My attention snapped to the open doorway of my classroom. My teacher friend April Coolidge was grinning at me, waiting. We usually walked out together in the afternoons.
Despite the heavy turn my thoughts had taken, I couldn’t resist the smile that tugged at my lips as I took in my friend. She had a new stain near her left shoulder, and half her bun had fallen out. April taught second grade, and by the end of the day, she typically looked like she’d survived a battle.
I cleared my throat and stood from behind my desk. “Yeah, I’m packing up now.”
April approached and gave me a cautious once-over. “You holding up okay?”
I fought the urge to grind my molars and, instead, gathered my bag from my bottom desk drawer and snagged the loop of my water bottle. “Yep.”
Of course, she was going to ask. April was a year younger than me, and we’d been teaching at Kirby Falls Elementary together for the last eight years. We went to lunch often and saved each other seats at staff meetings and in-service days. We were friends. She didn’t know all the gory details of my divorce from Danny. No one did. Not my family, not my sister, not even my best friend, Candace.
But April knew enough. And last week I’d been married, and now I wasn’t.
“I’m fine,” I insisted when she continued to watch me suspiciously.
As I turned off the lights and we exited my classroom, I felt guilty for dodging her question. I knew she was only asking because she was concerned. I couldn’t tell if the awkwardness I felt was really there—hovering in the air between us—or if I was just imagining it because I was so worried about keeping the peace all the time.
Finally, in an effort to smooth things over, I touched her shoulder near the orange smudge on her white blouse. “What’s this from, Coolidge? Paint?”
April looked down where I’d indicated and then brought the fabric to her mouth for a quick lick.
“Oh my God! Don’t do that,” I scolded, but I was laughing too.
“Not paint,” she replied, unbothered. “Cheeto dust from lunch.”
I chuckled. “Your Cheetos, at least?”
She grinned and nodded, what was left of her chestnut-brown bun flopping with the movement. “Oh yeah.”
We continued walking toward the front of the building, and as we drew closer to the school entrance, April murmured a familiar countdown. “And in three ... two ... one.”
Sure enough, as we passed the window that looked into the main office, our principal, Mr. Brinkman, glanced up from a stack of papers he was straightening. The office manager was already gone, and he was the lone occupant this late in the afternoon.
And just like every other day, he gave us a smile and a wave through the window.
April and I returned his greeting, waving until he was out of sight. My friend’s bony elbow found its way to my ribs in a teasing gesture.
“Don’t start,” I mumbled tightly. I couldn’t deal with her insinuations today. Not when I was technically single for the first time since I was fourteen years old. She’d been claiming Mr. Brinkman had a crush on me for years.
Alex Brinkman was a good guy. He was the kind of administrator who supported his teachers and really listened to students and parents. Alex had been my principal at Kirby Falls Elementary for the last five years, and I valued and respected him and the work he’d done in our community. He’d been a transplant from Wilmington, looking for a smaller school and a slower pace. And, if April was to be believed, the tall, handsome educator was looking to settle down. But he’d never once made a move on me.I’d been married, after all. He was just ... pleasant and attentive. Plus, he smiled a lot.
“Mmhmm,” April hummed meaningfully.
“He’s just being friendly,” I argued, pushing open the front doors of the school and breathing in the fresh autumn air.
Thankfully, April let it go as we made our way to our vehicles.
“See you tomorrow, Jensen,” she called out, like she did every day.
Only this time, she froze as realization set in. April’s eyes widened as they met mine over the tops of our cars.
Being in a school setting, we tried not to use first names around the kids. So most teachers tended to call one another by their last names.
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “It’s still my name. I heard it fifty times from students all day long today. I’m okay.”
Some of the panic left April’s face, her brown eyes softening as she nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m being dumb.”
“You’re being a good friend. But I promise you I’m alright.” I threw in a smile for good measure, one that even showed the slight gap between my two front teeth.
