“Come along, dear,” my mom says, already looping an arm through Andrzej’s. She reaches for Tessa next, steering them away from Robyn and me, winking. “Andrzej will keep the jokes coming so you don’t get bored.”
“But, Rebecca?—”
My mom doesn’t even slow down. “It’s Mrs. Leighton to you, dear.”
After they cartthe buffet table away, the microphone screeches once. At the podium stands the new principal, a guy in his mid-forties with neatly parted salt-and-pepper hair. He keeps nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He’s loosened his tie—The Legend Has Retiredstill visible in the embroidery—and rolled his sleeves to the forearms, the universal signal forI’m approachable but in charge.
Then he does one of thoseteachermoves I know so well. He cocks his hip and says, “I’m still waiting on three-to-five voices in the back. Please and thank you.”
It makes me feel like I’m about to be scolded in my Technical Drawing class. Robyn chuckles, her gaze flicking to mine.
His voice comes back warm and practiced. “If you don’t know me, I’m Ruben Fletcher. I’ll be stepping in as principal now that Mrs. Leighton is off to different ventures.”
Polite applause ripples through the room. Robyn shifts beside me, her knee brushing mine, attention fully forward.
“When Rebecca was first given my name as her replacement for the principalship,” Fletcher says, smiling faintly, “I’m told she wasn’t exactly pleased.”
A ripple of laughter moves through the room.
“She had opinions.” He taps the podium once, deliberate. “And she made it very clear that this school wasn’t something you simplytake over.”
Teachers murmur in agreement. A few alumni nod. All I can see, though, is how he doesn’t quite manage to look away from my mom when he says it.
“She’s been a mentor to me in ways I didn’t expect,” Fletcher says. “This school is better because of her.” His eyes shift with a touch of warmth. “I can say this with certainty: whatever I do here, will be with Mrs. Leighton’s voice on my left and right shoulder.” His eyes find hers again. “And I don’t expect that to ever change.”
The applause this time is louder. Sustained. My momholds his gaze a beat longer than necessary before she finally nods. She looksmoved.
Fletcher lets the noise crest, then claps his hands together once. “Now—Rebecca specifically asked that this not turn into a somber farewell. So we’re going to”—he glances down at a clipboard—“have a little fun—town-hall style.”
Groans and cheers mix. Robyn smiles despite herself.
“Our very own Tessa is going to take us through the game portion of the evening. Let’s give her a round of applause for fundraising for tonight’s event.”
Tessa straightens at the head table, smiling and composed. She steps up beside Fletcher, one hand resting lightly on the podium.Basking.
“I’m so excited to have had the privilege to organize Rebecca’s”—I glance at Mom and catch her rolling her eyes—“retirement ceremony,” she continues. “I have prepared some games. We will be playing in teams.” She claps. “Students versus teachers. Obviously.”
“And,” Fletcher adds, turning toward my mom, “as a surprise, I believe Rebecca volunteered herself to get us started?”
My mom laughs, the room applauding as she joins them. I feel a familiar tightening in my chest—the mix of pride and inevitability that comes with her taking charge.
Tessa leans in, murmuring something I can’t hear, and my mom nods politely. Too politely.
“All right,” Fletcher says, stepping back. “I’ll let Rebecca and Tessa take it from here.”
She doesn’t bother with the microphone at first. She scans the room and projects her voice from the stage.
“Alright,” she says. “Students versus teachers. Right?” Boos from the alumni. Cheers from the teachers. “Y’all,” Mom says, “I didn’t hear a single thing.”
It allintensifies.
Robyn laughs quietly, her shoulder brushing mine. “She’s ruthless,” she whispers.
“You have no idea,” I murmur back.
“The rules are simple,” my mom continues. “One person holds water in their mouth.” She pauses. “The other person hits them in the face with a flour tortilla.”
The room erupts.
