“Well.” Jewel shrugs off my small success. “I guess that’s what they say. ‘Those who can’t do, teach.’”
Her quote is actually shortened from a line in the playMan and Supermanby George Bernard Shaw. But I doubt she cares so much for its origin as she does about the criticism it implies. For that reason, it’s a quote every teacher detests. And she knows it.
What Jewel doesn’t know is that while she’s trying to hurt me, I’m being careful with the information I have that can hurt her. I mean, if I wanted to, I could pick up the phone right now and have the police come haul her off to jail. But I would never use the warrant for her arrest as a weapon. Which just makes her attacks seem all the more unfair.
I sip my tangy lemonade, still considering possible replies like steps through a minefield. I’m here because of Karson. Soon I’ll get to see him in class, and I’ll be able to tell him I did what he asked me to do. Then I can forget all this and focus on learning about the K-9 unit. I wonder if Karson has a dog.
Hmm … While thinking about Karson owning a dog is a daydream to save for later, I could definitely refer to Karson as my instructor for this conversation. That will make her put-downs seem less personal.
“Not all teachers are created equal.” I set my glass on the table and make a defense on behalf of others. “My favorites are those who teach from their own experiences. For example, in my Citizen’s Safety Academy, the police officers shared video footage from their own body cameras. And dash cams. We got to see a car chase last week.”
Forrest stands on his seat. “Awesome!”
Jewel points for him to sit.
Daisy rests her elbows on the table, head tilted against the fist not holding her fork. “What’s a car chase? Who’s fast enough to chase a car?”
I smile at the cute question. “The police cars chase the bad guy’s car.”
“Elbows off the table, Daisy.”
Daisy pulls her hands to her lap, but Forrest is standing again. His fork nowhere to be seen, he plants his hands on the table and pushes against it to do donkey kicks.
“Forrest,” Jewel scolds.
I don’t even think he realizes what he’s doing. He’s just thrilled to be alive. He keeps rocking the table with his enthusiasm. “I want to help chase the bad guys. I can fly really fast in my cape. Will you draw a police car, Aunt Gemma?”
I steady my sloshing lemonade. “Sure.” I think I can manage a couple of small cars in the skyscraper scene I drew under the chalk superhero capes.
He catapults off his seat as if he’s already wearing one.
This time Jewel warns him with a look that I’m pretty sure is giving her the wrinkles I haven’t gotten yet. When I have children someday, I’ll have to make sure not to glare at them so harshly.
Forrest bounces in place. “I ate seven bites, Mom. I ate seven bites.”
She studies his blue plastic plate. “That’s enough to go play but not enough for dessert.”
He’s already scrambling through the bushes up the side of the hill as if he has no time for sidewalks. “I don’t want dessert.”
“Then you need to go brush your teeth.”
He pauses, perhaps considering which will take longer, brushing his teeth or eating more steak so he doesn’t have to go brush his teeth right now. Oh, to be able to live in the moment like a preschooler again.
Daisy bolts from her chair toward the sliding glass door as if she’s trying to escape before her mom looks at her pink plate. “I’ll brush my teeth too.”
Forrest follows, leaving a trail of topsoil behind, and I wonder whether the kids know something I don’t. Jewel did burn last Thanksgiving’s pumpkin pie. I glance at her suspiciously. “What’s for dessert?”
“Ice cream.” With the way she smirks, I’m guessing she didn’t buy sorbet or anything else dairy-free.
I might as well brush my teeth too. Oh well. That’s not what I came for anyway. I rub at the pressure building in the nape of my neck and decide to take advantage of our quiet moment. “Jewel, in my class at the police station—”
“We’re talking about police again?” She leans back in her chair and lifts an eyebrow that’s both lighter and bushier than mine. “You have a thing for the cop, don’t you?”
I bite my lip. I’m not sure if she has the power to read my mind because she’s my twin or because she’s a psychologist. “Yes, but—”
She cackles. “He isn’t interested in you? That’s a first.”
I’m not sure how to take her statement, so I cross my arms to ward off all insinuations. “Anyway—”
