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I placed my hands on the back of the chair in front of me and stared down at Jamie’s face, wondering why she still felt the need to protect me after all these years. When we were little, I would sneak across the hallway and sleep in her bed when our parents fought at night.
And at twenty-seven, I was still running to her. “I’m not going to mooch off you guys,” I insisted, looking her in the eyes. “Like I said, I eat here, too. I use electricity. I use water. I—I take up space. And I might have been in a depressive slump there for a while, but I’m better now. If you don’t let me contribute, I’m just going to move back in with Heath.”
“Dear God, don’t do that,” Jamie blurted. She had to know I wasn’t serious, but she nodded anyway, conceding. “Fine, I guess. But does your recent happiness have anything to do with the fact you’re going to finally get some new dick in a few days?”
“Jamie!” I picked up my laminator from the counter and tucked it beneath one arm. “I’m just looking forward to the new school year, that’s all. I finally have something to distract me.”
“I’m sure Sarah will have a lot of little projects to distract you,” Jamie said, rolling her eyes.
I smiled, shaking my head. I’d forgotten just how much I’d vented to Jamie last year about all the tasks that Sarah Lavely, the principal of Grissom Elementary, had assigned me. I’d somehow become her go-to person for every insane idea that popped into her head. “I’m sure she will. And you know what? I’m psyched about it.”
Jamie pulled the sucker out of her mouth with a pop! “Yeah, say that again in like six weeks when she’s got you cutting out a billion paper snowflakes or whatnot.”
I shook my head, knowing her prediction probably wasn’t far off. Sarah and I had become close over the past year or so, but I could barely keep up with her. When she became principal, it was like she felt she had something to prove to the community—and she took on entirely too many projects to improve our school. And, for some reason, I got looped into helping with every single one.
“Bye, Jamie.”
* *
That afternoon, I stood in the center of my classroom with my hands on my hips, assessing my new décor theme. The muted pastels completely transformed the space, and I hoped it would instill a sense of calm within my students.
The rug beneath my feet was white with pink, lavender, and aqua stripes—I knew I’d be furiously hitting this thing with the carpet cleaner within a month, but at least it looked cute for now. My favorite area was the library corner, though, where I’d just placed four large, wooden letters spelling out the word “READ” on the wall, each of them painted a different pastel color. I’d also purchased matching pastel book totes and even a pink beanbag chair. My goal was to create a space I would have loved when I was five years old.
There was a gentle knock at my door. For a moment, I feared it was Heath—who was a third-grade-teacher here at Grissom—coming down to my room to pester me, so I was relieved to see Sarah poking her head through the doorway. “Hello!”
She was already dressed for tonight’s open house event, it appeared, in a galaxy-print dress that reminded me of something Ms. Frizzle would wear—which is probably what she was going for, knowing her. She was carrying a manilla folder, which wasn’t a good sign.
As she stepped into the room, her mouth dropped open. “Oh my god, Kendall?!” She walked over to me and clutched my arm. “You did all of this today?”
“I started yesterday.”
She spun around in a circle to take it all in before her eyes found mine again. “This was more than a hundred and fifty dollars.”
I shrugged. She was referring to the classroom budget I’d been given for the year. That all went toward the rug, and everything else she was looking at came straight out of my own pocket. “Everything was on sale,” I lied, making her laugh.
“Well, the muted colors look fantastic,” she said. “Can we sit?”
I led her over to my math center table beside my desk. I took the teacher’s chair at the end, which was slightly bigger than the tiny chair Sarah sat in. I was the one with the bigger ass, so it was the logical choice. “I’m almost afraid to ask,” I said, eyeing the manilla folder she placed in front of her.
“Don’t be afraid,” Sarah assured me with a laugh. “You can always say no to what I have in store.”
“Right.”
She took a deep breath. “It’s fall festival time.”
I nodded, knowing this was coming. Last year, Sarah, Vicki Santiago—a second grade teacher—and I organized a huge fall festival fundraiser in the school parking lot. The money earned was put into a field trip fund for all of our students. With a hayride, pumpkin carving contest, and bouncy castles, we drew a huge crowd last year, and it was an enormous success. Sarah vowed to make it an annual event. “You mean the ‘Fucking Fun Fall Festival Fundraiser for Families’?” I asked, referring to the name Owen, Sarah’s fiancé (and my ex-boyfriend, had given the event last year when he showed up to volunteer.
“I almost forgot about that. We should’ve put that on the shirts,” she joked, opening her folder. She started thumbing through some of the papers in front of her, but she suddenly stopped and gave me a sheepish grin. “I’m just going to be totally upfront with you from the start, Kendall.”
“Okay…”
“I can’t lead this project. I’m going to be busy planning my wedding, and honestly, I need to be better about delegating projects like this instead of trying to take control of it all.” I slowly nodded, and she continued. “And Vicki’s going to be on maternity leave for the first four weeks of the school year, so most of the festival planning might fall on your shoulders. If you’re up for it, that is.”
I didn’t say anything for a moment. I didn’t feel capable of taking on such a project. I wasn’t organized like Sarah, nor was I all that great at communicating with people—and planning this festival would require me to be proficient in both of those areas. “Are you sure you want me to take over?”
“Of course,” she answered, tucking her hair behind her ears. “There’s no one I would trust with this more than you. And since this is the second one, we can use the same vendors, same donors—most of the work is already done for you. This is going to be the PTO’s main focus this semester, so you’ll be able to lean on them for support.”
I reached for her folder and pulled it toward me on the table. She was right—a lot of the hard work was already completed because we’d done it all before. She’d kept every receipt, every list, every bit of info—I practically had a step-by-step guide in my hands. “Okay,” I said, looking up at her. “I’m in.”
