Madison turned to the others. “Now go back to your tables until I call you.”
“You,” I said as the boys scampered off, “are a lifesaver.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Madison hissed. “You don’t do centers on the last day of school!”
“But—”
“Honey, this may be your first rodeo, but believe me, the last day of school is not for learning. It’s for the kids to junk out on movies while you clean your little heart out so you can check out of your classroom as fast as possible.” Madison grabbed the broom and dustpan from the corner and began to sweep as though she swept an entire bin of sand off the carpet every day. But then, she’d been teaching for longer than me, so she probably had.
“They’ve watched movies twice this week,” I protested weakly. “I didn’t want to give them a third one.”
“If you want to keep them busy, have them throw away markers that don’t work, or have contests to see who can find the most glue stick caps. But good grief! Don’t give them anything that they can twist into a weapon to use against you.” She looked up at the children, half of whom were under or on top of the tables.
“All right,” I called, “I want the red shirts to go to the carpet.”
“What movies do you have?”
I went to my desk and grabbed three DVDs I’d picked up at the library. Madison cringed when I held them out.
“Really?” She shook her head. “They didn’t have a single cartoon?”
“Weather was our last science unit.” I sniffed. “It’s not going to kill them to have their lessons reinforced.”
“So you picked tornadoes.”
“Hey, these things are dangerous.”
Madison rolled her eyes, but I was undeterred.
“You might not realize that because you’ve lived here all your life. But for us newbs…” I poked my friend with the DVD case, “these are the best safety videos for kids that I’ve ever seen.”
“You’ve lived here since high school. You’re not a newb.”
“I don’t watch tornadoes from my porch with a glass of sweet tea. I’m hiding in the basement. With all the sane people.”
Madison paused then grinned. “You’re right. You’re a newb.” She went back to sweeping, and I turned on the movie then jumped into stuffing piles of paper into the kids’ take-home folders.
Once the children were all, more or less, seated on the carpet and watching the movie, Madison finished sweeping then helped me take posters off the walls and stack the chairs in record time. Finally, I was able to step back and breathe a sigh of relief. All but one of the bulletin boards were clear of everything, even their background cloth, and the crayon trays were finally empty. Cleaning the classroom might actually get done.
“Do you think I could leave this up over the summer?” I stared up at my beautiful butcher paper castle, the one that stretched from the floor to the ceiling with little windows all over it to showcase student artwork. Its pink and blues were a bit faded, but I still thought the nine-foot “monstrosity” (as Sam Newman called it) was pretty.
“I wouldn’t.” Madison grimaced at it. “If they decide to change your classroom mid-summer, you’ll have to beat whoever gets the room back next to take it down. And believe me, you’re not going to be in a hurry to end your summer break that way.”
I sighed a little, but she was right. So with a heavy heart, I took the last piece of my first year of teaching off the wall.
We were struggling to move the broken overhead cart as the bell signaled the final fifteen minutes of the day.
“Where are your kids?” I asked as we shoved the cart into the corner.
“DeBaux’s got them in her room watching a movie. I thought you might need help, and she volunteered to take them. Hey, before I go,” Madison glanced back at the clock, “there’s someone I want you to meet.” Her blue eyes danced.
“So that’s what this was about.” I put my hands on my hips. “I told you, I’m not going on any more of your double dates.”
The bell rang again, and Madison’s grin just grew. She arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Don’t think you’re being saved by the bell. I’ll swing by to finish this conversation after my kids are all gone.”
I waved dismissively at my friend, but after she left, I didn’t have time to mull. There were backpacks to hand out, dozens of stacks of papers, art projects, and supplies to send home, and a final goodbye to say to my kinderbabies before seeing them again next fall.
That part was harder than I’d expected it to be. My eyes stung as I smiled at each of my students as they gave me goodbye hugs. Even Jose, who had seemed to think it his sole purpose to make me gray at the ripe old age of twenty-three, cried and clung to my legs, his mother trying desperately to pull him off. I knelt in front of him and he threw himself into my arms, and I rubbed the little boy’s back as he sobbed into my shoulder.
