“Um,” I said, mind scrambling for something to say even as I tried to wrap my mind around what had just happened. “Listen, pumpkin. You’re, ah…you’re going to be staying here for longer than the weekend…so…”
Evanne didn’t seem surprised by that fact. At least I wouldn’t have to deal with a shock.
“…I don’t think I can swing pizza every single day,” I continued. “You’re going to have to get used to Daddy’s cooking.”
She wrinkled her nose. “All you ever want to cook is steaks. Steaks are made from cows, you know.”
“That’s not theonlything I…” I sighed. “Okay, how about a deal? Pizza tonight, and we’ll work out some meals we both like for the future. Ham and pineapple with extra cheese, right?”
“Right!” she said triumphantly. I guess Keli never explained to her where ham came from. Or maybe pigs just weren’t as cute as cows.
Who knew how the mind of an eight-year-old worked.
And who knew how long I’d have to figure it out now.
Eleven
Lumen
It was time.
As the assortment of parents and students came into the classroom, I tried not to show how completely petrified I was. It wasn’t just the normal nerves that I would’ve felt at my first open house at any other school. These were not the same sorts of people I’d grown up around. Kurt Wright was one of Seattle’s best, most exclusive – and most expensive – private schools, which meant the people were the best, most exclusive – and richest – in the city.
The generally older fathers wore suits, with the occasional younger sweater-wearing startup mogul among them. The elegant mothers wore pantsuits and blazers or fashionable but conservative dresses. All had more jewels on their fingers, around their necks, or in their ears than I’d ever seen. There seemed to be more mothers than fathers, and a few people who didn’t really seem to be either. My guess was nannies or tutors, though a few silver-haired men and women might’ve been grandparents.
Then there were the kids. All neat and clean and crisp and wholly unlike the children I’d spent my life around. Even the wealthiest kids at the schools I’d gone to growing up were nothing compared to the ones walking around here like they owned the world.
It must’ve been nice to have been born with that sort of confidence.
Hell, I wished I had that sort of confidence as an adult.
I had too many thoughts in my head.
The loudest of them was that the parents would know I didn’t belong, that I wasn’t qualified to teach their beloved babies. That they’d see me as too young or too poor or from the wrong school, the wrong side of the tracks.
Just wrong in every way that possibly mattered.
Even as all these thoughts paraded through my mind, I kept smiling and greeting everyone that approached, all the while trying to remember to breathe. The kids were polite, though I got the feeling some of them were only like that because their parents were here.
I supposed I’d find out who the problem children would be once things got started. Some of the parents were polite, but most were brusque, treating me the same way I assumed they treated all of their employees. Because that’s what I was in their minds. An employee.
One young mother walked in and took a look around my classroom with an instant look of disapproval. She was clutching her kiddo by the shoulders – a blond boy with hair shaved at the sides and neatly parted on top. He looked uncomfortable rather than rebellious, which was a good thing since I was pretty sure they weren’t just curious or looking ahead to where their child would be in a year or two. I only had two students I hadn’t yet met, and I had a feeling this boy was one of them.
“Howmanychildren are in this class?” she asked me, her voice sharp.
“Eighteen in total,” I said and offered my hand. “I’m Lumen Browne. It’s so good to meet–”
“Eighteen?” the woman scoffed, ignoring the greeting. “How is Skylar supposed to get proper attention with so many otherchildrenhere?”
The way she said the word made me want to ask her what she thought her precious Skylar was if not a child. I knew how to behave myself though. I had a lot of practice keeping my thoughts to myself and pretending that things were fine when they weren’t. These people might’ve known how to put on a nice face for polite society, but that was nothing compared to the lessons I’d learned growing up.
Which meant putting on a smile and pretending that I didn’t want to say something completely inappropriate for children.
“Hi, Skylar, I’m Ms. Browne,” I said, leaning down a bit to match Skylar’s height. “It’s good to meet you.”
“You too,” Skylar said bashfully.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” his mother enunciated each word carefully. To him, not to me.
