“Can we go play, Miss Rose?”
“Sure. Stay on the sidewalk where there are no cars.”
“Come, Bree.” He takes Bettany’s daughter’s hand, and they gather helicopter seeds, tossing them into the air to watch them spin back down to the earth.
I hoist our bags. “Where should I put these?”
“Oh, the driver will load everything.” Bettany gestures toward a middle-aged man in a blue uniform standing by the bus’s cargo compartment. “Set it near the bus with the others.”
I walk past Faye to the side of the bus and load the bags myself—ours, Bree’s, and Faye’s—nodding at the driver without waiting for him to do it for us. When I return, Bettany has trapped Faye in conversation.
“Now, as room parent,” she’s saying. How many times has she mentioned her title already? From the cinch on Faye’s face, it mustn’t be the first time. “I’m available via text throughout the trip. I’ll be forwarding any photos or updates you send to the parents group chat. We’d like at least a few per day. More are always welcome.”
Faye’s expression doesn’t change. She keeps a polite smile in place. But her left eye is ready to twitch.
“That’s thoughtful, Bettany.”
“Well, someone has to keep the other parents in the loop.” Bettany pulls out her phone, already typing. “I’ve prepared a summary of the itinerary. Meal breaks, activity schedules, bedtime. That way, everyone will know what their child is doing at all times.” Bettany chuckles. “It’s my responsibility as room parent to ensure proper communication.”
Faye’s eye goes off.
I cough to cover my laugh. Faye glances back at me, and the irritation evaporates from her gaze. It turns into amusement. A shared inside joke.
Her lips quirk. Just barely. But enough.
“I’m sure the parents appreciate your dedication,” Faye says, turning back to Bettany.
“Oh, they do. They’re aware the class needs a strong room parent to function.” It’s uncanny how she slips her military rank into every single sentence. “It’s about consistency and follow-through, right?”
Faye’s hand curls into a fist at her side.
“Absolutely,” she agrees, her voice honey-sweet.
I should rescue her. Step in and redirect the conversation. But I’m enjoying this too much. Watching Faye maintain her composure while internally screaming. The contrast between her serene expression and that twitching eye is priceless.
It’s as if Faye senses my thoughts and decides to exact revenge. Her next line is pure evil. “But Bettany, since Ryder is already in the parents chat, shouldn’t he be in charge of the photos?” She smiles at me sweetly.
“Oh, that makes total sense,” Bettany chirps. “Ryder, please come over here. We should go over what points of the itinerary you must photograph. Group shots, of course, but you could also take individual ones…” Bettany drifts off into a tangent I’m now trapped in, while, behind her, Faye tilts her head and smiles at me innocently. I pretend to scratch my eyebrow with my middle finger. She laughs and goes to welcome other incoming families.
The swish of her ponytail as she walks away is more painful than Bettany’s endless rambling.
More cars are pulling in now, headlights cutting through the brightening daylight. Parents park haphazardly, kids stumble out half-asleep, and overnight bags get loaded onto the bus.
The calm morning dissolves into a frenzy of goodbyes and last-minute recommendations.
Faye is everywhere at once. Directing parents to the cargo area. Steering her students away from the parking lot and toward the safety of the sidewalks.
Her voice never rises, but it cuts through the noise. Kids listen when she speaks.
I hang back, watching her work. The way she crouches down to talk to a crying boy who doesn’t want to leave his mom.
She’s so damn good at this.
“Mr. Evans!” A small body crashes into my legs.
I look down to find Tommy Peterson grinning up at me. “You’re coming with us?”
“That’s right.”
