“Baruch Hashem,” mutters Chaya.
“Praise Our Holy Mother,” Emmanuel agrees.
I eye him. “I didn’t know you were Catholic.”
“I’m not. I’m referring to Our Holy Mother, Paris Dupree.”
Lina grins. “I just got off the phone with Superintendent Daniels. They are starting the search for a replacement principal immediately. He said to sit tight, but in the meantime, business as usual. I don’t need to micromanage you. You all rock,” Lina says. “I think this calls for a celebration. Early release today, guys. You’re free to go home,” she says, giving us the best gift a teacher could ever ask for. After being rid of an authoritarian principal, that is.
Everyone all but sprints out of the auditorium.
I pick up my backpack and move to Lina. “What the fuck happened?” I ask her.
She’s smiling at me. She lowers her voice so only I can hear. “The supe said he got a phone call from a concerned parent who did all this research about Words of Wonder and the benefits of project based learning, or whatever. The parent found that the Words of Wonder curriculum was written by this tiny company, and that the CEO of that company is aclosefriendof Principal Thomas. She signed this lucrative contract with him to buy the curriculum for our school.”
She nods her head as my mouth drops open. “That’s not it. That’s obviously a huge conflict of interest, but the parent had more to say. He said that the funds were misused, and that the principal used the budget lines that were for school and building improvement, like the schoolyard and the AC and heating, to pay for the curriculum!”
“Shut up,” I whisper.
“Right?! But there’s one more thing,” Lina is grinning from ear to ear now. “This parent sent in this entire report about why scripted, one size fits all curriculum is detrimental to student learning. Why the way we used to do it, why project based, culturally responsive, inquiry based learning is better.” Her eyes twinkle. “Apparently, it was twenty pages long and had several references from the top minds of our field.”
I freeze. “What… Who was the parent?”
She shrugs. “The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it to a student. The parent’s name is Ford Prefect.”
This is the moment my Hot Girl Energy battery starts to regenerate. I feel it building, stacking brick by brick up my spine. It feels warm and cozy and just like home. I smile.
“Do you know the parent?” Lina asks, with a knowing look.
“Yup,” I say.
I know what I want, and I’m going to go get it.
He’s sitting on the couch when I push the door to our apartment, to our home, open.
My battery reaches full charge when I see his face. It’s tight, haunted, with dark rings under his eyes, but I watch something come over him when he sees me. His face relaxes. His giant body relaxes. Inexplicably, he smiles, all crow’s feet and Dimple, like he’s recharged by me, too. His hand twitches at his side.
I realize I’m smiling, too, so incredibly relieved.
I stand there for a few moments as we drink each other in, eyes roaming, tracing the lines of each other’s bodies. I wonder, for a moment, why I’m not more pissed at him. Why I’m not filled with anger or resentment. Why my immediate response to seeing him is relief. This isn’t Hot Girl Energy. It’s more of an I Love You So Fucking Much Energy.
It’s too soon for you to launch yourself into his arms, you desperate hag, I say to myself.
But then he speaks one word with the force of a million different emotions—relief, disbelief, pain, elation, hunger, hesitation. “Mia,” he says, and I launch myself into his arms like a desperate hag.
I curl myself into a ball and he wraps his giant Prometheus arms around my entire body, squeezing the life out of me. My battery is way too charged now. Overcharged. Is that a thing? I feel insane. I bury my face in his neck and inhale the smell of his soap and his skin like a psychopath, but I don’t feel too bad about it because he is doing the same thing to my hair.
I realize I’m trembling as he smooths his hands down the panes of my back. I pull away, and we both have tears in our eyes.
I sniff. “I didn’t know you readHitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”
His beautiful green eyes, flecks of burnished bronze and blue hidden within, sparkle at me. “I didn’t. I had to Google the plot. Ford Prefect was the coolest name.”
“Not Zaphod Beeblebrox?”
“Mmm… I didn’t get that far,” he admits. “I only read the first paragraph of the synopsis. But that is definitely the coolest name,” he says gently, with a soft smile.
I trace it with my hand. He drags his finger down my nose, across my cheek.
