Getting Schooled

by Parker, Ali

  Chapter 16

  Emelia

  I shouldered my purse and strained to the tips of my toes to peer over the heads of other parents gathered at the curb, waiting for their children to come out of the afterschool program after Kindergarten. I was lucky the school had the capacity to keep Linden for an extra hour and a half at the end of the day so I could come pick him up when my school day was done. The other parents around were likely in the same boat as me, working parents, but at least they had each other.

  I felt as I always felt in this kind of setting: lonely.

  Other mothers were clustered together, or they were with their husbands. I was solitary. Alone. A pillar of single motherhood and a cautionary tale to all women: don’t get carried away one night on a romantic whim unless you’re prepared to become a mom.

  I hadn’t been prepared for Linden.

  Not even a little bit.

  Copious amounts of breakdowns and days in bed had been needed to accept that my reality was going to change. There was never any doubt in my mind that I was going to keep him. He was mine as soon as I read those little red lines on the pregnancy stick. It was more a matter of wrapping my head around what life was going to look like with a child.

  How much more expensive it would be.

  How little time I would have left to be an irresponsible young woman enjoying the freedom of single life.

  How hard I was going to love the little human growing in my belly.

  It was all worth it. Every tear, every sleepless night, every crippling moment of agonizing loneliness.

  I’d do it all over again.

  My parents were life savers, of course. And Linden adored them. Being so far away from them now sucked more than a single word could explain. On Thursdays, my folks used to pick Linden up from school and spend the rest of the day with him. They’d fill the afternoon with fun activities, and I would have some time to catch up on homework or just enjoy a quiet evening with my book and a glass of wine.

  But on most nights, I found myself wishing Linden was there.

  Funny how things changed like that.

  The sea of parents in front of me parted as their children came out to greet them, and I spotted Linden coming through the front doors, talking to a little girl with strawberry hair in pigtails. She had a bright pink backpack and lime green socks, and she was laughing at something my son was saying.

  He had Jace’s charm. That was for sure. I could hardly fathom what I was in for in high school. Linden would be the apple of all the girls’ eyes. I was sure of it. I was also sure that was how all mothers felt about their sons.

  “Hi, champ,” I called, waving to him to let him know I was there.

  Linden grinned when he saw me, said goodbye to the little girl, and hurried the rest of the way to the curb to throw his arms around me in a big hug. He blinked slowly up at me as I stroked his hair. “Hi, Momma.”

  “Hi.” I smiled, pushing his hair off his forehead. “Are you tired? Long day?”

  Must be hard being five years old and having to play all day.

  Linden nodded and stifled a yawn. Adorable.

  I put a hand on my hip. “Tell you what. How about we go get something to eat to perk you up? Then I was thinking we could pop into a store or two and start looking at some Halloween costumes. What do you think?”

  Linden’s eyes lit up. The fatigue immediately left him. His slumped shoulders lifted, and he released my legs. “Okay. Let’s go. Let’s go, Momma.” He pulled at my hand and practically tried to drag me down the sidewalk.

  Chuckling to myself, I followed.

  We hadn’t been in that town long, but Linden already had his directions pretty figured out. If we went North after leaving his school and walked five minutes down the road, we were in the downtown core where all the shops and restaurants were. Five minutes past that was our house and the more residential areas. And then if you went past that, you were in the industrial area near the dump, recycling depo, and storage facilities.

  Linden and I opted for lunch at a soup and sandwich shop across the street from a local thrift shop. There was a sign plastered to the inside window of the shop that declared, “Halloween Costumes” in orange writing on a black backdrop.

  “We’ll start there,” I told Linden as we waited for the server to bring our sandwiches.

  Linden sipped his water. “Okay.”

  “Do you have any ideas of what you want to be?”

  “A ninja.”

  I nodded appreciatively. That was a good costume—and a cheap one. Even better. Plastic nunchucks and an all-black outfit? Sign this mom up.

  “That’s an awesome idea,” I said. “I can totally see it. Grandma and Grandpa will love it, too.”

  “When do I get to see them again?”

  “Soon, champ. They’re coming for Halloween, remember?”

  Linden nodded. “Yeah. It feels far away.”

  I reached across the table to put my hand on his. “I know. I miss them too. Every day. Do you want to call them when we get home tonight and say hello?”

  Linden nodded again, more vigorously this time. “Yes please.”

  “Okay. We’ll call them. They’ll be so happy to hear from you. You can tell them all about your Halloween costume and school today.”

  “Maybe I should be a superhero.”

  I licked my lips. “The options are endless.”

  “Or a police officer.”

  I hid my wince. Cop costumes were always expensive. Same with firemen or any uniform-based costume. Maybe the thrift store had reasonable prices. I wasn’t going to deny my son the costume he wanted.

  “Or a devil.”

  “Whatever you want,” I said.

  Linden was still going on about costume ideas when our food arrived, and we continued to brainstorm ideas as we ate. I enjoyed my veggie sandwich and bowl of chick-pea soup while Linden devoured his ham and cheese (hold the mayo) sandwich and chicken noodle soup. When we finished, we crossed the street and ducked into the thrift store.

  It smelled like mothballs and vanilla.

  The woman behind the counter, who I assumed was the owner, greeted us with a big smile as she pushed her reading glasses up into her mane of frizzy gray hair. “Good afternoon, dears. What brings you in today?”

  I put a hand on Linden’s shoulder. “We saw your sign for costumes and thought we’d come take a look before all the good ones are gone.”

  She nodded knowingly. “Ah. Very wise. They don’t last long here. There aren’t many places in Annapolis to buy costumes these days. They’re just in the back across the far wall, there. That’s all I have. No extra sizes in the back. There are some adult ones there too, dear, if you were interested.”

  Linden gasped dramatically and tugged at my arm. “You need a costume too.”

  “We’ll see.” I steered him through racks of clothes and shelves full of knickknacks to the back of the store.

  The wall was practically vomiting out costumes covered in plastic. Some were folded and sealed in bags and stacked on shelves, while others hung from hooks. A couple faced directly toward the front, like the Wonder Woman and doctor costumes for adults, while the rest you had to flip through.

  “It looks like these are the kids’ ones here, Linden,” I said, going to the far right. I pulled one out and snickered. “Look at this one.”

  It was a monster costume with a mask and a loose suit that reminded me of a onesie pajama set. There were spikes on the back, a big tongue lolling out of the mouth where the child’s face would be, and the whole costume was covered in ugly fake boils.

  “It’s hideous,” I said.

  Linden scrunched up his nose at it. “I don’t like it.”

  I set the costume back, and we proceeded to flip through each and every one, taking our time with it.

  Linden loved Halloween. Always had. He didn’t love it more than Christmas, of course, because there was nothing better in his mind than a fat man in a red suit leaving presents u
nder a fake tree in our living room, but he did adore dressing up in a costume and getting free candy.

  I guessed all kids liked that part.

  Growing up, I didn’t have access to cool Halloween costumes. My parents struggled financially, so I was the kid who wore a white bed sheet to be a ghost one year and wore the same sheet to be a toga the next. I always had a good time, but there was no denying I wished I could have one of the cool, flashy costumes the other kids wore.

  Ever since Linden was old enough to trick or treat, which had been the last two years only, I’d made sure he had the costume that made him the most excited.

  This year would be no different.

  Linden let out an excited sound and pulled a costume off the wall. “Look at this one.”

  “What do you have?” I wandered over and held up the costume in the bag. I laughed. “A ninja. Nice. Just what you first wanted. Should I ask the lady if you can try it on?”

  “Please,” Linden gushed, reaching for the costume.

  The thrift shop owner took Linden to the far corner of the store where the one single fitting room was. She held back the curtain for him, and he slipped in. Then she let it fall and turned toward me with a smile. “He’s very sweet.”

  “He is,” I agreed.

  “Most children come in here and wreck my display. Kids will be kids, I suppose, but it’s nice when someone comes in and appreciates the order and tidiness.”

  I could only imagine what it would be like having a bunch of kids come in all at once, wreaking havoc on your display. “You have a lovely shop.”

  Linden came out within a minute or two. He had the costume on backward, for starters, and the sash that went around the waist was loose and hanging around his thighs. I tried not to laugh, but he looked more like a black unraveling mummy than he did a ninja.

  “Let me help you.” I dropped to one knee in the fitting room and helped him adjust. Once the costume was facing the right way, I showed him how the sash worked around his waist. “You see, ninjas would wear it tight, and they could slide their blades between the cloth and not worry about getting cut.”

  “Oh,” Linden breathed. “Cool.”

  “Very cool.” I pulled the sash tight and tucked the loose ends under. “There you go, champ. All done. Let’s look in the mirror.”

  As soon as my son saw himself in the mask and the black outfit, I knew it was a done deal. He clapped his hands together, turned in a full circle, and looked pleadingly up at me.

  I giggled. “It’s all yours.”

  The shop owner gave us two free plastic blades for free. Apparently, they’d come with another costume, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out which one it was, so she wanted Linden to have them. I appreciated it, and so did Linden, who tucked them into the sash at his back.

  Some parents might not agree with letting their child’s Halloween costume contain weapons.

  In my world, they were just plastic. And it was just for fun. And for a couple hours.

  While we walked home from the thrift shop, Linden told me all about his plans to get as much candy on Halloween night as possible. I listened, thankful for his company and the distraction of the conversation.

  I’d spent my entire day at work thinking about Jace, who hadn’t been in school because he took his class on a field trip.

  I hadn’t seen him since that steamy night in his truck on Friday after the dance. Well, I hadn’t seen him in person. I’d seen him in dreams. And felt him there, too.

  Chapter 17

  Jace

  My classroom rumbled with conversation.

  The kids were twisted around in their seats, discussing their new assignment: speeches.

  I knew this was a touchy subject for a lot of students. Hell, most of them. Nobody liked to get up in front of a room and give a memorized speech about a topic nobody else really cared about. I understood that.

  I also understood that it was a mandatory part of the curriculum.

  “All right, all right,” I said, calling the room to order.

  Silence settled within fifteen or so seconds, and I waited until I had their whole and undivided attention.

  Then I leaned against the white board and crossed my arms. “I know you don’t want to do this. I wouldn’t want to either. But it’s mandatory. So we’re doing it. But come on, guys. Give me a little credit. Did you really think I was going to throw you into this without at least trying to make it a little fun?”

  The students looked at each other.

  I clapped my hands together, startling some of them. “Now, what are some of the things you hate the most about having to give a speech?”

  Five hands shot up at once, and as I called on them, they gave me their answers:

  “I don’t like everyone staring at me.”

  “I can’t memorize that much, and I don’t want to lose marks every time I look at my cue cards.”

  “The topics are always boring.”

  “I can’t stop shaking when I’m up there.”

  “I’m a student, not a teacher. Why should I have to teach about a subject of my choice?”

  I nodded appreciatively for their input. “I get it, guys. Speeches suck. But they don’t have to. I think we can pull it off and make them a bit more fun. What do you guys think? Do you have faith in me?”

  Most heads nodded. Some didn’t—those that were truly frightened by public speaking, I imagined. It was good to take note of. I’d pull them aside privately and discuss it one on one with them. If they were truly horrified of getting up there, I wouldn’t force them. They could read their speech to me sometime after class if they wanted to. I refused to let them lose marks for it. That wasn’t my style.

  When I was in high school, speaking in public hadn’t rattled me in the slightest. But I had friends who’d turn white as a sheet and sweat profusely just at the thought of it. Those same friends ended up with college degrees and in careers that required speaking in public, and when it was something they were passionate about and they were in the rooms with the right people, the speaking wasn’t as scary. It was just part of the job. And they excelled at it.

  But hormonal teenagers who were consumed with worry about what others thought of them? They had a right to be afraid of public speaking.

  And adults who were so far removed from that reality weren’t in a place to tell them otherwise.

  “Bear with me here.” I turned my back on them to face the white board and plucked a dry-erase marker from the ledge. I popped the cap off and began scrawling on the white surface. “The most important thing to enjoying yourself up there is to have something you actually want to talk about. Right?”

  Crickets. Nobody said a word.

  I looked over my shoulder at the students. “Right?”

  “Right,” they echoed sullenly.

  “Good. Look alive, people. Every time speeches have come up in your other classes, you receive a list of topics to choose from. Correct?”

  “Yes,” they all said in unison.

  I turned to face them. “How shitty is that?”

  Some of them snickered. Others nodded.

  “It’s shitty,” I said decisively. “It zaps any enthusiasm you might have about this project. If nothing speaks to you on that list, which I’m sure it doesn’t, then there you are, left to write a speech about a topic you don’t care about, to deliver to a room of people who also don’t care about it. And then boom. All you’re left with is a bunch of anxiety and irritation. Right?”

  “Right,” they said, more enthusiastically this time.

  “Okay. So. Let’s change things up. No list. No assigned topics. You choose whatever you want.”

  One of the boys in the front row looked around and then up at me. “Whatever we want?”

  I met his stare evenly. “You have to get my approval first, Jensen.”

  “Damn,” Steve Jensen muttered. The classroom chuckled as one unit.

  I chuckled too. “Good try, though. So today
you have one task and one task only: choose your topic. You can discuss with your classmates and see if they’re curious about your chosen topic. Let’s create some excitement around this. Let’s flip that expectation. You guys are good at that.”

  “Mr. Reynolds?” Lindsay, one of the best writers in my class, raised her hand. She had shocking blonde hair and big blue eyes.

  “Yes?”

  “Can we have some topic suggestions? Being able to choose anything is a little daunting.”

  “Sure,” I said, turning back to the board with my pen. “Call some out, guys. We’ll generate a list of topics you can choose if you’re struggling to select one of your own. Come on. Call ‘em out. Whatever you think of. Go.”

  Our list exploded on the board. We had topics ranging from teenage mothers to species extinction. We had veganism and the dangers of agriculture and animal slaughter. We had the names of famous athletes and actors, television shows and book series. We had it all.

  When there were a good twenty-five subjects on the board, I put the cap back on my pen and faced the room. “Discuss amongst yourselves. When you choose your topic, come to my desk. If I approve it, I’ll write it beside your name. You have until Friday to change your topic if you want, but after that, you’re committed to the one written beside your name. Fair?”

  “Fair,” the room said.

  “Good.” I grinned. “Now get to it.”

  The bell rang for lunch. I had three students clustered around my desk, all of whom were putting in their topics and waiting eagerly as I scrawled it beside their name on one of my old attendance lists. Not a single student abused the freedom I gave them. All the topics were responsible and worthy of a discussion, and I was excited to see what they came up with.

  This was the trick to creating good relationships with the kids. You had to give them a bit of freedom and meet them halfway if you wanted them to thrive. And that was all I wanted. I wanted them to come to my class and feel wanted, like they had something to offer. Because they did. Each and every one of them. Regardless of the home they came from or their raising, they were all brilliant in my eyes, and that was the standard I held them to.