They’d somehow managed to survive another week of homeschooling, but the Experiment was not the relaxing Shangri-la she’d thought it would be.
As it turned out, teaching washard.
She thought she would just be supporting Piper and Rosamund. But they’d found that someone needed to work with the little kids while they worked with the older kids and vice versa. So in addition to scheduling field trips and making lunches and printing out worksheets and buying school supplies and filing paperwork, she was teaching too.
She’d been up until midnight watching YouTube videos on how to write a lesson plan. The night before she’d been trying to relearn howto divide fractions. Or perhaps justlearning. Fractions had never been her strong suit.
And then there was Luke.
He wasn’t reading at the level of the older kids, but he didn’t want to be stuck with the younger ones either. And he had trouble sitting still. He’d get up, wander around, look out the window. He’d fiddle and jiggle and fidget, and this distracted the other kids.
It was becoming a huge problem. And Piper, who had the courage of a lion, cared enough to face the issue head on instead of letting it fester.
“Can we talk about Luke?” she’d asked at the start of the second week when the kids went outside in the backyard and Rosamund went home to work on her novel.
Kiersten hung her head. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”
“He’s such a sweet kid,” Piper said. “We just need to find a way to keep him engaged and interested, especially when we’re working on material that’s harder for him than it might be for the other kids.”
“I’m trying to find a dyslexia specialist who can work with him until he’s reading at grade level, but it’s been really hard.”
She’d been unable to find a reading specialist with the qualifications, flexibility, and time to work with a new student in a home school setting. It was like searching for a unicorn.
And then a woman she’d never seen before in her life walked into her dining room, or rather, was pulled into her dining room by her youngest son.
“Mom. This lady is a real teacher,” Johnny said by way of introduction. “Not a pretend one like you and Mrs. Mondello and Ms. Hensler.”
The woman smiled and extended her hand. “I am Valentina Lucia Rossellini.”
She had curly dark hair, chunky red glasses, and a purple T-shirt with the wordCoexistwritten across it in flowers. She also had a little dog tucked under her arm. She looked like Dorothy fromThe Wizard of Ozen route to a rave.
“I’m Kiersten Cleaver. Please, come in,” she said, even though Valentina was already inside her dining room.
“I understand you are homeschooling.” Valentina spoke quickly, with an accent Kiersten couldn’t quite place. She found herself leaning forward to make sure she caught everything.
“It’s not a criticism of the public schools,” Kiersten said nervously. “Our kids had wonderful teachers. It’s more a matter of trying to achieve balance in our lives. And I have a son with dyslexia, and ADD, and he’s struggling, so we decided to try something different.”
“I was born in Italy,” Valentina said. “Then I lived in Latvia, Scotland, and South America, teaching Italian all over the world. Ten years ago I moved here, to be closer to my sister. I became a certified reading specialist, working with children who have dyslexia.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” She flipped through the textbooks scattered across the dining room table. “And I disagree with everything you do here byabandoningpublic education.”
Kiersten shrank back. Sheknewthey’d end up offending someone.
“But I understandwhyyou do it,” Valentina continued. “And I will help you.”
Kiersten’s mouth dropped open. “You will?”
“Of course!” She gave Kiersten an indignant look that said any decent person would do the same. “I will work with your son. By spring, he will walk through your house, clutching Katniss Everdeen to his heart like a long-lost love.”
“How much will you charge because I know this costs a lot and—”
Valentina cut her off with a wave of her hand. “You will pay me twenty-five dollars each week.”
She gasped. “But that won’t even begin to cover your—”
“This is true,” Valentina conceded with a gracious nod of her head. “But it will pay for the expensive prescription dog food required by Luciano Pavarotti.” She stroked the little dog tucked under her arm.
