“Come join me for what promises to be a wild game of Bingo up the road at White Pine Care Center. Nothing says fun like a room of octogenarians, full from lunch, fighting to win the coveted prize of twenty dollars.”
Nola makes a face like she can’t decide if I honestly mean what I’m offering. “Really?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die, it’s a pirate’s life for me,” I recite, as if this is a well-quoted promise.
“Why are you going there? Do you owe society community service hours or something?”
I chuckle. “No. My grandma is a resident.”
“Oh.” This seems to land in my favor the way she softens momentarily at the thought I’m visiting my sweet, frail granny. Righting herself again, she says, “It seems like a big ask to give up my extremely rare freedom to hang out withyouat a nursing care center. Why would I do that?”
“Because you want to do me a favor,” I say matter-of-factly. Her eyes narrow as she considers it, and I can taste sweet victory. Stella’s going to be thrilled, and I’ll have a chance to show Nola I’m more than the bar guy or the mean teacher or the soggy pirate.
“If that’s the case, then I’m guessing you won’t mind a little quid pro quo.” She crosses her arms.
I keep a poker face, knowing I walked right into that. She wants exactlyonething, and it pains me to go against my personally defined teaching boundaries, but before I can waveher off and tell her to forget it, Emma’s back. Her head volleys from her mom to me and she asks, “What’s going on?”
Without looking at her daughter, Nola says, “Coach just offered to let you make up your mile run tomorrow after school.”
Survivinga school day on Halloween was punishment enough. Now I have to stay after to time Emma’s run. It’s going to be less than ten minutes but it’s the principle of the thing. The smug smile Nola gave me after announcing the opportunity to Emma was stuck in my head all night. Self-satisfied but also so cute. I don’t know how she does it.
Emma finds me at the track and starts into some stretches.
“Are you ready for this?” I adjust my baseball cap and hold up my stopwatch.
Emma shakes her head. “My mom should be here any minute now—she’s going to run it with me.”
“Your mom’s a runner?” I’m not saying she couldn’t be, but when would she have the time? She seems busy taking care of everybody else.
“No.” She gives me a look that holds back a laugh. “But she promised me if you’d let me make up the run, she’d do it with me. I just have to do it in eight minutes and seven seconds for an A, right, Coach?”
I nod and watch a line of wild bodies, dressed in every conceivable costume, load onto a bus. In nine hours, this holiday will be behind us, thank goodness. “Are you going trick-or-treating tonight or are you too old?”
“Why wouldn’t I go? It’s free candy.” Duh, Max.
“You didn’t get enough at the carnival last night?” The handle on her bucket had been one fun-sized Snickers away from buckling under the weight.
She responds with an eye roll and looks past me. “Mom! Hey! Wait, why aren’t you in your workout stuff?”
Nola looks flustered as she hurries up to us, pulling her hair into a sloppy pile on the top of her head. “I know, Em, and I’m so sorry. My meeting ran long and I had to come straight here.”
“Didn’t you pack a change of clothes to throw into the car?” Emma lets out a frustrated sigh.
“Yes, and I forgot it. It’s sitting by the front door?—”
“Mom! You promised!” Emma’s usually a decent kid, minimal tween angst and sass, but this is unfair to her mom. It’s a run. A stupid mile run. I’m tired and ready to call it a week—it’s Friday afternoon and is it worth everybody being on edge over this grade? I can change it with a click of a button and an override allowance by Principal Bennett. I can fudge a grade somewhere else in the gradebook to make up for the zero Bennett knows Emma received for being gone. It’s not the end of the world.
The rest of the staff know these students better than me. I haven’t dedicated my career to helping them learn and thrive; I don’t know all their backstories and what makes them tick, but I can tell this is about more than just 5280 feet worth of running.
Instead, I say, “How about I run it with you? Would that be okay?”
She eyes me. “Really?”
“Yeah, why not? I mean, I’m not as fun to run with as your mom, but I’m planning on eating one piece of candy for everypiece I hand out tonight,” I pat my stomach, “so I might as well burn some calories up front, right?”
“Okay, but I set the pace,” she decides.
“Lead the way.” I toss my stopwatch to Nola, who gives me a grateful half smile, and stretch my arm out toward the track. Emma takes off and I jog alongside her.
