by Nella Tyler
I looked up when Terry Clarkson, the principal here at Blaine Elementary, walked into the open door of my classroom and cleared his throat. I checked my watch. We still had twenty minutes before the official start of the school day.
“Hi, Terry,” I said, smiling guardedly. He didn’t make a habit of visiting the teachers’ rooms first thing in the morning, choosing to keep to his administrative tasks. If anyone dropped by, it would be the vice principal, Rebecca Norwood. She was the one who walked the halls in the mornings and afternoons to make sure the students were behaving as they should.
Terry smiled back, but it was tight and controlled. I could see something was troubling him. He was a smallish man — no taller than five foot six — with thin, pale blond hair and dark eyes that were magnified by his large glasses. He was very good at his job, though, and seemed to sincerely care about the children at this school. He also went to bat for the teachers on a regular basis. I really couldn’t ask for a better boss. Still, his appearance in my classroom first thing in the morning gave me pause.
“Good morning, Abigail,” he replied, in his baritone voice. That had caught me off guard the first time I heard it. Such a deep voice just didn’t sound right coming out of such a diminutive man. It was great to watch people who didn’t know him hear his voice for the first time.
“Is something wrong?”
He stopped in front of my desk and sighed. “We’re having an emergency school board meeting tomorrow night, and I’d like you to be in attendance.”
My eyebrows came together into a slight frown. “What’s going on?”
“A few parents will be there to discuss different aspects of the Valentine’s Day lunch, including whether or not to have it in the first place.”
I sat up a little straighter, taken aback by the idea. The Valentine’s lunch was always a huge hit with parents and kids alike. We’d never had a problem in the three years I’d worked at Blaine. All of my kids were already looking forward to the event and would be crushed if it were canceled.
“The meeting will be tomorrow night at six in the library. Can you make it?” Terry was staring at me intently.
“Of course. I’m happy to support the school in any way that I can.”
He nodded once, looking relieved. “Thanks, Abigail. I’ll talk to you a little later in the day if I get the chance.”
I watched him go, troubled by the prospect of the emergency meeting. I’d already talked the lunch up so much to the students that it would really come as an unpleasant shock to them if it ended up getting canceled. I let the anxious thoughts revolve in my head for a few more seconds before getting up to continue the rest of my prep work for the day ahead. I was just about done. One of the children — a girl named Bella — was celebrating her birthday today. I’d made her a birthday crown out of construction paper in her favorite color, complete with her name printed on the front and stickers all around it. Our custom was to put the crown on the birthday boy or girl and sing to them. If the child’s parents had provided a sweet treat, we would eat it at that time. Bella’s mother had emailed to ask about food allergies for the kids in class, as Bella’s favorite cupcakes were peanut butter and chocolate.
I walked to the edge of the classroom to peek out of the windows. Kids were streaming by outside, talking and laughing in loud voices that they would have to keep quiet the whole time they were inside the building. The energy at the beginning of the day was electric. I could feel it moving under my skin and enlivening me for the day ahead. Every time I tried to explain how being at this school surrounded by all these kids made me feel uniquely alive, I was laughed at by my friends, but it was real.
“Miss East?”
I spun away from the window, gasping in surprise.
Sophia Reid was standing in the doorway, looking like a stuffed animal in her puffy blue jacket. He had on a pair of crazy pink and yellow stripped tights underneath a pair of blue shorts. She was earlier than usual.
“Good morning, Sophia,” I said, my face relaxing into a smile at the sight of her. But she didn’t smile back. She just hung in the doorway, staring at me with her wide brown eyes. I could see something was wrong with her, too. What was up with everyone visiting my room this morning? I wondered.
I crossed the room to her, took her by the hand, and led her to the reading carpet. We sat down together, crossing our legs the way we always did during story time, only now it was just the two of us.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” I asked in a gentle voice. I didn’t know why this little one tugged at my heart strings so much, but she did. There was just something in the way that she carried herself.
“Do you have a mommy?” Sophia asked in her tiniest voice.
The question struck me as odd, but then you never could guess what would come out of a child’s mouth. I’d been working with this age group since high school — first in a volunteer position and later, after graduating from college, in a paid position — and I was still surprised several times a day. Kids this age were smart, funny, and surprisingly perceptive, but they were also just too silly for words.
“Of course,” I said. “Why would you ask?”
“I want to go to the Valentine’s Day lunch, but I don’t have a mommy to bring.” Her eyes were filling with tears. I felt a sharp stab to my heart at the sight of her this upset.
“Come here.” I held out my arms to her, and she scooted across the carpet to get to me. I gave her a hug, resting my chin on the top of her head. She wept in my arms, her tiny body shaking with the strength of her sobs. My heart broke for her. I’d never met her mother, but I guessed the relationship wasn’t a very good one if she never got to see her. I’d only ever seen Mr. Reid, but it was never appropriate to bring up the complete lack of a Mrs. Reid. I had, however, noticed that he wasn’t wearing a ring.
I continued to soothe Sophia until her tears dried up. I kept her close to me, mindful of the time. Other students would be filtering into the classroom soon. Most of them stayed in the cafeteria where they could have a morning snack and chat with friends at their assigned table until the bell rang, but Sophia didn’t arrive early enough for that. She’d once told me proudly that her daddy made breakfast for her every morning. I tucked that tidbit of information away for later. Good to know Andrew Reid was a great cook on top of being drop dead gorgeous.
“I’ll be at the Valentine’s Day lunch without my mommy,” I told Sophia, who was wiping her face as she pulled out of the prolonged hug.
“But you’re a big person,” she replied.
“That’s right, but you can still bring your daddy with you.”
She shook her head very hard, her pigtails swinging from her shoulders to her back. “I want my mommy to come.” Her face crumpled again, and she dropped her head as her tears restarted.
I put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but I wasn’t sure what else to do. I didn’t know enough about her family situation to offer much more than this useless attempt at comforting her. I let my eyes dart to the clock at the back of the room. Other kids would be filing into the classroom soon, and I didn’t want them to see Sophia like this. If she didn’t calm down, I’d take her down to the nurse before the school day started.
Sophia pulled herself together just as the first few students began to enter the classroom. They were surprised to see Sophia and me on the reading carpet, but I sprang up and diverted their attention while she rose and walked quietly to her desk. I went to the door to greet the rest of the children as they came in, smiling and asking about their weekends, but keeping my eye on Sophia at the same time.
She was sitting quietly at her desk, not engaging in any of the conversations going on around her, just staring down at her nameplate. It hurt my heart to see her so upset. I wanted to be able to help her, but there really wasn’t anything that I could do.
The bell rang and the students’ voices quieted, giving me the floor.
I stepped in front of the dry erase board, a big smile on my face tha
t felt fake, and asked the kids who wanted to share about what they did over the weekend. Every single child raised their hands except Sophia, who just sat motionless at her desk as though she hadn’t heard a word I said.
I got through the rest of the morning by riding on the current of the children’s infectious energy. I was very concerned over the situation with Sophia, but I didn’t have the first idea of how to solve it. I could try talking to Mr. Reid today after school, but that could backfire. He might not want some teacher prying into his private life.
Sophia seemed to buck up a little around lunchtime, but she still wasn’t her usual happy self. I watched her closely for the rest of the day, waiting to see tears filling her eyes, but she didn’t cry again. At the end of the day, I walked the children out to the parking lot to meet their parents.
Mr. Reid was waiting next to his big blue truck, a bouquet of brightly-colored flowers in his hand. He grinned at the sight of his daughter, who seemed surprised at the sight of him this afternoon.
“Daddy!” she cried, and here was the first true sign of happiness I’d seen on her face all day: an actual smile. My heart unlocked at the sight of it.
I watched, blinking back relieved tears as Sophia crossed the parking lot and jumped into her dad’s waiting arms. She was going to be okay. Her father would see to it.
He lifted a hand to wave, and I returned the gesture. But I didn’t look away as he knelt in front of his daughter and put the bouquet of flowers into her arms. Maybe she’d told him about her worries for the Valentine’s Day lunch and this was his way of making her feel better. He couldn’t have known this when he was buying the flowers, but it made me feel better, as well. She had confided in him — the man who loved her most in this world — and surely he would know how to comfort her.
I watched the Reids drive away, my chest loosening for the first time all day. I turned and went back into the school, promising myself a hot shower and a glass of red wine as soon as I got home.
Chapter 5
Drew Tuesday
I made an early dinner for Sophia and me — a heaping pot of chili that we could have the rest of over the weekend — and we ate it sitting at the dining room table. Sophia was talking a mile a minute about her day at school and what she was looking forward to on Saturday, though we weren’t even halfway through the work week. I let her go on, mostly because I was happy to see her back to her animated self. I let my mind wander as she started describing the kinds of things she wanted for Christmas at the end of the year.
I had an idea of what I wanted to say at the school board meeting tonight, but I’d never done this before. I only knew that the idea of a parents’ Valentine’s Day lunch had knocked the wind so far out of my daughter’s sails that it had taken her days to get back to her old self. Things were hard enough for her as they were. She didn’t need this kind of shit adding needless complication to her life.
I cleared the dishes after we finished eating and chatting. “Get your shoes and jacket on, Soph. We’re going to a meeting at the school.”
Sophia’s eyes widened as her lips curled into a bright smile. “Will Miss East be there?”
“I don’t know. Hustle up and get ready to go. Don’t forget to grab a few activities to keep you busy while I’m in the meeting.”
She ran off to do what I’d asked while I rinsed our dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. I put away the leftover chili next and then rinsed out the pot. I gave the counters and the table a good once over with the sponge. I was just pulling my jacket out of the coat closet by the front door when Sophia came running downstairs. She had her shoes and coat on and was carrying a bag of what looked like toys and books.
“How much do you have in there?” I asked with a teasing smile. “Your whole room?”
She giggled. “Only half.”
I laughed, too, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
We went out to the truck, piled inside, and got going in the direction of the school.
“It’s weird to go back to school at night,” Sophia said. She was staring out of the window into the darkness. We didn’t go out after dinner on weekday nights. She had a strict seven thirty bedtime, though I gave her another thirty minutes of quiet reading time. But it was important to me to attend this meeting and speak about a matter that directly affected my daughter in a negative way. For the most part, I was happy with Blaine Elementary, and I thought Sophia had drawn the teacher lottery by ending up in Miss East’s class, but this Valentine’s Day lunch had really bothered me.
We pulled into the parking lot around the front of the building this time, not the one I used for drop off and pick up. There were several cars out here already; it was about fifteen minutes before six.
I took Sophia by the hand, and we went inside. The meeting was in the library, which was actually a great sized space considering this was an elementary school. There were seats set up in the middle of an open area, with a long table at the front behind which the members of the school board were already sitting. I walked Sophia to the rear of the open space where there was a small meeting room. No one was inside. I turned on the light and directed Sophia to the table.
“You sit there while I talk to the other grownups, okay?” I said.
She slid into one of the seats and put her bag of tricks onto the table. “Okay, Daddy.”
“Be good in here. I’ll come get you when the meeting is over.” I was about to close the door and leave when a thought occurred to me. I watched her for a second as she pulled a book out of her bag and readied herself to start reading. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
She shook her head, not looking away from her book. She was like Chelsea in this way, too — you couldn’t pull her attention away from a book once she fell into it.
“I went before we left the house.”
“Good girl, Soph.” I closed the door and crossed the room to take one of the seats in the back. If something happened with Sophia, I wanted to be able to jump up and take care of it, not be trapped upfront where I’d be forced to disrupt the meeting in order to leave.
A few more people streamed into the library in the next ten minutes while I waited in silence. Sophia’s teacher was one of them. She had on a pale blue dress that looked amazing with her long red hair. She took a seat in the front row, giving me the green light to stare at her without worrying about getting caught.
The meeting started right at six. The principal, who I’d met a few times before, was sitting at the center of the small table and appeared to be in charge of these proceedings.
“Thank you all for gathering here for this emergency meeting,” he said in his deep, booming voice as he looked to either side of him at the other members of the board. “Thank you also to the parents who voiced concerns about school lunches and the Valentine’s Day lunch, both of which we’re here to discuss tonight.”
As he went on about whatever the issue was with the school lunch menu, I let my eyes and attention wander in the direction of Sophia’s teacher. She was staring intently at the principal. I blinked and forced my eyes away from the fine shape of her seated in the front row. I wasn’t here to ogle the kindergarten teacher. I was here to stick up for my daughter.
I turned to look behind me at the room where Sophia was playing. I couldn’t really see into the room from here but the door was closed, which I assumed meant she was quietly reading inside.
“Is there a parent willing to speak?” Principal Clarkson asked.
I looked over at him with interest, but they were still discussing the lunch menu.
A woman rose from her seat a few rows ahead of me and all attention turned to her.
“I thought the district agreed not to serve fried food,” she said. “My son has come home twice talking about French fries being part of his lunch. That’s unacceptable.”
A few other parents stood to discuss similar conversations with their children. Sophia had never said anything about her school lunch to me besides
how much she enjoyed it every day.
Another parent stood to speak after the principal asked if anyone else had something to say on this matter.
“My daughter is allergic to peanuts and reported that the cafeteria was serving peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Coming into contact with peanut-related products could make her go into anaphylactic shock.”
I waited through the rest of this patiently in order to get to my turn. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, the principal moved further on in the agenda.
“I think we can agree that more work needs to be done to ensure that the school lunches are within the safe guidelines set by the district.” He’d already explained that the chicken nuggets and fries that were served in the cafeteria were baked, not fried, which had satisfied the first woman who stood up to speak. The other matters were going to be looked into.
“Who is here to speak on the matter of the Valentine’s Day lunch?” Principal Clarkson asked.
I stood up, trying not to notice the way everyone turned to look at me. “I’m Andrew Reid. I called in about the lunch.”
“The floor is yours, Mr. Reid.” The principal nodded in my direction, inviting me to go on.
I took a second to remember the points in my argument. It was simple, really. Or, at least it should have been.
“I don’t understand why the school is putting on something like the Valentine’s Day lunch with parents. From the handout my daughter received-” I pulled the handout in question from my jacket pocket and held it up where everyone could see it. “This lunch sounds like a big deal. Parents and their kids get dressed up and come to the school on a Saturday for a three-course meal.”
The panel stared at me with mild interest, but no one spoke when I paused briefly.
