“Why are you scaling walls?” Benny asks, stepping toward me like this has now become some interrogation and he’s the good cop.
“I wasn’t scaling walls.” I wave them all off and circle the scattered chair pieces. “I just needed something, and I knew I’d find it in my art room—er,theart room.”
I turn on my computer and see ten new emails and an announcement from Margaret about needing Quiz Bowl volunteers. I respond voraciously fast to all the correspondence, while also scheduling the boys’ dentist appointments and confirming with Steven’s sister about next week. Once done, I look up and see Ellie, Benny, and Malcolm are all staring at me.
I blink at them. “What?”
“Didyour brain just short-circuit or something?” Ellie asks, her eyes flicking from me to the chair.
“What? No, why?”
“You, umm…” Benny looks at me like I’m a sad abandoned puppy then points to my head.
“What is it?” I ask as my hands shoot up to my head. There’s nothing on my face, but as my fingers trail across my skin, they land on the socket wrench that I apparently tucked behind my ear. “Oh, oops.”
I take the wrench and wave it at them as if I meant to put it there all along. Their lingering stares continue and I’m certain Ellie is psychoanalyzing what this could all mean. But I don’t have time to unpack how it, or how I didn’t notice it, or what it says about my current mental state. I have six minutes before the front doors open and students start filing in.
And really, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on with me.
I’m exhausted. I’m hormonal. And stretched so thin I’m convinced everyone can see straight through me, like cellophane.
“I will see you all at lunch.” I abandon the chair and head down the hallway, passing the giant Glendale football banner hanging haphazardly on the wall. They made it to the playoffs in the fall but lost in overtime. It was a fun game to watch while thirty-nine weeks pregnant, and screaming at Malcolm to coach better was the perfect way to throw me into labor. I’m not the calmest person while pregnant. I’m not the calmest personnotpregnant either. But I love this school and these kids and everything they do, so even though my physician husband recommended bed rest, there was no way they were keeping me from going to the game.
As I pass the banner, I pause to smooth the corner that’s come unpinned. I take a few steps then backtrack, eyeing its crooked angle, readyto tear the whole thing down. I decide against it, clocking the three floating heads watching me from my office, and pivot quickly.
The second my hand touches the front doors, the first bell rings. January air rushes in as students pour into the building. Their faces light me up from the inside, and the smile that blooms on my face is impossible to stop. Any exhaustion or shame simmering behind my ribs fades beneath the bright eyes and teenage energy filling the hallway.
It almost falters when I see Ellie pushing her way through the growing crowd though. With her predator eyes locked on me. I know what she’s thinking:You need sleep. Maybe you came back too soon. You should talk to Steven. I pretend to not see her, waving at a few students as they pass between us.
“Mrs. Jones!” she calls.
I make a quick turn toward the art room, my sanctuary, but I spin too fast and crash into a student. Books fly. She goes down.
“Oh, Miss Kim! I’m so sorry.” I catch Sarah Kim before she hits the floor. She murmurs something to herself, but it’s lost in the tunnel of noise surrounding us.
“Principal Jones,” Ellie’s voice barrels closer from behind me.
“Sarah, are you alright?” I ask, kneeling to help with the books.
“I’m fine,” she says tightly. She stands above me, smoothing her hair and pulling her shoulders back. Sarah has always been quiet and reserved, content to blend into the background, but always kind and respectful. Always the first to help. But right now, there’s a new sheen of confidence in her eyes as she narrows them at me.The senior glow. It gets them every time.
“Thanks,” she whispers as I hand her the books. She gives me a once-over, the judgy kind teenagers give adults, before her eyes widen. Sarah gestures with her hands, and it can only be translated to one thing.
Boobs.
I shift instinctively. “Miss Kim,” I whisper, “whatare you—”
“No, Mrs. Jones,” she leans in, lowering her voice. The judgment she had morphs into concern as she discreetly gestures toward my chest again. I glance down and see a wet spot blooming across my left breast. Not a small one either, a massive circle of wet blue cloth right there for all to see.
“Oh no,” I gasp, and Sarah winces. Throwing my arms over my chest, I race back to my office, narrowly dodging Ellie in the process. By the time I get through the door, there are nowtwowet spots. And they’re growing. I tear through my bag, pulling out cords, flanges, pads, and the less-than-discreet gray box that must be attached to a wall outlet to milk me dry.
“I hate this,” I mumble to myself, tucking it all under my arm. As I turn to go to the bathroom, I run into another person.Am I a moving target?
“Emma!” Kate Stanley’s sunny voice wraps around me. She hugs me like the armful of pump parts pressed between us doesn’t exist. “How are you feeling?” she asks, still hugging me. “How’s the baby? Can I get you anything?”
I pry myself from her grip, pressing my supplies against the pulsing pain rapidly spreading across my chest. Without a word or blink, she understands and guides me down the hall to the single office with no windows and a lock on the door. In one swift motion, she swings the door open and throws me into the chair in the corner, taking my pump and plugging it in.
She untangles the cords and attaches pieces like she’s done it before. When the twins were born and Ellie was living in New York, Kate was my closest friend, helping me in ways not many would. Pumping for twins was a heavy task, and Kate took it upon herself to learn the ins and outs of the pump, setting it up for me before lunch and at the end of the day, even keeping a basket full of milk-inducing snacks stocked for me. I almost forgot about that, and watching her now makes my eyes sting.
