Page 46 of My Single Dad Biker

My life has changed completely in a week.

I'm still processing this when I realize I need to leave for school in ten minutes. I grab my bag and drive to the elementary school and spend the day teaching on autopilot while my brain replays breakfast at Holt's kitchen table.

Louis is in my Tuesday-Thursday rotation but today is Thursday so he's in my eleven o'clock class.

He comes in with the rest of the students and waves at me like he always does, completely himself, and I smile back and try not to think about the fact that his father's hands were on my body last night and I woke up in his house this morning.

We work on rhythm patterns. Louis is precise and focused and good at this. I help a girl named Emma who keeps getting confused. I keep the class moving and on task and I do not think about Holt.

Except I do think about Holt. The whole time.

Lunch is at noon. I eat in my classroom and try to focus on grading but my mind keeps wandering to this morning. To Louis's face when he saw me. To Holt's hand on my waist in the kitchen. To the three of us sitting at the table like a family.

After school I have a parent conference scheduled. Mrs. Patterson. Her son Tyler is in fourth grade and struggling in music class because he refuses to participate. I've called this meeting to discuss strategies.

Mrs. Patterson arrives at three-fifteen. She's wearing a business suit and an expression that says she's already decided this is my fault.

"Ms. Hayes." She doesn't sit down yet. "I got your note about Tyler's participation."

"Yes. Thank you for coming. Please sit."

She sits on the edge of the chair like she's ready to leave at any moment. I have Tyler's folder open in front of me with my notes and his grades.

"Tyler is struggling in music class," I begin. "Not because he can't do the work but because he's refusing to participate. When I ask students to clap rhythm patterns, he sits silently. When I ask them to sing, he mouths the words but doesn't make sound. When I ask them to choose an instrument, he says they're all boring."

Mrs. Patterson's mouth gets tight. "Tyler doesn't like music. I don't see why that's a problem."

"He doesn't have to like music but he does have to participate. It's a required class."

"Maybe if you made it more interesting he would participate."

I take a breath and keep my voice level.

"I've tried multiple approaches with Tyler. I've let him choose his own instruments. I've given him alternative assignments. I've paired him with students who are more engaged. Nothing has worked because Tyler has decided he doesn't want to participate and he's not going to."

"So you're saying my son is the problem."

"I'm saying Tyler is choosing not to engage and I'd like to work with you to figure out why."

"Maybe he's not engaged because the class is boring. Have you considered that?"

My face feels hot but I keep my voice steady.

"I teach two hundred students across six grades. Most of them are engaged. When one student consistently refuses to participate while everyone else does, that tells me something else is going on."

"Are you saying there's something wrong with my son?"

"I'm saying I'd like to understand what's happening so I can help him succeed."

"He doesn't need help. He needs a teacher who can make music interesting."

We go back and forth like this for another ten minutes.

She's accusatory. I'm defensive. We're getting nowhere. By three-thirty I'm exhausted and frustrated and she's clearly decided I'm incompetent.

She finally stands. "I'll be speaking to the principal about this."

"That's your right."