She is usually a quick and efficient person—except when we’re in the car. I bite my lip, sit on my hands, and refuse to point out the blatantly obvious fact that, at this point, snails are passing us. Normally I would be an enraged passenger in this situation, but I know my sister, and I know that her anxieties can be triggered by driving.
It’s best I keep my thoughts about our speed to myself.
Emma glances at me before changing lanes—slowly. A mini van honks at us.
I’m honestly not sure what annoys me more, the fact that she refused to let me drive, or the fact that I might not get to work before Christmas.
Irritation swarms my head as we make our way down the road. The combination of leathery aroma and goblin farts only adds to my frustration, and, as a result, I’m so focused on my thoughts that I almost miss the view, namely a long stretch of Oklahoma interstate underneath a clear blue sky with streaks of pink and orange.
No clouds in sight and the sun has almost fully risen on our right.
I take a deep breath and focus on the colors. Letting the rising sun heat the side of my face as we drive.
It could be so peaceful . . . If I block out the kicking of my seat and the bullets of Cheerios being pelted at the back of my head.
Em is unphased—driving with a smile across her face, window down, humming to the radio we can’t even hear over the screams of her husband’s spawn. It’s very hard to believe these hellions came from her considering they look exactly like their father,Dr. Steven Jones—it’s infuriating.
I have nothing against Steven, except he takes my sister for granted about onethousandpercent of the time and he’s the one who introduced me to my ex . . .
Okay, maybe I am a little jaded.
Steven and Liam met in college, they were both pre-med and attended medical school together. When Emma and Steven got engaged, she was convinced I needed to marry a doctor too, hence introducing me to Liam.
“Just think of how amazing our lives would be! Sister-doctor-wives!”
I winced every time she used that phrase.
Steven, apparently, had suspicions about Liam’s intentions weeks before the wedding and never told anyone. He only revealed these suspicions to Em a month after I moved all of Liam’s stuff out and started my nightly spiral of Instagram stalking—a box of Franzia Sangria in hand. Apparently, calling my sister sobbing at 2 a.m. every morning to report there were still no new Liam updates was just too much for ole Steve to handle.
Of course, I can’t blame him entirely for wanting to withhold this information. If I, too, learned someone I loved was about to be publicly humiliated and lose out on thousands of dollars worth of wedding deposits, and witness their entire life crumble before their eyes, I would also sit idly by and wait until I feltsoinconvenienced that there was no other option than to share my dirty truth.
Again,can’t blame the guy . . .
“Are you nervous?” Emma reels me back to the present and away from my disdain for her husband. I could never tell her how I felt about him. Not that I would want her to choose a side (although I fully expect her to choose mine), and I couldn’t be the reason she had issues in her marriage. I wouldn’t wish my emotional trauma and damage on my worst enemy, let alone my sister.
“A little,” I answer—very delayed.
“Don’t be. You will be great. You are exactly what these students need right now.”
“Why did they rush to hire me anyway? This all happened so fast.”
“Boys, please behave.” The hellions are now rubbing their feet on the windows, whilst rubbing their boogers on each other and our seats. I probably have boogers in my hair now. “Did you not ask them that in your interview?” she questions, whipping the car to the right to avoid missing our exit.
Mindlessly scrolling Instagram I respond, “I wouldn’t call what happened a verythoroughinterview.”
The faculty at Glendale seemed to blindly trust my sister and her recommendation. I think I was asked a total of three questions for the entirety of the interview. I don’t fully remember it really, except the fact that it was a panel interview over Zoom, and the only guy asking the questions actually had his camera turned off the entire time. His voice was almost hypnotizing on the other side of the screen—smooth and gentle. I felt so at ease listening to him talk I almost forgot to respond to even the simplest of questions.“What do you do for fun?”may as well have been a lullaby coming from his mouth. He seemed so focused on conducting the interview that he didn’t even turn his camera on until the very end. Once it was over, I was pressing that sweet little redleavebutton without a second’s hesitation, completely missing his face.
“Well . . .” She pauses to eye her boys in the backseat, still no rise in her emotions as they are now definitely wiping boogers in my hair. “Glendale is going through some administration changes. Budgets are being reallocated. Long-time teachers are retiring. All the usual politics in our education system are making a huge impact as well, but the biggest issue lately is the influx of students we have received after nearby schools closed their doors. Those homeschool cohorts and digital learning options really stuck after 2020 and a lot of parents were given a nice tax break when they continued sending their kids to a public school. So we practically doubled our student population, while also losing key faculty members—one of them being Ms. Patsy.” She turns down a new road and rolls up her window. “You know Ms. Pat, she was our counselor for almost forty years. She has big shoes to fill but not a lot of time to fill them in. This term is a trial run, for you and for the school—to see if you can handle the variety of students we have and if you even want to stick around for a few months.” She shrugs, again, ignoring the fact that I do not intend to be here any longer than I’ve already committed.
“I was very honest with our vice principal, and told him you would be a wonderful fit but that you may not enjoy staying here long-term.”
“So what you’re saying is . . .” I pause, careful to hide the glee I feel about the easy bailout I’ve been given. “I have a free pass to bail if this doesn’t pan out?” I smirk at her.
I couldn’t help it, she knows how I feel about this.
She huffs at me as she switches lanes.
I will hide my contempt for taking a job well below my pay grade from everyone and their dog . . . except for Emma. That’s how our relationship is—we are brutally honest with each other even if it’s regardingherplace of employment.
