“Thank you for the food, by the way. I was beyond hungry.”
“You’re welcome.” And I mean it. I’m not going to let what happened that first night happen again. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. How pale she looked and then how quickly and hungrily she ate the PB&J.
I keep snacks in my classroom for my kids who can’t count on getting a meal at home on the regular. I don’t like it, but I’m used to it. And I know I’m doing what I can. No one is sitting in my class, trying to learn while their stomach growls.
But they’re hungry because there isn’t anything in the pantry. Or there isn’t a pantry. Period.
That’s not Iris’s deal.
Maybe she was just having an off day, but by the way she and Ramon were talking about it, it sounded like it happens pretty often. I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she’s hypoglycemic and she needs to eat all the time.
But I have a hunch that’s not the problem.
Whatever her problem is, it’s not my business, but I’m still not keen on having one of my students too hungry to learn what I have to teach.
So I’ve put something out every night, and when they said they’d be late, I figured she’d need more tonight. More of a meal than a snack.
And she seemed to like it. I have to admit, it was kinda fun watching her try the boudin. It’s crawfish season. I wonder what she’d make of that.
Too bad I won’t find out.
I’m supposed to teach her how to dance. That’s all. And she’s keeping up with the faster pace.
“You’re doing great,” I whisper.
A soft smile plays on her lips. “It’s going okay,” she agrees.
“Ready to add something to it?”
You’d think I’ve asked her for a kidney. Her eyes get big and her lips disappear between her teeth.
“We’re just going to do a simple turn.”
The look in her eyes doesn’t ease. “You’re talking to someone who maimed her teacher. Nothing’s simple for me.”
Even though I know she’s scared, I can’t help but laugh. She’s too damn funny. And when I laugh, the crease between her brows fades. If I had to guess, I think she wants to make me laugh.
“You didn’t maim him for life,” I say, recovering. I want to make her feel better, but I see I’ve made it worse when that crease returns.
“How is he? Your uncle? I haven’t seen him around since the week after his surgery.”
She hasn’t seen him around because he hasn’t been around. Aunt Lorraine used his surgery as an excuse to kidnapNoncand take him home with her where she could fuss over him properly. I haven’t heard him complain about it.
“He’s fine. He’s better than fine,” I say, smothering a grin. “And I will be too. Just a simple turn like I said. I promise. It’ll be okay.”
She looks unconvinced. “If you say so.”
I smirk. “I say so.”
Finally, I win a smile from her.
“It’ll be easy. You’ll see.”
I break down the components of the outside-arch-under, the way I’ll step back, queuing her to step back too, our hands clasped, arms like a chain between us for one two-step. Then I’ll raise her right hand, pulling her in for an easy twirl, moving around her as we essentially switch places.
At first, she makes a fuss about how she can’t do it, how she can “screw up walking to the mailbox.”
But I’m learning that this is just her fear talking. “We’re going to do it so slowly and repeat it so many times, you’ll be able to do it in your sleep,” I tell her, shoving aside the image of Iris twirling in a nightie. “I’m in no rush.”
