by Jo Noelle
When we walk into the school gym, I remember today is Beth’s due date, yet here she sits. I hope the party makes her forget she’s going overdue.
It looks like everyone is enjoying the evening. Girls join in the different activities while parents and neighbors visit casually. Liam asked to have the dance portion broken into two parts, one early in the evening and one at the end so no matter when students come, they can catch one of them. It was a great idea. Everyone did the “Hokey Pokey”, danced to “YMCA”, tried to do the “Boot Scootin’ Boogie”, joined lines for follow-the-leader”, and a couple of songs for regular dancing as well. Sometimes it looked a little like a mini mosh pit of jumping craziness.
Miss Torris stands beside me. “This is the best party we’ve had for the girls—ever. You’ve done a great job on this, but you look a little tired.” She takes my arm and pats my shoulder. “Why don’t you sit down for just a minute, slip your shoes off, and rest. I’ll come get you if we have a rush on the treats.”
“Oh, you are my fairy godmother.”
I sit and begin unstrapping my heels one sweet little buckle at a time. The blood returns to my toes as I pull out one foot, then the other. I wiggle and then point and flex my toes—Oh so good. I’m out of shape, well, my toes are. I need a regimen to increase my strength and endurance for wearing heels—toe-ups or toe-crunches or something. I’m not willing to give up Jimmy Choo, Stuart Weitzam, or Miu Miu. I could slip them on after work and maybe wear them over the weekend. There’s nothing like high, high heels to shape your legs with a beautiful ballerina curve to the foot and stretch the calf muscles. Truly, they work miracles, all the way up to holding your shoulders back and head high, all from a little four-inch heel.
Miss Torris is right beside me again. “I know you just sat down, but could you give me a hand for a moment?” I lift my hem a bit to show her I’m barefooted. “No one will even notice—your dress covers it easily. Then I promise I’ll let you sit again.”
I push my shoes back under my chair. She hustles me into the kitchen to plates some cookies and grabs napkins while she mixes up more punch and refills the bowl.
With that completed, I head back to my seat. Just walking around barefoot feels refreshing. I reach down, pick up a shoe, and buckle it in place. I reach for the other, but I can’t feel it. I lean over. I can’t see it, either. Peering down the row of chairs to my left and to my right, I don’t see it anywhere. It’s gone. I look around wildly.
Maybe it was kicked. I drop to the ground and put my head under the chair looking both ways. Or it was kicked, then someone found it and took it to Mr. Chavez, but he’s standing by his daughter, with no extra shoe. Or it was kicked and someone spilled punch on it and then hid it. I crawl over to the refreshments table and under the pink dust ruffle. No shoe.
Or worse, it was kicked and someone spilled punch on it and then threw it away. I pop up from under the table and run to the kitchen. I can imagine how gimpy it looks for me to run when only one foot has a four-inch heel. Several parents and students watch as I rise and fall with each exaggerated step. I begin pulling cups, napkins and plates from the large garbage can, stacking them along the counter.
Miss Torris’ voice rises above my panic, “Oh, there you are. That dear, sweet, gorgeous Liam is looking for you, something about a promised dance. I offered to take your place, but he said, ‘Only if the shoe fits.’”
A tear finally escapes and runs down my cheek.
“What did I say?” she asks.
“My shoe’s gone.”
“It’s alright,” she says, “I’ll help you look. Well, not in the trash, but you go see Liam now, then we’ll look together. I’m sure it will turn up.” She passes me a napkin and we leave the kitchen. I blot my cheeks and under my eyes. “Let’s see a smile.” Liam’s walking toward me, making that very easy to do as my eyes drink him in. “Very pretty. Now go dance with him,” she adds. I lean down to remove the left shoe but she whispers, “No time for that. Go.” I pretend to have another shoe and walk on my toes.
Did I mention Liam’s tux has the allure of an officer’s uniform? He went with the theme and wore a tux with tails, kind of old-fashioned, very elegant in a masculine shape. As I reach his side and take his arm, I see five chairs in a row in the center of the gym. In four of the chairs are girls from my class—Ellie, Anna, Addy, and Cashel. He leads me to the fifth chair and seats me, then turns back to the first chair.
The whole gym is silent and everyone is watching. I’m a little curious myself, since this isn’t on the agenda. He drops to one knee beside Ellie, (How many times have I imagined him just like that, only in front of me? Ooh-ooh, take a mental picture. This one image could feed my fantasies for a good long time) and produces my right shoe out of the pocket of his jacket. I gasp, my hands flying to cover my mouth. He has my Choo! The side of his cheek raises, but he doesn’t look at me.
He slips the shoe over Ellie’s foot and helps her stand. She walks in a little circle then sits down, and he removes the shoe. Mr. Chavez then comes to take Ellie’s hand, escorting her away to watch the rest of the reenactment. Liam moves to the next three chairs with the same attempt and result.
Oh, my gosh, these little girls are going to love this. They get to act out Cinderella in front of the whole celebration. I’m pretty sure he’s making an impression on them. Of course, few men are going to live up to this fantasy—it might make them very picky. Hold out for the fairy tale, girls.
Now he stands and moves in front of me, then kneels. Oh yes, Liam, I’ll marry you! I pretend. I lift my skirt as he moves the shoe toward my foot. On the pinky of his right hand is a diamond solitaire ring. Again, my hands fly to my mouth. He buckles the shoe on my foot and lifts me up as music starts. It’s Chris Brown singing “With You.” Not exactly the medieval-princess genre or even very elementary-ish, but very romantic.
I lean into Liam’s neck. My students dance with their dads while Liam and I dance. Okay, so I got carried away. Given the situation—he was on one knee and there was a ring in the vicinity—it made sense. This is a great fantasy. Moms and dads join the dance. Groups of girls dance in circles by holding hands and skipping around. For a few moments, I close my eyes and breathe Liam in.
As the music ends, Liam hugs me and returns me to the chair in the middle of the room. He kisses the top of my head, then drops to his knee again. I feel flushed, little girls are giggling, their moms are crying. “Sophie, I love you.” One hand cups the side of my face. “I love your eyes, your smile, your hair. I love the moments we’re together. I love you even when you are embarrassed and hoping no one notices …”
Oh, my gosh! Like now. You’re really doing this? I can’t decide if it’s embarrassing or wonderful. You know how in the movies, the screenshot fuzzes around the edges so only the couple is in focus—not now. I am acutely aware of my friends and students here with me.
“I wait anxiously to see you again when we are apart. I love how you love the children in your class, because in that, I see how you will love our children. Sophia Kanakaredes, will you marry me?”
I lean over with my hands on the sides of his face and press my lips to his ear. “Yes,” I whisper.
He answers simply, “I love you.”
“We didn’t hear your answer,” Beth yells.
“Yes,” Liam and I yell together. Then Liam removes the solitaire from his pinky finger and places it on my left hand. This time, tears flood my eyes. I drop to my knees with my dress billowing around us to wrap Liam in my arms and kiss his lips. I’m lost in kissing Liam. It isn’t me or him now. We are someone new together in this moment, and this is not enough. I know our friends want to congratulate us, but instead I pull Liam to the kitchen. This next part is not public.
Mr. Chavez’s voice fades behind us. “Everyone come to the floor for the ‘Macarena’.” I’m in Liam’s arms, his lips are moving with mine. This isn’t still part of the reenactment, right? Because he asked, and I said yes, and I have witnes
ses.
May 10, 2008
Newbie Blog:
Top 5—So You Want to Be a Teacher?
Maybe you’re just finishing student teaching or you have just accepted your first teaching position for next year. You might be returning from raising your family or perhaps you are switching careers. Anyway, here are a few of my thoughts, things I’ve learned or bits of wisdom to think about:
At number 5—The love and respect I have for my own teachers has magnified. I didn’t know what they went through to give me every chance for success. Thank you!
4—Go with my gut. I may not know exactly what to do, but my gut can lead me to the right steps to take and others to avoid.
3—I like being someone who can be trusted. Students trust me to care for them. Parents trust me to teach and protect their children. The community trusts me to prepare future citizens.
2—There’s a child just below my skin. I get to pull her out everyday and play.
And the number 1 thing I learned about myself from being a teacher—I get a high from watching a child’s face flash an “ah-ha’.” Nothing competes with changing someone’s life.
It’s the end of my first, and perhaps only, year as a teacher. That seemed like a sentence I might never say. My student teaching was a nightmare. I had a great career in real estate—I thought—and this gig was taken out of desperation.
Desperation, destiny, happy accident. Whichever. I’ll never be the same again.
On Thursday, Mr. Chavez drops by my classroom a few minutes before the end of the day and asks me to please come to his office after school.
“Are you in trouble?” Chad asks.
“Did you do something?” Sol follows.
“No, I’m not in trouble. Sometimes we just talk. The principal is a friend of mine.” Did I do something? I don’t think so. I can’t even think of a parent-something he might want to talk about.
After school, I head to the office. Mrs. Johnson smiles at me as I walk through the door. “He’s on sidewalk duty—the person who normally does it is sick and had to leave. Do you want to wait or shall I tell him you came in?”
“I’ll wait.” I take a seat by the wall. It’s the same seat I used last August when I came for an interview. No smell of rubber balls this time. Or maybe there is, but I’ve changed and can’t smell them anymore.
After a ten-minute wait, Mr. Chavez enters with a large red stop sign and wearing an orange vest. “Good. Sophie. Come in, please.”
I follow him to his office as he removes the vest and slides it onto a shelf with the stop sign. “I bet you’re curious.” A smile makes his eyes shine.
“Actually, I am.” Especially if it’s a good visit. If it’s a bad visit, then not so much.
“Mr. Wells came to see me today. He’s decided to retire. It was kind of a surprise, since he thought he’d like to stay a couple more years. But a few things have changed in his life recently and he decided now was the right time.”
“He teaches fifth grade with Mel, right?” Is he going to ask me to teach fifth grade? I don’t know if I can. Mel would help, but I’d spend another year as a newbie. Is it really that different?
“Yes, so we have an opening for next fall. Sophie, I’d like you to take his class. Would you be willing to teach fifth grade here next year?”
“Yes! Thank you. I’d love to teach with Mel. Her kids came in as tutors for mine and were so great with my class.”
“Thanks, Sophie. I’ll send in the paperwork to make it official. I’d like you to go meet with Mr. Wells before you leave today. First, I need to ask you a few questions, even though you have really been interviewing all year and we didn’t know it.”
After the interview, I leave the office and go to Mr. Wells’ room. He is sitting behind his desk at the front. The desks are in orderly rows. I look to see if they are screwed to the floor.
“Hi, Sophie. So it’s official, then?”
“Yes. I’ll be teaching fifth grade next year.” And that scares me a bit.
“Congratulations. Let me walk you around the room.” We begin at the sink and cupboards. He opens them and begins explaining the textbooks for fifth-grade curriculum. We barely get to the third door when Mel walks in to return some books.
“Mel, Sophie has agreed to teach fifth grade next year. I’m retiring, and she will inherit my class, my classroom, and everything in it.”
Mel squeals and drops the books on the counter. She says to Mr. Wells, “If we are losing you, I’m glad we get to keep Sophie.” Then she hugs me. “We can get together and start planning for next year. I like to be done in June so I can enjoy the rest of the summer. It will be great to be teammates. I’ll tell Gloria.” Mel rushes out of the room, and Mr. Wells resumes the tour.
A minute later, Mel comes back with Gloria, the other fifth-grade teacher. “I thought you were going to be with us for a few more years,” she questions Mr. Wells.
“Things have come up, and it seemed like the best time to go. Sorry for the shock. Sophie will be your new teammate. Jonathan made the decision today.”
“Congratulations, Matt. It’s been kind of a race to see which of us would retire first. I’ll be following you in a year or two. I’m happy for you.” Then she turns to me. “Welcome, Sophie. Mel says you’re going to be a great fifth-grade teacher. I’m happy Jonathan chose you. I can’t imagine there is anything you’ll need, considering we borrow everything from Matt, but if you do, please just ask.” She gives me a side-arm hug, then leaves. After we finish the orientation, I leave the fifth-grade room and look for Liam.
He’s pumping up balls in Mr. Samson’s room. “I heard,” he says, dropping the pump hose and hugging me. “Congratulations!”
May 16, 2008
Newbie Blog:
Nostalgic Snapshot
I’m beginning to box up my room, since I won’t be back to first grade next year. I’ll be teaching fifth.
I’m finding the oddest things. There was one small pink mitten, just the right fit for six-year-old hands, behind the bookshelf. A picture full of rainbows was crumpled against the corner behind the bucket for the playground balls. But as I move around the room, cleaning and straightening, it’s more than the stuff—I find memories of pushing swings, dancing in the middle of the room, putting on Band-Aids, stockpiling sanitizing lotion, and wiping finger smudges from the windows. There’s a little flower garden again out my window and dandelions are sprinkled across the lawn. Even the carpet reminds me of reading my favorite books, class meetings, and one Saturday picnic.
It feels strangely like cleaning off shelves for new memories and moving the old ones into crates for storage. I’m not ready for this.
Today is the last day of first grade for my students. We have an awards assembly before we go back to our rooms to say good-bye.
Students receiving awards from my class are Ellie and David for academic achievement. Chad and Jacquie received awards for 100% attendance. Yup, they were both here every day, all year.
Back in our room, my students gather on the rug for one last time.
“I’m so proud of all of you. You have worked so hard as first-grade students. I’m glad I was your teacher this year.” I dab at the tears streaming down my cheeks.
Joy and sorrow press to the front of my chest as I stand by the door to take a picture with the students as they leave. Ellie is the last student out the door. “Bye, Miss Kanakaredes.”
Apparently, she could say my name. “Bye, Ellie.” I pick up my purse and close the door to my classroom. I turn the key in the lock one last time.
“Sophie?” Mr. Chavez stands behind me, holding out another key.
“Thanks, Jonathan. Enjoy your summer.” I hand him the key to room 113 and take the key to Mr. Wells’ room, my new room, number 152. This feels like happily ever after.
I hope you enjoyed Newbie!
If you did, I would really appreciate it if you would
leave a review on the purchase site.
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Thank you!
~ Jo Noelle
And check out my other books!
Lexi’s Pathetic Fictional Love Life
Damnation
Years and an Ocean (coming fall, 2014)
And now, the first chapter of
Lexi’s Pathetic Fictional Love Life!
I know a lot about being unnoticed. Most of my life I’ve been increasing my expertise on both sides of that coin—watch others without being watched.
For research purposes, obviously, I sit at my regular table in a position that has a clear line of sight to Brendon’s usual spot where he has sat for the past two years, moving up the high school hierarchy with precision each August. The “cool” tables are arranged along twenty-foot floor-to-ceiling windows on the east side of the cafeteria. Glass doors at the bottom of each column of windows open onto the commons area, with picnic tables surrounded by grassy hills, also suitable for lunching when it’s not too hot. And in Henderson, Nevada, that means only in the winter, unless you don’t wear makeup and you feel quite secure in your deodorant choice. The tables on the north end of the room are for A-list seniors then juniors like Brendon then sophomores, and the furthest south are for worthy freshmen. My friends and I sit on the other side of the cafeteria.
Tifani waves at me from across the room. I wave and smile back. She’s a freshman, and she sits at a cool table. I’m okay with that.
