“You sound just like her now,” I said, throwing a barb. “You’re all cheerleader pep and exclamation points.”
She fluttered her lashes at me exaggeratedly. “That’s because we’re best friends.”
Tired of her antics and realizing she was luring me into a battle I didn’t fully understand, I said, “Byeeeee. I have to get ready for work now.”
Teagan was at the door now. “You’re going to do great, by the way. The kids are going to love you.”
She disappeared into the hallway before I could release my shaky breath. Was that true? Were they going to love me? Hate me? Run all over me?
Oof, time would tell.
To be specific, thirty minutes was all it took before I had a classroom full of bashful first graders. I knew the quiet timidity wouldn’t last, but while I was still learning their names and calming my own nerves, I would take it.
After a little wrangling, confusion, and chaos, I managed to get all sixteen of them in their seats. From when I taught in Denver, I knew how to manage a morning meeting and get the day started. But first, I needed these little guys to trust me.
“I’m Ms. Haden,” I told them with my brightest smile. “I’m going to be spending the next few weeks with you while Mrs. B. recovers from having her baby.”
A hand shot up from the back row of the morning meeting mat—a little guy with glasses and a bowl cut. I debated asking him to wait as I had more to say, but I wanted them to know they could always ask questions.
“Yes, bud?”
“Is it true you killed Mrs. B, and stole her baby because you’re actually evil?”
My jaw unhinged. I had been expecting a little pushback. First graders were doggedly loyal. My own first grade class back in Denver had been devastated to learn I was leaving at the end of the year, even though they were going on to second grade and wouldn’t have me as a teacher anyway.
But was I expecting to be called a murderer first thing this morning? Erm, no.
Before I could figure out how to respond to that highly inappropriate and inaccurate question, he continued with an adorable six-year-old lisp, “I heard you’re a serial killer.” He cupped his mouth with his hand and dramatically whisper-shouted, “She kills all the teachers she substitutes for.”
A blonde girl in pigtails burst into wailing sobs to my right. A red-headed girl who was small even for a first grader, jumped to her feet and shouted, “You’re a liar, Brody Perkins!”
The blonde girl continued to cry while I scraped calming words together. “Okay, settle down, class.” I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’m not a murderer! And Mrs. B. is safe and healthy, and so happy to be with her new little guy. I can show you pictures!”
A few students leaned forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Facebook page I was going to frantically pull up for a Delia Belcher from Kansas—hoping upon hope she would havealready posted pics of the baby. And that she had a public Facebook account.
Not my greatest plan ever, but desperate times . . .
The floppy-haired devil-child jumped to his feet. “She’s a murderer!” And while I was shouting my denial over the growing commotion and wondering how to turn this psychotic propaganda into a positive message, he ran for the door.
“Wait!” I yelled after him. “Stop!”
But he did not stop. He bolted out the door like he was a child-size Olympian sprinter.
I met the red-haired child’s eyes as she crossed her arms and huffed out her annoyance. “He always does this.”
“He accuses substitutes of being murderers and runs away?”
She shrugged, wearing the over-it expression of someone who was so tired of her classmate’s bullshit. Girl, you and me both.
She widened her eyes at me and jutted her chin like I was the one trying her patience now. “Well, go get him.”
Oh, right.
So off I went, into the hallway in my Birkenstock mules, knowing they were the worst, slippery shoes I could have worn when chasing down a child. Especially a fast child.
Good grief, what was I going to do?I’d forgotten my walkie on my desk. I’d forgotten my phone in my purse. I’d forgotten my way around this ancient school building.
And I’d forgotten how to be a teacher in the six months I’d been on hiatus when all my life plans had fallen apart.
