This new view—it’s better.
Chapter three
Ellie
Patsy,ashortFilipinowoman with platinum white hair, plows through the doors to greet Emma and me for my first day.
Growing up, our grandma called her Pattie Cakes—they were best friends. She’s been a high school counselor for what seems like an eternity and she’s the reason Emma started working at Glendale in the first place.
Patsy seemed to be the matriarch of Glendale, having an unspoken authority over every faculty member who has come and gone during her years of reign. When the school started to have a terrible turnover rate with the faculty, Miss Pat got word to our grandma about how desperate they were for fresh young faces to teach. So, of course, when she told the school to call a stay-at-home mom—with no experience—to fill in as a substitute teacher, they did. Pat has some magical influence around here. What she says, goes. And when she told the school board she thought Emma should become a full-time teacher, without any actual teaching experience, they didn’t fight her on it.
It’s probably that left eyebrow of hers. It’s powerful. The higher it reaches, the more power it exudes.
I find myself staring at it as she races towards us in the parking lot and a rush of feeling overcomes me. I’ve missed this tiny, sassy woman.
“Ellie Belly!” My childhood nickname seems to echo across the lot as she engulfs me in a mighty, mama bear-like hug.
“Ms. Pat!” I exclaim, wiggling my arms free to return the hug. Her head fits snuggly under my chin—it’s comforting. Somehow her tiny frame still feels strong enough to protect me from harm. I squeeze tight.
“We have been waiting for you! The whole staff is in the breakroom, they want to give you a warm welcome for your first day.”
“Lucky me,” I say, exaggerating my less-than-excited tone.
Patsy takes my hand in a death grip and leads me into the school. At first, I don’t see anything special about the place Emma goes on and on about. It has simple white walls, with red lockers, and a giant helmet plastered across the floor. But the more I see, it becomes clear why she loves the place so much. It’s quaint, and my heart warms as I take in the small details of school spirit sprinkled down the halls and on doors—old newspaper clippings, student photos, and flyers from the previous school year. Not to mention the Glendale Knights memorabilia encased in smudgy glass and flickering twinkle lights.
It doesn’t hold a candle to the shrine to Oklahoma football glowing in my parent’s front den, but theirs is an obnoxious obsession that I try not to focus on each family holiday.
“It’s not much, but it really is the best place,” Emma whispers to me as we follow chatty Patsy down the hall.
Emma drops the goblins off in the library with Margaret, a middle-aged woman with a slow pace and bad hip. And of course, chaos ensues as Emma shuts the door.
Poor Margaret.
They take me to a rather large break room, with big, beautiful windows on the back wall, and blinds pulled all the way up, allowing the sun to shine through.
I instantly regret agreeing to a meet-and-greet when I am swarmed by a pack of wild teachers.
As I’m bombarded by athleisure wear, surf shorts, flip flops, and sunglasses atop heads, I realize I am way overdressed for thisvery“informal” breakfast meeting. I was so concerned about my outfit this morning that I didn’t pay attention to how Emma was dressed. I look over at her and my brain registers the attire: white linen shorts, sandals, and a t-shirt announcing, “Mom Life is the Best Life.” That twerp let me ramble on and on about how I should look and didn’t make a peep when I changed five different times.
I adjust my blazer, clearing my throat loudly in her direction. She giggles and leaves me in the mob of greetings, joining a man leaning against the refrigerator at the back of the room. He’s attractive. Likeveryattractive. He leans so effortlessly and relaxed, like this chatty mob is something he experiences every day.
He smiles at me.
Or at least, I think he did? Maybe he just smiled at the wall?
Ugh, his smile.
The sun seems to bounce off of his perfectly straight teeth, and it’s like his lips know the effect they have on a woman as they curl upward—captivating.They’re plump, in a soft and subtle way. His cupid’s bow twitches on one side, as if a muscle under stress holding its position too long. He's smiling . . . a lot. And the more he does, the more Iwantit to be directed at me.
Maybe he’s just a friendly coworker, happy to see the new girl join the team.
I find myself stealing glances back at his lips a tad too many times, and each time leaves me a little dazed and disoriented. I try to refocus and muster up verbal responses for the teachers currently talking my ear off.
“We’re so happy you’re here! These students are the best and your sister is the best and this just feels like the icing on the cake for this term! Ah!”
I’m snapped out of the trance the gorgeous, dark-haired man has on me to see a short, bubbly woman standing directly in front of me—her curly hair bouncing in every direction.
“Thank you. It’s nice to be here,” I say, trying to sound convincingly happy, before I reach out to shake Jumpy’s hand. “Eleanor Bailey.”
