by Jo Noelle
“I love dandelions,” I say as my eyes begin to fill, remembering the day he sent my students in with hands full of blossoms.
“May I put it on you?” I nod, but my voice is unable to answer. He picks up the necklace and stands behind me. His hand brushes my hair over one shoulder, then he fixes the chain around my neck. When he kisses the clasp, my neck erupts in chills. “Let’s see.” His smile grows, and his eyes slide up to meet mine. “That is an amazing dress.”
The best part of the date follows as we talk and dunk marshmallows and kiss and drink hot chocolate.
I think about Liam a lot on Thursday, each time my hand caressing the little flower at the bottom of the chain.
November 17, 2007
Newbie Blog:
Pop Quiz
I have always wanted to give a pop quiz. There’s only one question and it’s multiple choice. Good luck!
1. What would you do if you had a student who has missed twenty-one days of school already (we’ve only had sixty days so far)?
a) Discuss attendance with parent.
b) Discuss attendance with principal.
c) Pick up the child on my way to work.
d) Arrange for student to walk with another student.
e) Call child’s home to wake up parent to wake up child.
f) Ignore the needs of the other twenty-three students so I can re-teach this student for thirty minutes one-on-one on the days she comes.
g) Keep student after school on the days she does attend to catch up missed lessons.
h) This is a trick question—it would never happen.
i) Find a way to punish the parents when child doesn’t come.
j) Pay her parents to bring her to school.
k) Call child welfare services.
l) Both A & B; that will solve it.
m) Find a tutor for the child, who is willing be on call to come days she comes to school.
n) Send home a thank-you note when she attends.
o) Enroll the child in summer school and weekend school and night school.
p) Hire her mother to work at the school and tell her she can bring her daughter to work with her.
q) Video record all lessons and send them home.
r) Adopt the child.
s) Keep her in for recess and lunch; suspend the “don’t-talk-with-your-mouth-full” rule.
t) Ignore it.
u) Send home an earnings estimate for someone who doesn’t graduate from high school.
v) Hold student back every other year; she will only be thirty when she graduates.
w) Give her prizes each time she comes to school.
x) None of the above.
y) All of the above.
z) There is no one right answer, but plenty of wrong ones.
No, really. What is the answer?
Kevin lays a black leather briefcase on the conference table and snaps it open. I used to carry a briefcase. I think it’s in the back of my closet. In fact, I have two in there. One is black and the other is brown. No, three. Another one is burgundy. I’ll have to pull those out tonight.
He places three files in front of me. “Let’s look at these first,” he says, drawing his chair close to mine, then opening the first file. “This home was built two years ago. The cost to build was $325,000, and the offer I received on it is for $225,000.”
Peppermint. His breath smells like peppermint.
“The mortgage is held at a local bank. I’ll meet with them on Monday to present the offer. I think it’s too low for the bank to jump on, but we can go back to the buyers and see if they’ll go up to something the bank will accept.”
“Do I need to do anything for this one?”
“Yes, take the offer back to the buyers and try to get them to adjust their offer up. Evenings work best for them. First I’ll call you, if the bank refuses.”
“How are we going to trade files as we work on the same deals?”
“Collin gave me a desk to use. Let me show you.” We stop at an office two doors down from Collin’s. Kevin got an executive level office? That means he’s a big hitter.
“Here’s a key to my office.”
His office. I guess, it is. My business is starting over again. I’ll need to find that briefcase after all.
“And this one opens the file drawers.” Kevin transfers his briefcase and the files to the desktop then sits in a heavy, mahogany chair beside me.
“Thank you for the flowers. They were beautiful. How did you know it was my birthday?”
“Collin has everyone’s birthday on a calendar at the reception desk. I just happened to notice it. I’m glad you liked them.”
Good. Collin’s calendar. It wasn’t personal—just business. “Shall we?” I ask, pointing to the files on the desk. We walk through the last two files and calendar appointments for the coming week. Then we exchange our cell phone numbers and email addresses.
“See you next week.” He stands while I rise to leave.
The room looks empty as I round the corner.
“Beth?” She’s on the floor under her desk rearranging the wires in her power strip. “Can I bring you lunch tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“And we’ll eat in my room.”
“Okay. Is it a special occasion?”
“Just you.”
My students are coming in as the morning bell chimes. I smile and say good morning to each of them, but what I’m really thinking is that this week is a very short week—only two days. Yay! So instead of today being Monday, it’s sort of Thursday. Tomorrow will be a Friday. Then I will have Saturday, Saturday, Saturday, another Saturday, and Sunday before Thanksgiving break will be over. The last person to come in is Mr. Chavez.
This is it, then—the drop-in observation. The first observation and the third one are scheduled, but the second one is a surprise—to the teacher being observed anyway. Mr. Chavez sits at my desk with his clipboard, watching and writing.
He’s here for our opening activities and stays for the math lesson. This lesson is cruising. He can’t help but notice that the students are all attentive and even coming up with the right answers. And the pacing is perfect. Let him write that. Then I panic—the last time I was observed everything was going well too…until Mark threw up. I glance around the room—anyone sick? Forty minutes later, it’s over, and Mr. Chavez leaves. Two down.
When I wake up on Tuesday morning, my eyelids feel dry and crunchy as my eyes peek open. It seems so much lighter in my room today, as if a car is pointing lights at my windows. My gaze swerves over to the clock. Eight twenty. It’s what time? Not only have I slept through my alarm, but it looks like I’ll miss morning planning time, too.
I fly out of bed and speed through getting dressed. No time for hair, so I pull it up in a messy knot. I’m out of the house in record time. The clock on my dash says eight forty-one. School starts in four minutes, and it will take me longer than that to get there. I hit the accelerator, then slow down but glide through the stop sign at the end of the block. After I turn the corner, I gas it again.
That’s when I notice the lights flashing behind me. Crap. It takes me a moment to register what to do, but I pull over to the curb, just a half-block short of the school’s parking lot. I retrieve the registration and insurance card from the glove box, and roll down my window. And wait. The officer is just sitting in his car, lights flashing. He could probably turn those off. I’m not going to take off, nor are we a danger parked at the curb. They are only drawing attention—lots of attention.
Students are walking by on the sidewalk, and parents are driving very slowly around us to pull into the school. Rubber-necking at five miles per hour might still be dangerous.
It seems like the street is very busy. Is everyone late to school today? Some students stop to look at the patrol car until their parents prod them on. One parent crouches beside my car and takes a picture on her phone. I can probably get a copy of it on the web in an hour or so. Ding. Ding. And now I’
m late for class. My head slumps forward and rests on the top of the steering wheel as the bell continues to chime. Ding. Ding. Ding.
The officer knocks on my car roof. I raise my head and look over. “Do you know why I pulled you over today?”
I just shake my head. My mind quickly guesses—running a stop sign, endangering pedestrians, speeding in a school zone. Yikes, bad headline—“Teacher speeds through school zone. Students take cover.” I don’t say anything. Why give him ideas?
“You failed to make a complete stop at the stop sign. I also noticed that you have a brake light out.”
“Oh, this is a new car for me. Well, you can see it’s not new, but it belonged to my dad. He died a couple of years ago. And since I didn’t have a car, and it is getting cold, I’ve been walking to work in the snow, so my mom let me drive this. The car is in pretty good shape, but I didn’t know about the light. I just work at the school right there…um…Which side?” I ask wagging my finger over my shoulder toward the back of the car.
“Passenger side. You’re late, then? I heard the bell.”
“Yes. I teach first grade. I don’t know what they do when the teacher doesn’t show up to start class. Do they let the students in, or do they just wait for me outside?” Besides maybe firing me. “It’s my first year.”
“I’ll just give you a verbal warning today. In the future, be sure you make a full and complete stop at the stop signs, especially near schools. And get a new light.”
“Thank you,” I say as he turns away. “Is it okay if I go now?”
He dips his head slightly, and I drive to the school. I grab the packages for my lunch with Beth and hurry across the parking lot. Not able to get everything, I’ll have to come back for the two twenty-four packs of Diet Coke and a grocery bag with Advil and Twizzlers in the back seat.
Schools have stupid no-running-in-the-halls rules. I rush in the front door and walk quickly toward my room, but screech to a halt to miss Mrs. Hays as she steps into the hall and walks in front of me. It’s the day before the Thanksgiving vacation, as her sweater clearly announces. It has a large cornucopia across the back, tipping from the left shoulder to the right hip. Fruits and vegetables are spilling out of it toward the front of the sweater on her right. On the left are two pilgrim hats. Stop staring.
As I enter my classroom, I notice that my students are working in small groups with a math assignment. I don’t see a teacher in the room right away, but then Mr. Chavez stands up from kneeling beside a group to walk over to me. I hang up my coat and stash my purse, then turn around to face him. “Do you want me to finish the lesson or would you like to take over from here?” he asks.
“I can take over. Thanks.”
“I would ask you what happened, but I don’t need to. Mrs. Johnson received half a dozen calls letting us know you were getting a ticket and wouldn’t be here on time.”
“Sorry. I should have called.”
His mouth tips into a slight smile as he nods and walks away, but stops at my classroom door. He turns around and walks back to stand in front of me, then leans close and whispers, “Spit out your gum.”
“Right.”
At lunchtime, I take my students to the lunchroom a bit early. When I get back, I cover the small table in my room with a linen tablecloth, setting places for me and Beth with real plates, flatware, glasses, and linen napkins. Then I run to the faculty room to heat up the stroganoff and rolls.
When Beth arrives, I have everything set.
“Wow. You’ve been busy.”
I lock my classroom door so no students will come in and turn us back into teachers before we finish. “This is our special Thanksgiving dinner to thank you for all you’ve done for me this year.” We hug each other and sit down to enjoy the meal.
When I check my email at the end of the day, Mr. Chavez has forwarded a picture of me and the officer I met this morning. Oh good—I don’t have to search the Internet for a copy after all.
On Thursday afternoon, when I return from my aunt’s house in Boulder, I call Liam to get the gate code. He tells me to park in the garage when I get there. He’ll have it open. Liam helps me out of the car and kisses me. “Where’s the Ridgeline?”
“In the third-car garage. How was Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Crazy, like being marooned with pirates. Half the group was under ten years old. It was really fun, but since I’m single, though older than a few of my married cousins, I sat at the kids’ table.”
As we step into the living room, Liam’s parents walk over to meet me. Liam’s face is a good mix between his mom and dad’s. Oh, his dad’s British accent is so cute!
“Please call us Neil and Laura.” I nod and turn to see Liam’s sister approaching us. And that’s what Liam would look like as a girl. He introduces me to his sister, Elise, and her husband, Paul.
“Those are ours.” Elise points out three wiry boys scrambling between the kitchen and the living room, calling out their names, but I’m not sure which is which. I do remember that their ages are seven, five, and three. The only family member I didn’t meet is Liam’s younger brother, Cole, who’s still in college but is skiing with friends in Park City this weekend.
I sit with Liam on the couch and the usual questions follow. “Where are you from?” “Do you have any siblings?” “What do your parents do?” (Tricky, but okay.) “Where did you go to college?” “How do you like teaching?”
Liam’s mom breaks up the interrogation by offering pie, and the party moves into the kitchen. “We have pecan or pumpkin. Which would you like?”
“Pecan, please.”
“Yes,” Liam’s dad hisses. “See, it’s not a waste to buy a whole pecan pie just for me.”
Liam’s mom smiles, pretending to ignore him. “Ice cream or whipped cream?”
“Ice cream.” I chuckle in my mind at the thought of a couple that owns hotels on every habitable continent arguing over the whether or not the price of a pecan pie is extravagant.
“I knew I liked you,” Liam’s dad adds, placing a fork on the small plate Laura passes me.
“Thanks.” For the pie, and for liking me for something as simple as a pie choice. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have siblings. Noisy. It would have been noisy, but in a very comfortable way. Three conversations are going on at all times. I like being part of this family, at least, for today.
I turn to Liam and ask, “Where are we eating?”
“Dining room table.” I must look surprised, so he adds, “We’re playing games.”
From across the dining room Paul points an accusing finger toward Liam as we enter. “Watch him,” he says with a smile that betrays playfulness. “He cheats.”
“Says the man who slides twenties into his own account whenever he’s the banker,” counters Liam. “At least go big and take the hundreds.”
Liam’s mom steps into the room with two pieces of pie. Apparently one of them is the second helping of pecan she knows her husband will want later, that she set down in front of him. “I think it’s a bad idea to play Monopoly with Sophie here. We don’t want to scare her off.” After settling herself at the table, she turns to me. “They all cheat. You’d think we use real money by the way they make side deals and condemn properties for ‘the public good’,” she says, raising her fingers in air-quotes on the last phrase.
“Then you can be the banker today,” Elise offers, but Paul bumps her shoulder.
I’m pretty sure they’re playing a different Monopoly than the one I know. “Public good?” I ask Liam.
“Oh, there are a few different rules,” Liam whispers conspiratorially in my direction. “The first move is always to file an LLC and create subsidiary companies to shelter your profits. We can pool our assets and create an offshore company, if you’d like. Then we can make money anytime they land on our properties through the exchange rate as well as rents.”
“I know you trust Liam, Sophie. But he knows how we play this game, and he might just be trying
to get your assets,” Neil warns.
“Exactly, what are the rules?” I ask Liam.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Paul bolts to his feet and points at Liam. “Not a word. She has to figure them out as we go along, just like I did when joining this family.”
“You’re right, Mom. This might be too much for their relationship to handle.” Elise wags her finger between Liam and I. “I can see where this is going. Liam’s proposing a merger with Sophie before we even start the game.”
Ooh, I like the sound of “proposing” and “merger” with Liam, but I’m sure my context is a bit different.
Neil pipes up. “Oh, it’s just a little game, a child’s game. What harm could we do by playing together for old time’s sake?” He hugs Laura’s shoulder, sliding closer to her.
The way he stresses “child’s game” makes me think he’s had his children in training for the business world for a very long time. The first rule of this game might be to watch Neil closely.
We’re about an hour into the game, and I ‘ve been stuffing half my profits into a separate stack. On my turn, I create a holding company for my green properties and file covenants and restrictions on the adjacent properties to limit their ability to build hotels and “spoil the view” from my properties. “Hmm, that would be your properties, Paul. Houses only.”
“She’s catching on,” Laura says, her eyes twinkling in my direction.
Paul and Neil have a partnership covering the corner with the orange and red properties surrounding Free Parking. Laura owns a small portion of the business as well. Every few minutes, Neil and Laura have been going to the kitchen for a drink of water, another piece of pie, or at each other’s request to “help them with something.” When they return this time, Neil announces that he sold his shares to Laura, and Paul must surrender the dividends to Laura to continue the partnership. Paul’s face drops as he begins counting his money.
