He lets out a disappointed hum, and I know it doesn’t matter, but I still feel guilty for letting him down. I make a mental note to bake something tonight and keep it on my desk for later. Truthfully, JD’s been nothing but nice to me, and I need all the help I can get.
I glance over to Claire, secretly wondering what I could do to impress her. She’s wearing the same look of disapproval as the catty girl with the contoured cheekbones and the unnaturally thick eyelashes from last hour. I’d be lucky to get her to not hate me at this point.
“So, I guess this means I need to get to work studying for that high school pedagogy exam?” I say after a while.
“Exactly. The sooner you pass that test, the sooner we can get you a full teacher’s salary and benefits,” JD remarks, making my stomach dip, and not in a good way. “Claire, think you can help her with the test prep?”
“Wait, I’m sorry, but did you just say I won’t get benefits?” I ask carefully. “As in, no health insurance?”
“Subs don’t qualify for health insurance in our district. But pass that test in the next few months, and you’ll get a bump in pay as soon as the board approves your hire for that full-time position,” he explains.
I swallow hard, ignoring the panic rising inside. “Oh right, of course,” I reply, my voice cracking. “Thanks for clearing all that up for me.”
They both frown, apparently sensing my distress. “I still have a test prep book in my classroom. You can use it to study,” Claire offers, to my surprise. Her posture softens a little when I thank her.
“Let me know if you need anything, Miss Daisy,” JD says. “Hang in there. It’ll get better. And let me know if my boy ever causes you any trouble.”
“Ethan’s been great,” I tell him, and he grins proudly.
“He’d better be. And the same goes for the rest of the football team,” he adds, making me cringe. Claire huffs out a laugh when his tone shifts. “Text me a list of names before practice this afternoon,” he adds, his voice almost a growl.
I assure him that everything’s fine before ushering them out, mostly because I’m afraid the kids will only get worse if they suspect I ratted them out to their football coach. At least Claire seems to have warmed up to me a little.
After that, I go down to the teachers’ lounge to heat up my lunch. Unfortunately, I don’t get in before the rush to the microwave, and I’m stuck waiting in line as precious seconds tick away before the impending bell.
I try to start up a friendly conversation with a few of the other teachers, and although most of them are generically nice, they’re also too busy to socialize. And the ones who have time to chat also seem a little cliquish.
“Well, well, well, Jaz,” croons the French teacher, Madame Beth. “If it ain’t our favorite coach.”
Jasmine, the pep squad sponsor, rolls her eyes when one of the baseball assistants passes by in a rush. “A grown man walking around with a backpack at work, let that sink in.”
“Mais, gardez donc,” Beth continues, clicking her tongue. “He must be using it to store his boudin stash, because he’s sure not using it to carry the test papers he grades at home.”
“Ah, that’s what that smell is.” Jasmine smirks.
“All I know is Dora needs to get his ass to school on time so the rest of us ain’t stuck babysitting his classes,” Mrs. Rachel chimes in as she passes by.
Teachers don’t like having to pick up one another’s slack. Noted.
“Oh, speaking of, I’ve gotta leave about thirty minutes early for tomorrow’s meet. Can you take my last period?” Jasmine asks Beth, who happily agrees.
“You still covering my parking lot duty Friday morning?” Beth goes next.
“Yep. I got you,” Jasmine returns.
“Merci beaucoup,” Beth says, grinning.
Hmm. Okay. Correction to that last observation—teachers like feeling appreciated when they have to pick up one another’s slack.
The bell rings again, and I’m left with my cold leftovers in hand. I shovel it in on my way back to class, and the last few periods of the day go even worse than the first. I rush down to the copy room as soon as the dismissal bell rings, only to find the machine already backlogged with jobs. I feel my stress levels rising as I watch each sheet come off the copier, one at a time, hoping it’ll clear up by the time Landry gets here to pick me up. Then my phone chimes at the same time a paper jam ensues, and I’m doing my best to multitask between the copy machine and the group chat my sisters have started. My mom and dad have been leaving me in peace for the most part, settling for a daily text or a phone call every other day, but I know my sisters will only pester me more or alert my parents if I don’t reply right away.
Marigold
How’s it going, Daisy?
Iris
Are you teacher of the year yet?
