Wipe. Breathe. Wipe. Breathe.
Kent is one thing. His crumb creation ratio is relatively low. My gut tells me that it’s higher when he’s not around me, but as an adult, he has some ability to contain it. But Brodie? I’m unsure if more bread landed in his mouth or on the table. The floor is littered, but only the bottom of my feet will make contact, and I’ll scour my shoes when I get home. After four wipes, Kent’s office has a lingering scent reminiscent of a public pool, an ironically filthy place to put your almost naked body. The chlorine fools the brain into thinking it’s fresh and ready for swimming. Never in a million years.
Walking back into his office, Kent holds his hands up. I cock my head, wondering what he’s up to.
“Go ahead,” he says, twisting his hands in the air. “Inspect if you like. I scrubbed so hard the hair on my knuckles vanished.”
“Hilarious.”
“Not trying to be funny, but I’ll take it,” Kent says, returning to his desk. “Thanks for being patient. With Brodie.”
“He’s a nice boy. What’s his … why does he … ?”
“Brodie’s in the process of being evaluated. It often happens with our younger students. We knew he had unique needs from his kindergarten screening—two years ago. It’s taken that long to collect data and get the process started.”
“Evaluated? For what?”
“We won’t really know until it’s all completed. And unfortunately, that can take months. He has to be seen by many people—the district psychologist, school social worker, speech, occupational therapist, and physical therapist. It’s a long list.”
“And then you’ll know?” I ask, the lines on my forehead exposed.
“Hopefully. With what I’ve seen, I’m confident he’ll qualify for services. That’s my hope. Once we can identify his challenges, we can help him better.”
“He likes LEGO.” My mind wanders to my childhood. How tricky school was for me. Maybe if I’d had someone like Kent looking out for me, I would’ve gotten more assistance.
“And he’s very sweet. Besides all the crumbs.” I motion to the floor.
“Did someone say crumbs?”
Theo, the custodian and apparently boyfriend of Sheldon, the first-grade teacher, appears at the door. Sandy curls frame his fair skin, bouncing as he moves toward us.
“Mr. Berenson,” Kent says. “Yes, by the table. Brodie was … ”
“Enthusiastic,” I say.
“The kid loves to eat,” Theo says, holding a small cordless vacuum. He bends down and begins sucking away the offending crumbs. “Doesn’t talk much, likes to help.”
“You’re two peas in a pod,” Kent says.
“There.” Theo maneuvers the vacuum in between the legs of the table and chairs. “Crumb free.”
“Thank you, sir,” Kent says, patting Theo on the back. There’s a gentle warmth and sense of ease between them.
“My pleasure.” Theo gives a small salute to Kent and then turns to me. “Be careful with this one.” He nods toward Kent. “He’s one of the good guys.” And he’s off.
“People seem to really like you here,” I say.
Kent shrugs, and his mouth transforms into a charming smile.
“I try. I know what it’s like to be in the classroom.” He joins me at the table with his laptop. “Many principals forget. I don’t want to be one of them.”
“And Theo seems extra fond of you.”
“Theo’s a special guy. Quiet but sweet. This thing between him and Sheldon seems to be helping him come out of his shell.” Kent’s signature smile inches across his face.
“And you don’t mind?”
“Them dating? Heck no. I encourage it. They’re consenting adults. And professional. It’s not like they’re shtupping at school.”
