You’re noton the homestead anymore, Daisy.
“Homework? Man, she’s trippin’ if she thinks I’m reading this shit when I get back from practice,” grumbles the boy sitting closest to the door. “I don’t care how hot she is.”
“Watch it, Damien,” Tenley Robin’s nephew, Ethan, growls back at him.
“Why, she another one of your aunties?” Damien laughs and nudges the kid in front of him, and I pretend not to notice as I straighten the papers on my desk.
“Maybe she is. Either way, if I were you, I’d be more worried about catching a pass every once in a while,” Ethan replies and shoots him a dangerous glare just as the bell rings. Thankfully, everyone scatters before things get too heated.
“See you all tomorrow. Have a great afternoon,” I call out, but my voice is drowned out by the herd of juniors scrambling to vacate my classroom.
“Ugh. She doesn’t even wear makeup,” says one of the girls walking out of my last period class. I force a smile when she turns her nose up in disgust.
“That’s because she doesn’t need to,” replies another girl bitterly. This one turns to shoot me an apologetic look before she locks hands with Ethan, and he leads her out to the hallway.
I exhale loudly and return to my desk to stare blankly at the walls. It’s not that I expected teaching to be easy. But I hadn’t imagined it would be this hard. I’m barely a week into the school year, and there’s so much to do that I don’t even know where to start. I can’t imagine doing this without all of the lesson plans and activities that Loren had prepared for me.
My chin trembles and my eyes sting, but I sniff hard, refusing to give in to those feelings of hopelessness. Because Icando this. Ihaveto do this. I’ve survived much worse, and I’m not giving up on this job, at least not until I get the hang of being self-sufficient. Then I’ll worry about finding my way and figuring out whether this is what I’m really meant to do. I blink back the tears and take a few deep breaths, reminding myself to trust in God’s plan for my life. I’m sure I’m meant to be where I am now for a reason, even if it’s not for a long time or for reasons I understand.
I’m reciting one of my favorite prayers when I hear JD’s voice at the open door.
“Knock, knock,” he calls out before he appears. “How’s it going, Miss Daisy?”
His expression falls as soon as he sees my face, so I paste on a smile. “Oh, it’s great. So far, so good, you know!”
“So that’s why you’re sitting here contemplating all of your life choices and wondering how you got to this point, right?” He laughs softly, and another teacher walks in behind him.
“Yeah, pretty much,” I reply, my smile feeling more genuine now.
“Daisy, I’m not sure if you’ve gotten the chance to meet Mrs. LeBlanc, our amazing Ag teacher,” he continues, gesturing to the woman who comes to stand beside him.
She’s wearing thick, navy cargo pants and a matching Carhartt button down with steel-toed work boots, and her brown hair is pulled back into a tight French braid. It’s all a stark contrast to my purple linen sundress and light green ballet flats, as well as the flower pinning back my long blonde waves.
“No, I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure. But it’s great to meet you,” I offer cheerfully, moving to extend a hand. She only lifts her chin in a silent nod and crosses her arms, so I pull my hand back quickly.
JD clears his throat. “Claire is also the head of our CTE department, so I was thinking the two of you could get acquainted now. Mr. Soileau already talked to you about Mrs. Joanie retiring at the end of the semester, leaving us with a permanent opening for a home ec teacher. And home ec falls under the career and technical education umbrella. If we’re lucky enough to get you to take Mrs. Joanie’s place, Claire would become your mentor teacher.”
“Oh, well, that’s … that sounds great,” I say, nodding too quickly.
“Except no one will ever replace Mrs. Joanie.” Claire presses her lips together in a flat line as she looks me up and down. “She’s a Camellia High institution. She’s been here longer than some of us have been alive.”
“Absolutely,” JD confirms. “All the more reason she deserves to retire.”
“Hmpf,” Claire grunts. “You certified yet?”
“Who, me?” I squeak.
“No, the other flower-child Barbie. Of course I mean you.”
JD glares at Claire and clears his throat, and she rolls her eyes. “Sorry. It’s been a long day,” she mutters after a second.
I nod. “I graduated with a minor in elementary education, but I still have to take the certification exams for high school. I hadn’t planned on teaching older kids.”
“No kidding,” she deadpans.
“Hey, we all know alt-cert teachers are the best because they’re forged by fire. If you can survive your first few weeks in a high school classroom with little to no prep, the next thirty years will be a breeze, right?” JD says, his eyes roaming my desk. “You don’t have any snacks in here, do you? Didn’t Lo—I mean, Ms. Reed—leave some peanut butter cookies behind or something?”
I stifle a laugh. “Sorry. All out of snacks.”
