn’t have it in me to avoid France like I’d hoped. I met a hottie named Nikolas. We did go out a few times. Just to late dinners and a soccer game, but that’s as far as I would take it. You weren’t kidding about the vibrator thing though. I wish I would have listened to you and gotten one before I left. It would have come in handy on more than one occasion.”

“You know I’ve never steered you wrong,” Tina replied. “I’m full of all kinds of good advice.
Now my next suggestion is for us to take a break. Murdock’s getting ready to speak, and I need to mentally prepare myself before listening to him for any length of time.”

I felt my smile spread to my eyes as it became more genuine.
“Let’s go,” I said as I nodded my head toward the auditorium exit.

***

Five minutes later we were back in our seats. Mr. Murdock had already begun speaking, and since I felt more refreshed after my break, I paid attention. “I know you’re probably all wondering what this year’s theme will be,” he said excitedly. I didn’t share his enthusiasm. “This year our focus will be ‘hands-on teachers.’ Or, as you’ll often hear us refer to it, ‘HOT.’”

He laughed loudly at his lame pun.

“Ha, they’ve gotta be kidding with us with this. I don’t even wanna know what they mean by ‘hands-on teachers.’ Is this for real?” I asked Tina, who was already jotting down the acronym in her notebook and laughing about it.

“Well, you already had the ‘hands on’ part mastered
last
year, so it should come easily to you.” She snickered at her own joke, and I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t help but be somewhat amused.

Just when I thought our new theme couldn’t get more embarrassing, the assistant principal began passing out green T-shirts with the slogan “We are H.O.T.”
Nope, they're definitely not kidding.

I spent the rest of the morning going back and forth between planning out the first month of school and playing on my phone.
Before I knew it, our lunch break had arrived. As I made my way up the aisle, I heard Mr. Murdock’s deep voice beckoning me. “Miss Hamilton, I need to see you quickly before you go.”

I had no idea what
he could want, so I told Tina to meet me in the lobby and I’d hopefully be out in a few minutes. As I approached Mr. Murdock at the front of the auditorium, I noticed a thin young girl with short black hair standing quietly beside him. “Lily, this is Trish. Trish, this is Lily Hamilton. She’ll be your mentor for the year.”

Did
I hear him right? Mentor?
Unless Trish needed someone to show her the most discreet places to get off on school property, I didn’t think I was the right person for the job.
Do I even have a say in this?
I opened my mouth to speak, but Mr. Murdock beat me to it. “Lily is one of the best teachers we have,” he said. “The kids love her, and she has some pretty innovative ideas in the classroom. I thought she’d be a great person for you to learn from during your first year.” My mouth closed as I felt a look of confusion sweep across my face. “As we say here at Swift now, she’s H.O.T. And Lily, I do apologize for not asking you in advance to be Trish’s mentor, but she was a last minute hire, and knowing you’re a team player, I knew you’d be on board.”

Trish grasped her weak hand around mine and shook it tentatively.
“I’m so excited to meet you, Miss Hamilton,” she said in that eager “first-year teacher” kind of way. “I wanna be a H.O.T. teacher too.”

“No, it’s not a H.O.T. teacher because the ‘T’ stands for ‘teacher,’ so you’re saying ‘teacher’ twice,” Mr. Murdock corrected her.
I could see how confused she was by his explanation. “Never mind,” he said. “Forget it.”

Fuck me, this is gonna be a long year.

***

I
returned from lunch eager to set up my classroom, but after glancing at the afternoon agenda, I realized that we only had about an hour of time to ourselves that wasn’t taken up by meetings. Putting up bulletin boards and arranging desks would have to wait until after I met with Trish. She was clearly in need of a little guidance if she was going to survive her first year.

As I popped my head into Trish’s classroom, which was just down the hall from mine, I saw she already had her room set up.
Her desks were arranged in groups of four, and brightly colored paper decorated her bulletin boards. “Wow,” I said, gesturing around the room, “looks like you’re all ready for the year. Do you have a few minutes to talk? I thought I'd just go over a couple of important things with you. You know . . . like where the vending machine is and the quickest exits to the parking lot," I said with a smirk. "And to see if you have any questions."

“Thanks, I think I’m almost all set.
I’m just finalizing my syllabus now. Do you wanna look it over?” She moved from her seat so I could sit down at her computer.

My eyes scanned the document, and for the most part, it looked professional and covered all the necessary basics of the class.
It wasn’t until I got to the end that a clear problem jumped out at me. “Wait, is this your
home
number?” I asked, pointing to her contact information.

“My cell.
I wanted to make myself as available as I could to the parents and the students.” Her voice beamed with excitement. It was sweet. Naive, but sweet.

I shook my head.
“You don’t wanna do that.”

“But if a student has a problem with homework, or a parent is concerned about their child, I’d like to be able to help.”

“Okay, I get that. But that’s not gonna be why they call. A kid’s not gonna call about homework. They’re middle schoolers. They’ll call to prank you. And the parents who call will call at all hours. You don’t wanna open up that door because once it’s opened, it can’t be shut. You can’t give students and parents access to your personal life.” I didn’t realize just how ironic that last statement was until I heard myself speak it. “Trust me on this one.”

Eventually Trish acquiesced, though I could tell she thought I was hurting her chances of forming instant connections with her students. I explained the basic school procedures: attendance, referrals, policies, and what to expect on the first day. This was her first teaching job since she'd only graduated in May, and I could tell she was eager to learn the lay of the l
and. So when she launched off into a monologue about how she was going to change the lives of all the troubled youths at Swift, I had to step in and bring her back down to reality. “Look, this may seem harsh,” I began, “but you aren’t going to make the difference you think you’ll make. Kids like Jake Robinson,” I said, pointing to her roster, “he won’t have a pencil most days. If you give him one and he actually uses it to write his name on his paper, consider that an accomplishment.”

Trish looked at me like I had just told her I’d mowed her puppy down with my car. On purpose.

“I know you probably think that’s harsh. But I’m just being honest. It’s the biggest mistake teachers make. The ones who think they can change every child’s life are the ones who get burnt out and feel like failures when it doesn’t happen. I don’t want you to feel like that. You’re not Hilary Swank in
Freedom Writers
. No teacher is. And by the way, hanging out with students is never an excuse for ruining your marriage to Patrick Dempsey.” I wagged my finger at her sternly before allowing a smile to spread across my face. My last comment served to lighten the mood for both of us. “No matter how good of a teacher you are, you can’t change
every
one. And you have to be okay with that.” I could see Trish’s face begin to relax a bit, but the sadness in her eyes remained. “You have to be okay with the fact that you may only change
one
. And you have to be okay with maybe not even knowing you did. My point is that you just have to do the best you can and be happy with it . . . because your best will never feel good enough.”
Jesus, I could be a real downer.