Chapter 4
Megan
The bell rings at three fifteen, and twenty-two second graders explode into motion like someone fired a starting pistol.
“Chairs up, friends!” I call over the chaos, clapping twice. They clap back—our signal—and start flipping their chairs onto their desks.
Bennett’s chair tips sideways and crashes to the floor. He freezes, wide-eyed, like he just broke a priceless vase.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I say gently, crossing the room. “Try again.”
He lifts it up again, this time carefully, and smiles at me when it doesn’t fall. I give him a thumbs-up and a big smile as I stand.
“Make sure you have that permission slip tucked away safely!” I remind them, moving toward the door where the line’s already forming—or what passes for a line when you’re seven years old.
Ava’s got her sunglasses on upside down. Liam’s trying to stuff his lunch box into his backpack, even though it clearly doesn’t fit. Haven’s standing at the front of the line holding a drawing she made during free time, waiting patiently to show me.
“Miss Keller, look!” She thrusts the paper toward me—a house, a sun, a family and their van.
“Oh my goodness, Haven! Is this your family?”
She nods proudly. “That’s me, and that’s my mom, and that’s my little brother. He laughs when he gets a bath.”
My chest squeezes. “That’s so sweet. I bet you’re a good big sister.”
She grins then tucks the drawing carefully into her folder and gets back in line.
I glance at the clock. Buses leave in eight minutes.
“Alright, friends, let’s practice our walking feet,” I say, opening the door and leading them into the hallway.
The bus riders peel off first, waving and shouting goodbyes over their shoulders. The car riders follow me to the front lobby where the adults are already lined up, scrolling on their phones or chatting with each other.
One by one, they are collected by their parents or guardians. I wave and watch them all disappear to the parking lot.
By the time I get back to my classroom, the silence feels weird. I move to my desk and start sorting through the stack of papers they turned in today—math worksheets, spelling tests, creative writing titled “What I Want to Be When I Grow Up.”
I pick up the first one. Liam’s handwriting is squirrelly, letters switching from uppercase to lowercase
i want to be a fierfiter bcuz they safe peeple.
I smile, grabbing my red pen—not to mark it wrong, just to write a note at the top.
I love that, Liam! Firefighters are heroes. Keep practicing your spelling!
Next is Ava’s.
I want to be a vet cuz I love aminals. My dogs name is Butter heis the best dog.
I laugh softly. Ava talks about Butter at least three times a day.
I love that, Ava! Butter is lucky to have you.
I keep going, reading each one, writing little notes of encouragement. Some want to be teachers. Some want to be famous sports players. One wants to be a YouTuber, which I’m choosing to interpret as content creator.
My phone buzzes on the desk. I glance down.
Mason: How’s your day?
