“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I don’t care for the processing maraschinos go through. There’s no real cherry flavor left over and it’s mostly corn syrup and food coloring. Why bother if you’re basically eating a gummy bear packed in juice?”
I nodded. “Why indeed.”
Gennie presented the pirate juice, complete with reusable straw, saying, “This will give you big energy.”
I took a sip. Ginger ale and home-preserved cherries. And we called it pirate juice. “It’s wonderful. An authentic elixir of the high seas. Thank you.”
She beamed. “What do you want for a snack?”
“I’m not sure,” I said between sips. It was a major throwback but it was beautifully cold and the cherries offered just enough sweetness to perk me up.Perfect.“Do you have any Cheez-Its?”
“What? My god, no,” he replied, slashing a hand as if I’d offended him. “Gen, get the cheddar Wheatie brought over last night. And the sourdough. It’s in the pantry.”
“Aye aye.”
“The elementary school, then,” he said to me.
“Yeah.” I watched as Gennie set a wedge of cheese on a plate and then jabbed a knife into the heart of it. My eyes round, I blinked up at Noah. He glanced at her and shrugged. “I’ll be taking Mrs. Calderon’s second grade class through November or so.”
“Mrs. Calderon is the nice second grade teacher. Everyone says so.” Gennie unwrapped a small round of bread and plunged a knife right into that too.
When I gave Noahis she allowed to play with kniveseyes, he said, “Butter knives. And it’s the pirate special.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
His only response was a lopsided grin. “Second grade. That’s good? That’s what you want?”
“Yeah, I can hang with second graders. They’re fun bunnies. Not as fun as the cool cats in kindergarten, of course. I’m just a little”—I brought my hands to my temples, let my fingers wiggle—“frazzled. I thought I’d be doing the daily assignment thing. Covering whichever random classes came up. Now I’m starting the year with a class and I only have the next few days to prep. It’s a big shift. Mentally and…everything else. Like I said. Frazzled.”
Gennie carried the bread and cheese—and the knives protruding from each—to the table. “Can I tell you my big good thing now?” She bounced on her toes as she spoke.
“Of course. Tell me. I need to know.”
“I’m not a cool cat.”
I blinked. “What? Say that again?”
“You said kindergarten kids are cool cats but I get to go to first grade so I’m not cool.”
She was beaming ear to ear, her whole toothy grin taking over her face and narrowing her eyes into happy slits. I jumped up, wrapped my arms around her. “You’re not cool at all,” I said. “Now, you’re fab. Totally fabulous first grader. It’s way better than cool.” I turned to Noah. His arms were still crossed and that lopsided grin hadn’t gone anywhere. “I thought your meeting was at the end of the week.”
“It was. They called this afternoon, asking if we could come in because there was a scheduling issue.” He lifted a shoulder. “I think the scheduling issue was a result of me sending some documentation from the psych about an evaluation, including specific recommendations for additional layers of special needs support.”
“I showed them that I read extra good now,” Gennie said. “And did some stupid word problems too.”
“I am certain you were incredible,” I told her. To Noah, I added, “Sounds like you did pretty well for yourself too.”
He met my gaze and held it for a long moment while Gennie bounced and twirled between us. Slowly, he tipped his jaw down, and for the briefest of seconds, his stare dipped to my mouth. What wasthat?
“Are you gonna take the bus to school?” Gennie asked.
Noah met my eyes again. “Shay doesn’t ride the bus. Never has.”
“Because Noah takes pity on me,” I replied.
“Because—” He shook his head. “Teachers don’t ride the bus. Sorry, kid.”
She looked up at me. “Can I go in your car? The bus sucks balls.”
