“I don’t feed him at the table.”
“Kent, he looks hungry. And demanding.”
“He’s always hungry. Just ignore him.”
Corrine pulls her plate a few inches away from my adorable fluffy feline.
I open the pizza box, and the steam escapes, filling the room with the delicious smell of extra cheese and a crispy crust. As I serve Corrine, Sweetums’ paw darts out, making a game out of it, and she shouts, “No!” My heart leaps in my chest, and I drop a piece right on her lap.Splat!
“Oh my gosh. Cori, I’m sorry,” I blather, heading for the roll of paper towels.
“I wouldn’t consider it a successful visit if I didn’t leave your house with something on my clothes.”
She sits calmly, waiting, and I’m reminded just how patient and understanding she has always been with me. We fell into a comfortable rhythm that included her understanding my propensity for clumsiness.
“Charlie’s playing tonight?” I ask, handing her a wad of paper towels for her pants as I wipe up the table.
“It’s almost February. He plays almost every night,” she says, wiping the sauce and cheese off her jeans like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Corrine’s marriage, only a year after our divorce, surprised me. Our split was beyond amicable, but we both decided we needed space to figure out our next steps. Three months later, she met Charlie. Two months after that, they moved in together, and they were engaged soon after. Charlie’s a wonderful guy. I know my girls are in good hands.
“Well, I’m happy he’s busy enough with hockey that we occasionally get to have pizza,” I say, my mouth watering at the sight of the piping hot slices before me.
With pizza lodged in her mouth, Corrine gives me her sweet, crinkly-eyed smile. The one that caught my attention freshman year at USM and has kept me on my toes for years. Her smile lets me know she accepts me. Loves me. Even when I drop hot pizza in her lap.
“And then I put the scores in this notebook where I try to gather the remnants of student observations and work and attempt to formulate them into information for conferences and report cards.”
Sheldon Soleskin, first-grade teacher and a shining star since his transfer to Lear right after Thanksgiving, stands almost a half-foot shorter than Vincent as he walks him through his current data collection process. I give them space, attempting to survey the class and ensure I’m available to intervene while Sheldon gives Vincent his attention.
“And this is how most of the teachers do it?” Vincent asks.
“Oh, no. Everyone has their own method. Becky uses sticky notes—a different color for each child. Jolene uses index cards. Also, a different color. But for each subject, not the child. Becky uses a board, and Jolene uses rings to organize them.”
Vincent scratches his head. How often does he shave to keep it so smooth?
“And that’s just first grade.”
Vincent’s fingers fly across his laptop, and he nods slowly while biting his lower lip. My eyes focus on his upper teeth hanging over the bottom of his mouth. A small dot of saliva forms, and what might it be like, slurping it up? After we both brush our teeth, of course. I didn’t mind the oral hygiene at his house, and Vincent was all for kissing in my office before the break sans brushing. That mouth. Those eyelashes. That bald head.
“Mr. Lester, I’m done!”
Kylie stands at my feet, waving her math paper like a flag. As her assignment rattles, I’m unable to see it clearly, and I’m not sure what to do with it. I’m here to watch the class so Vincent and Sheldon can chat, but before I can reply, Sheldon calls over from his desk.
“Kylie, remember, our finished papers go in the ‘done’ bin, and then you can … ”
“Make a math choice,” Kylie shouts.
I smile at her and walk around the classroom, seeing if anyone needs me. They don’t. Sheldon’s class runs like a well-oiled machine.
“I think I have what I need,” Vincent says, walking toward me. With his open laptop balancing on his forearm, he types with his free hand.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I’m happy to stay and watch the class longer.”
“Nope. All good. I need to aggregate the requirements.”
“Go ahead, I’ll be along shortly,” I say. Vincent thanks Sheldon with a nod and heads back to my office. He’s set up shop on my table while Geoff and Shreya spread out in the conference room. Occasionally, he joins them, but mostly, he opts to work alone. He vacates the space when I need my office, and it hasn’t been an issue. I’ve grown accustomed to having him around.
“Mr. Manda seems lovely.” Sheldon sidles up to me as I return to roaming the room.
