Page 30 of The Trouble with Flings

“No. I love what I do. It started out as a challenge I wanted to win, but I would never have followed through without having a genuine interest in helping kids.”

“I assumed as much. You’re tough, but your heart leads the way.”

That gives me pause. How does he know anything about my heart when I haven’t exactly been an open book with him? The answer would require me to examine us under a microscope, and I don’t want to get lost in that murky space, so I say, “I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to having moments when I wonder what I was thinking, getting into the educational system. There’s a lot to deal with: funding issues, staffing, families in crisis. Some days the weight of it gets to me because of the bureaucracy. It can feel like the system is designed to make it harder to actually help the kids.”

“That must be frustrating,” he says. “I’m sure our schools have red tape, but probably nothing like yours. How do you combat it?”

“I usually fantasize about leaving it all behind and becoming something else altogether,” I say, half-jokingly. “But short of devising programs for kids all day, which would mean cutting through even more red tape, I don’t think anything would hold my attention.”

“Is that something you do now, devise programs for students?”

“Mm-hm. I’m a firm believer in helping kids help themselves,” I say, reaching for my water bottle.

He snags it, takes the cap off, and hands it to me. “What kind of programs?”

“Whatever will help kids feel good about themselves and motivate them to keep coming to school.” I hand him back the water bottle. “We have a Peer Partnership program, where kids tutor each other and help one another through issues, and a gardening program, community mentorships, and art projects. Last year, after two years of planning, we finally implemented our Launchpad program, which I’m really proud of.”

“What is that?”

“It’s an after-school program where kids work together coming up with ideas for real businesses, and flesh out their idea with the instructor.” I push up onto my elbow, excited to share. “It’s all very elementary at first, but we work with them to research their ideas and create business plans. Then we match them with local business mentors, and they pitch their ideas to them.”

“Wow. That sounds like a big undertaking.”

“It is, but it’s one of my favorite programs. Some of the kids have never had anyone tell them they’re enough, much less take their ideas seriously or help them figure out a path for whatever it is they’re dreaming of. The ideas don’t always work, of course, but usually that motivates them to find one that will. You should see their faces light up when someone tells them their idea is viable. And that’s just the beginning of the program. It’s…” I let my voice trail off, realizing I’m going on about something he’s probably not that interested in.

“It’s what?” he asks with genuine interest. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

Happiness bubbles up inside me. “It’s one of the most incredible things I get to witness. That moment when they feel validated and realize their voice matters. We were thrilled when we got a grant that covered the cost of replacing the ancient computers that are always breaking down, but then they pulled most of the funding because somebody messed up and gave out too many grants.”

“What does that mean for your program?”

“It means we pool our resources and do whatever’s necessary to keep the program going, like we do with other programs when we come up short. I’m not about to let our school be just another place that lets the kids down. We pay for it ourselves or let the kids use our personal computers, and we fundraise. I…” I laugh softly. “I’m hijacking the conversation, like I did over dinner the other night.”

“You’re not,” he says. “I want to hear more.”

I go on for far too long, telling him more about the program, and my work, what it was like becoming a teacher and then eventually making the transition to principal. Usually, when someone asks about my work, I give only a brief glimpse into it, but I find myself being brutally honest with Fitz.

“It’s been scary and exciting every step of the way,” I say. “I can’t tell you how many times I doubted myself, questioning whether I was the right person to be in charge of the education and high school experiences of so many kids.”

“Why did you doubt yourself?”

“Because I handle pretty rough situations, and there’s always a judgment call involved. Every fight I break up, every time a kid flounders or their grades plummet. Or if they suddenly excel. I don’t want kids who have found their passion or path to be overlooked because they don’t need the extra guidance others do. There are so many judgment calls.”

He nods. “You mean like, deciding whether a kid’s telling the truth or not and going easy on them or doling out tough love?”

“Exactly. I’m good at tough love. My parents are warm and loving, but they believed in pushing us to figure out our own problems. They were always there to guide us, but in the end, they drove home the idea that our successes or failures were on our shoulders, and they were right. That helped me become resilient, and a problem solver. But while my sisters are the mothering type, I’m not. So there’s always that seed of doubt about whether I’m too tough, because I know firsthand how educators can make or break a kid, and I never want to be one that breaks them.”

“That’s what makes you perfect for the job,” he says. “You’re not their mother. You’re a smart, strong role model and educator, and like I said, your heart takes the lead.” A teasing smile curves his lips. “Even when your fangs are out.”

We lie there as the sun dips lower, trading pieces of ourselves, our cheeks resting on our arms, our fingers touching. Fitz tells me what it was like for him to work at the resort as a teenager and to work his way up through the years. I tell him I stayed at his gorgeous resort several years ago, when Jace gifted me a trip there.

“How did I miss you?” he asks.

“I wasn’t exactly social during that trip. I was sick for half of it, and laid low the rest. I liked the feel of the island and kept meaning to go back, but life got in the way. Have you always wanted to make a career at the resort?”

“Yes. It’s all I ever wanted to do, but as much as I love it,” he says, “I’ve definitely questioned my decision a few times.”

“I bet. I love my parents, but I can’t imagine working with them,” I say honestly. “We’d drive each other nuts. You said your parents are separated but never divorced. How does that play out? They must get along fairly well to work together.”