She had survived a year crunching numbers for the IRS. She had brought the high and mighty low with her ability to look deeply at the numbers and discover the terrible secrets hidden from everyday accountants and frauds. Lilly chewed on her lip and walked faster. Unfortunately, one of the aforementioned high and mighty companies had been newly purchased by her fiancée. Lilly had learned the hard way that her genius with numbers was not always a romantic asset. Student teaching at the online academy had been so refreshing, that after her breakup with Joshua, Lilly promptly decided to fall back on her second major.
Lilly neatly erased the gum from her mind and replaced it with a pleasing illusion. She was Anne of Green Gables, in a new hat, with fabulous shoes, going to the ice cream social, where she would gain useful information about sixth graders and their idiosyncrasies and change the trajectory of her teaching career forever. Surely the school principal understood these strange and confusing children.
But Lilly had to glean her knowledge without letting anyone discover how badly she and her students were getting on. No one wanted to discover that their brand new, fresh-out-of-college math teacher was being trampled by every twelve-year-old in the school.
She heaved the gray office door open and squeaked inside. Really, the school was made for Jr. High students. Why did the doors have to be so heavy? Lilly felt like a munchkin every time she had to wrestle them open. Although, at 5’1” she had noticed that several of her students already surpassed her in both height and girth. Perhaps the doors did not cause them as much consternation?
Besides, the students need not appear scholarly and in control like their teachers. Not at all. In fact, just today a whole gaggle of them had walked up to the library book drop, one at a time, opened the small door, looked inside, screamed, and run away waving their arms theatrically. A dozen kids had all perpetuated the same odd stunt before the librarian hustled out and shooed them off. Yes, appearing mature and in control was not high on her students to do list. That is, if they even had a list.
Mrs. Oropeza, the principal, was with a parent.
Lilly sat down in a small chair with polished oak arm rests and puffy mauve upholstery. There was time to update her goals for next week while she waited. She turned on her tablet and pulled up the document titled, “First Week of School—Goals and Achievements.”
Learn about my students, lay a foundation for mathematical appreciation, and enchant the minds of the next generation with the wonder and orderliness of the numbered world all around us.
Lilly considered a moment. She might have to bump those to next week. Although she had certainly learned a great deal about her students. They did not like math. A little part of her gasped inside, just from thinking the terrible thought aloud. But it was true. While several of her students had shown a fine aptitude for the subject, none of them delighted in the glory of numbers and their fabulous orderliness and predictability as Lilly had at their age. They seemed to prefer enacting crude pranks and commenting on Lilly’s height to actual educational pursuits.
There, she had crossed something off that week. She knew her students and their goals in life: to hide all the pens in the teacher’s desk up high where she couldn’t reach them without a chair, and to create less-than-flattering caricatures of their math instructor being fried under a magnifying glass on a sunny day, like an ant. Well, now she could move on to her other goals.
Lilly moved all but that single accomplished task to the next week and sat nibbling on a strand of her hair as she stared down at the tablet. Now, how to lay a foundation for mathematical appreciation when she couldn’t even get the little dictators, or large dictators, in some cases, to sit in their desks and apply their energy to a sheet of math problems? She did a search of the public library system and ordered a few books. Sixth Grade Silliness: Squelching Rebellion and Expanding the Mind, and the classic Parenting for Incompetent Weenies. There, no one could claim she wasn’t trying her best.
The office door creaked open and a weeping parent stumbled out.
The tall, willowy mom had perfectly coiffed, blonde hair and puffy, tear-stained eyes. The immaculately-dressed woman snatched another tissue off the office counter and slid out the door in a graceful flow of elegance and sobbing. Perhaps being tall wasn’t everything.
Lilly briefly wondered if the principal had made things better or worse. Would Mrs. Oropeza provide valuable insight into the strange minds of her students, or send her sobbing from the room despairing of her future as an educational professional? Lilly slid her tablet into her bag, held her head high, and marched into her boss’s office.
Mrs. Oropeza sat at her desk, her glittery nails clacking across the keyboard at a fantastic pace.
Lilly sat, adjusted her hat, and crossed her legs at the ankle so she could look down at the 1950’s inspired heels and gain a bit of strength from the fact that she was so nicely matched. The heels and the hat were perfection. She looked competent, and that was half the battle, right?
Mrs. Oropeza had added a few feminine touches that softened the institutional feel of the principal’s office. The curtains were also practical as they filtered the bold September sun streaming through the windows. “Just let me finish up this last e-mail and then I’m all yours.” Mrs. Oropeza clacked away for another moment, hit send, and then leaned back in her swivel chair and met Lilly’s gaze. “How was your first week, Miss Park?”
Lilly opened her mouth, intending to emit a few gushing words about the fabulous year ahead and revel in the perfection of mathematics and inspiring the next generation to make the world a better more organized place. Perhaps she had been overusing the word fabulous. Maybe another adjective …. nothing came to mind. Instead she managed a watery smile and mumbled, “Fine,” in a less than convincing manner.
“I see.”
Her boss’s black eyes were piercing and intent. Gracious, this was hard. Mrs. Oropeza seemed to see everything. There was even the hint of a twinkle behind that bold stare.
Had the woman heard about the day that a fourth of her second period class had leapt out of their seats, and for no apparent reason, rushed across the room and flung themselves on top of a pile of stacked chairs in the corner? Like a school of salmon flailing upon the waters of a particularly troubling waterfall, each child landed on the chairs, rolled to the floor, and then just laid there, inert for a moment, before calmly returning to their desks.
No, surely she hadn’t heard of the bizarre scene. Who would have told her? A student? No, the twinkle was imagined, although the intent gaze of her boss remained. Lilly shifted on the faded mauve chair, crossed and uncrossed her legs, and finally jumped up and paced in front of Mrs. Oropeza’s desk.
“I was hoping you could suggest some articles on sixth grade students, their habits and unique ways of looking at the world. Also, perhaps something about different teachers who have inspired sixth graders to achieve greatness. Is there an anthology or something: Great 6th Grade Teachers of the 21st Century and the Students That Have Changed Our World. Or an article would do, but I’d prefer a book length investigation into the teaching habits of successful educators, if at all possible.” Something tugged at Lilly’s hair. Breathless, she stopped pacing.
Mrs. Oropeza stared up at her with a raised eyebrow.
Perhaps, she’d been speaking too quickly. Too much info, too fast. Lilly swatted at the wispy curtains. The curtain clung to her hat. That was strange. She turned and gave the feathery bit of fabric a firm tug. The perky straw hat leapt from her head and dangled from the curtain. Lilly clapped a hand to her head, but it was not bare. Instead of her straw boater, the fragile curtain was plastered to her scalp, entrapped by maliciously chewed wads of gum. The hat swayed, suspended by stretchy strands between her tangled head and the rest of the gauzy curtain, which remained anchored to the wall.
Lilly covered her head with both hands and gasped in a breath. Oh, God, I loved school and mathematics so much. I was supposed to be a fabulous teacher. Why won’t the
math add up for me? It works for everything else. She turned to face her boss, attempting the kind of confident, professional smile that might make someone overlook the teeny weeny detail that one had just vandalized someone’s personal curtains with ABC gum.
Mrs. Oropeza stood. Her black heels sounded a quick staccato across the industrial flooring as she came and stood before Lilly. “Ms. Park, You’re not going to find those kids on a chart, or a scholastic article about tween angst. You can’t just read through life, sometimes, it must simply be lived.”
“Yes, but surely reading on the topic could help…smooth out the inevitable adjustment period that occurs in any new occupation.”
“Of course. I’ll e-mail you a list of helpful articles. I also want you to borrow one of my favorite books. It’s a compilation of short stories written by 6th grade students.”
“I’ve already read it, thank you. But the articles should be helpful.”
“Read it again. The stories are written by kids just like your students. Some wealthy, some poor, some bright, some struggling, some happy, some sad, and some who just don’t know what to feel. You need to truly see these kids, Lilly, not just study them. Start with the book and then get out into the community and actually meet them and their families. This will help. Believe me, I’ve stood in front of a class just like yours before. I have stood in your shoes.”
Lilly glanced down at her tiny heels and then up at the taller woman. She doubted it. Mrs. Oropeza had probably never felt small and insignificant and helpless a day in her life. Not that Lilly felt that way. Of course not. Well, maybe short, but not small. That was it; she felt just a smidge too short for the job when even her students managed to break the five foot barrier. “I’m not sure I have time for volunteering in the community, Mrs. Oropeza. I must chart out the rest of the school year again, taking into consideration the things I’ve learned this first week. My graphs all need realignment to the realities of…things, and—”
“Miss Park, is there anything we need to discuss about all the glue or silly putty or whatever that is in your hair? Is this an issue between you and your students that I can help resolve?”
“Oh no, of course not.” Lilly attempted to flip her hair in a careless fashion, indicating confidence and professional competence. She only succeeded in entangling one of her favorite earrings into the whole wad of pink goo and hair. “This just…you know how these things…I’m good, thank you!”
She couldn’t really think of a plausible answer for the presence of all the gum, unless she were to admit to being bested by a bunch of uneducated children. Lilly could say she tripped while carrying the garbage can to the dumpster. Or had been repairing the broken leg of a desk from underneath and gotten her hair stuck to disposed bits of chewing gum that the custodian had somehow missed, since yesterday, when he’d scrubbed every bit of gum off the desks at precisely 3:02. Or perhaps a terrible gum-launching clown that a child had invited to class for career day. Nothing came to mind that was not a pure and unadulterated falsehood.
“I’m just great!” Lilly exclaimed, while tugging subtly at the fragile curtain with one hand and trying the scrape the pink ooze off of her left eyebrow with the other.
Mrs. Oropeza nodded. “Of course you are. You will do just fine, Miss Park. The students are blessed to have you. But I insist. You need to volunteer more than you need fresh charts. Help out with art at the library, or for ‘pet a kitten day’ at the humane society, or maybe serve popcorn at a youth event. Something with kids, and soon. All right? Now, I believe the school cook has some shortening that will make it possible to separate you from my curtains, shall I enlist her help?”
Lilly nodded, hoping that the gesture would not be interpreted as a promise to teach twelve-year-olds how to knit or grill steaks or groom rabid dogs. She barely had time to update her charts and graphs for the year ahead. There wasn’t a minute to spare gallivanting around town with children. Everything she needed was lovingly organized within the confines of a plethora of nice, safe articles and books. Why on earth would she waste time volunteering?
3
Strudel, Teatime, and an Encounter with Wildlife
Lilly pulled up in front of her grandmother’s house and peered around the property for rogue wildlife before she opened the car door. Gran lived at the edge of town right at the base of a steep, forested mountain that contained all manner of fearsome beasts. Lilly couldn’t count the number of times she’d received a letter on Gran’s sunflower stationary and read some mention of a deer walking through her lawn, a raccoon stealing her garbage, or even a bear cub drinking out of her bird bath. The place was a disaster waiting to happen. It was a good thing Lilly had moved close by. Now she could unobtrusively sprinkle red pepper flakes around the border of Gran’s lawn and honk her horn loudly to discourage the encroaching wildlife. Lilly gave the car horn a few firm beeps and stepped from her vehicle.
She just needed to pick up her dog, give Gran a hug, and then she could take that long soak in the tub that her aching muscles and shortening-drenched hair required. Lilly crept toward Gran’s porch, whistling loudly to frighten the bears, and glancing behind the planters full of tomatoes for stray rattlesnakes. So far so good. She reached out to press the doorbell. A streak of black and white launched out the doggy door and bounded around her legs. The little dog sat back on his haunches, front paws waving out a hello. His tail whipped around like a furry little helicopter at turbo speed.
“Strudel! What are you doing outside?” Lilly scooped up her boisterous little Havanese and ducked inside with a furtive look over her shoulder. Was that a raccoon lurking in the bushes, noting Strudel’s presence and lack of woodsy skills?
A hand settled on Lilly’s shoulder. Lilly jumped, a shrill squeak betraying her before she could manufacture some kind of calm and dignified response.
“What did you see, honey? Is it another bear? They don’t cause any trouble, you know. The critters just lumber on through after nibbling a tomato or two off the porch. You shouldn’t get so worked up, gives you heart trouble.” Gran patted her shoulder one more time before turning her walker and zipping toward the kitchen.
Lilly considered mentioning that her concerns had been due to a possible raccoon sighting rather than a tomato-hungry bear, and then thought better of it. Why um…worry Gran when it was probably nothing? She set Strudel down.
The little dog galloped off. A chorus of high-pitched growls came from the other room. He had found the tennis balls stuck on Gran’s walker.
“Strudel!” If he made Gran trip…Lilly rushed into the kitchen.
Gran was pouring steaming water into a brittle blue willow teapot. She stuffed fragrant tea leaves into a heart-shaped diffuser and dropped it inside.
Strudel pounced at her walker with fierce abandon.
“Do you want honey and cream, dear?”
Lilly made a dive for Strudel but only nabbed a silky tail before he slid through her fingers. “Yes, I’d love both. Has he been after your walker all day?”
“Of course, all the dogs just love it. Now, stop sliding around the floor and come drink your tea, dear.” She placed a matching blue willow teacup in a saucer and slid it across the kitchen counter toward Lilly.
“He could trip you.” Lilly dove toward the speedy, black and white mop and bumped into Gran’s walker. A splash of tea sloshed across the linoleum beside her.
“Or you could knock me over crawling after him. Let’s just have a bit of tea and risk the dangers of the dog. You are much bigger anyway, dear. I think I would be safer if you just sat down and took a nice long sip.” Gran scooted across to the polished pine table and plopped into a chair with a soft yellow cushion.
Lilly sighed as Strudel zipped through her grasp one more time and slid around the corner to the living room.
His floor-length fur swooshed against the pale wood floors like a wispy little broom and his long ears collected anything that had escaped Gran’s broom. Crinkled leaves, a small feather that lo
oked as if it had come out of a down pillow, and a cough drop wrapper currently adorned his fur.
“Maybe you’re right, as long as he’s not destroying your house or tripping you up.”
“Of course I’m right. Now tell me about all the handsome men you met at work today.” Gran pointed to the other tea cup and raised an eyebrow.
Lilly scrambled up off the floor and settled onto the other yellow cushion. She took a sip of tea and gave a long sigh. It was good, but Gran was relentless. “All the male teachers, the custodian, and the assistant librarian are married.”
“Really, the assistant librarian?”
“He is retired, Gran, and needed something to keep him busy and out of his wife’s garden.”
“I suppose that makes sense. Well, what about church? Or the grocery store? Maybe the bowling alley? You can’t hide out like a hermit forever, dear.”
“I haven’t even unpacked all my boxes, Gran. I’ve been in town all of a month. I’m not hiding out, I’m prioritizing.”
Gran pushed a plate piled with soft molasses cookies across the table.
Lilly took one and stared down at the crinkly, sugar-crusted top. It was still warm. She closed her eyes and let the scent of butter and molasses sooth away the sharp reply that jumped to her lips. Gran was only trying to help. Just like at Christmas. Lilly’s eyes narrowed. She crammed the cookie into her mouth, forcing herself to slow down and address the issue with a bit of tact. She swallowed and dabbed at her mouth with a floral napkin.
Gran stared at her with wide, brown eyes.
Perhaps she had devoured the cookie a bit more savagely than was absolutely necessary. “About my social life, Gran. People are still teasing me about that whole “Virgin Mary” thing. I think I should lay low for a while and let all the eligible men sort of wander my way, naturally.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, dear.”
Spider Gap Page 2
