Flint
The last day of school before Thanksgiving break is always hellacious. It’s long. The kids have the energy of caffeinated squirrels. The PTA always brings in snacks to help us get through, but I don’t want snacks today.
I want the day to beover.
It’s been too many damn days since I’ve seen Maisey alone, and I want her. I want her at my house or hers, naked, in my bed or hers, my shower or hers, my living room or hers.
What I don’t want?
Her walking through the hallways handing out gingerbread turkeys and miniature pumpkin pies.
And I want to not feel weird every time I catch June Spencer looking at me during second period.
All my classes had tests yesterday, which served the double purpose of giving the kids a fighting chance at doing well and also letting me have today to grade the tests in class while they play math games in small groups.
Or so the theory goes.
In actuality, my students are far more interested in asking me questions all day than they are in entertaining themselves while I do my grading.
Especially in second period.
With June right there in the second row.
“Mr.Jackson, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
“Mr.Jackson, will you be at the parade?”
“Mr.Jackson, are you boycotting the shopping again this year?”
“Mr.Jackson, what should I get my boyfriend for Christmas?”
I finally give up, toss down my grading pen, and prop my feet on my desk. “Okay. You win. Go around the room. What’s everyone doing for Thanksgiving?”
It’s the usual stuff.
Going to Grandma’s. Someone’s hoping their dad doesn’t catch the garage on fire again when he fries a turkey. One family’s going skiing. Another’s hosting out-of-town family.
And then there’s June. “I’m going to see my dad and his snack of the week,” she announces.
She has a cool delivery that says she wants to not care, and she wants to not care what anyone else in the room thinks about it, but she also shoots me a look like she wants to know whatIthink of that.
“Does he have a new one?” Hugh asks her.
She shakes her head.
“Ew,” someone else says. “Do you think they’re going toget married? I saw last week’sPeople, andPeoplesays he’s gonna pop the question.”
June flinches, but she also sets her jaw the same way I’ve seen Maisey set her own jaw dozens of times. “He’s just being a guy.”
“Abigail,” I call. “Your turn.”
“Isn’t that just like a man to have to get married right away again because he can’t take care of himself?” Abigail replies.
June lifts a single shoulder.
“Abigail, your turn is up. Next? Sariah?”
“Do you think she’s actually nice?” Sariah says to June. “Like, I always thought your mom was a total airhead from watching her show, but that was all fake. Your mom’s really cool. So is your dad’s girlfriend actually as nice in real life as she is on TV?”
