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Wild.
Once we’ve moved our desks into a circle, the older guy starts first. Bill talks about how he just moved to Cedar Point a few months ago. He taught in Colorado for years but moved so he and his partner could be close to his in-laws.
Then the blonde—Gail—shares that she used to work at CPHS but retired a few years ago. I thought she looked familiar.
“I just didn’t know what to do with all that free time, so…I’ve unretired,” she says, drawing laughter from around the room.
Next it’s Bishop’s turn, and I can feel the way my body turns toward him as he speaks.
“Hey everyone, I’m Bishop. Some of you might know me because I used to be a student here at CPHS. Graduated about four years ago. I’m back in town for a few months, and Rush—he’s the coach of the baseball team—asked for some extra help. So…that’s me.”
“Oh hey, I heard about you,” Bill says. “Bishop Mitchell, right? Didn’t you go play in the pros? I thought they were watching you on a TV at The Mitch just a little while ago.”
I can see the discomfort in Bishop’s face as he answers, though he hides it well behind that smile.
“Yeah, I was drafted to play for the Salem Kings. They’re the affiliate team with the Portland Flame,” he answers. Then he points to his arm, strapped tightly to his body in that sling he’s always wearing. “But I got injured, so I’m just home for now while I rehab this thing. Then I’ll be heading back to Oregon.” He pauses briefly. “Enjoying a break before unretiring, too,” he jokes, his eyes sliding over to Gail.
Everyone chuckles, and then the introductions move on to the bearded guy sitting to Bishop’s right, but I’m not listening when he speaks. Instead, I keep glancing discretely at Bishop.
There was something in the way he said that that stood out to me. When we were younger, I could always tell when Bishop was hiding something. It’s not that he was inherently dishonest or anything like that. No, Bishop was always an almost overly truthful person. It’s the reason we used to get in trouble so much—because he was so bad at lying.
But who knows? Maybe I didn’t see anything. Maybe he’s different now. Maybe I don’t know Bishop anymore.
When he glances at me, I look quickly to Sheryl, a new administrative assistant who is talking about…well, I don’t really know. But I still look her way, trying to refocus my attention on anyone else in the room.
Eventually it’s my turn and I babble only slightly coherently about getting roped into summer school and then sticking around for the full semester. Though I can’t remember exactly because I was too focused on the wall behind Principal Cohen’s head.
Then we move on to other group exercises, which go quickly and aren’t too painful. We work together to come up with a Mad Lib about a typical day at school. We move a marble across the room without touching it. We draw a classroom flag and then share what all the different elements mean. It’s a bunch of nonsense, but it’s not as shitty as some of the others I’ve done in the past.
Then we talk about professional development plans, which doesn’t feel directly relevant to me since I doubt I’ll be teaching for more than a semester or two at the most. I add things to my list of yearly goals like attend an art seminar and enter my work in an art show, which are things I already have planned for the next few months.
It’s all pretty pointless, but at least we’re getting paid to be here…I think. Actually, I never asked about that, and I make a mental note to check with Principal Cohen after we’re done.
What is painful is when she announces the fact that we’ll be in NSPs: new staff partnerships.
“The goal of an NSP is to provide resources to you as a new employee. You’ll be paired with another new employee, someone you can turn to who is probably going through some of those same growing pains you are.”
I know I’ll be partnered with Bishop before she says it, and I can’t help the little thing inside me that both groans and delights in the news. It’s a very confusing reaction.
“Gabriela and Bishop. Normally we go by department, but since you’re both part-time faculty with smaller workloads, this felt like the right call.”
I want to stand up and shout You’re wrong! It certainly doesn’t feel like the right call to me.
“Go ahead and meet in your pairs and move through the NSP worksheet at the back of your folder. I’ll be back in a half hour,” she says before darting out of the room faster than I can think to beg her to change my partner.
I glance at Bishop, spotting the apprehension in his expression. Slowly, he pushes away from his desk, crosses over to where I am, and drops into a seat next to mine.
“We can ask her to switch. If you want to.”
I’m not surprised he offers. Even though he might be misguided about the idea that we could be friends, he really is the kind of guy who won’t push just to get what he wants. I don’t doubt he’d be more than happy to be partners. I don’t doubt he thinks we would find some sort of enjoyment in the process.
The hard part is, I agree with him. Given enough time together, Bishop and I probably could be friends again. I bet we could smile and laugh at memories from the past, from our years of friendship, all the inside jokes and happy moments.
But the part of me that’s still hurt by the way things ended between us is standing tall, waving a giant warning flag.
I look over at the other two pairs, seeing them chatting animatedly, already making friends, then I look back at Bishop.
“We’ll be fine,” I say, giving him a tight smile, opting to just let it happen and not think too much about it. “I mean, how complicated can this NSP thing really be?”
