By the end of class, the kids are actually learning and seem excited.
I glance at the clock.
Time’s up.
“Before you all leave, one last announcement: The academy gym opens at six every morning.”
A collective groan fills the air.
I guess they aren’t quite that excited.
One kid drops his forehead onto his desk.
I laugh. “Listen to me.”
A few dramatic sighs follow.
“I’ll be available all week to teach proper lifting technique.”
That earns slightly more interest.
“Posture matters.” I point toward them. “Technique matters. If you’re using equipment incorrectly, you’re increasing your risk of injury.”
The room quiets.
“So, if you’d like help creating workout plans or learning proper form, I’ll be there.”
Silence.
Then someone asks, “Six?”
“Six.”
Another groan.
A girl near the front mutters, “That’s basically still nighttime.”
The class laughs.
“I’ll see at least some of you there.”
A few students offer half-hearted promises.
One boy says, “Maybe.”
Another says, “No offense, ma’am, but absolutely not. It’s summer. I’ll start all thisnew year, new meshit in August.”
More laughter.
I dismiss them.
The room empties quickly.
When the last student leaves, I collapse into a chair.
Charli laughs. “You survived.”
“Barely.”
