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Chapter 5
Striding into my room before the week’s chaos resumed, I left the supplies on my desk and began to organize for the day.
One by one, my students piled in, each with a form of ‘Good morning’ on their lips. We went throughout our morning by the usual routine: 8:00 a.m. class opens, 8:30 is vocabulary, 9:00 is spelling, 10:00 is read aloud, 10:30 is snack time, 11:00 is guided math, and noon is lunchtime. Typically, most kids need a break by noon, as do I.
The exhaustion of trying to entertain and educate a group of six- and seven-year-olds will drag you down quickly, but I have enough energy to spare most days.
Heading to lunch in a single file line, we make our way to the lunchroom, where they sit in their assigned spots as I head to the teacher table next to Mrs. Williams, or Hannah, as I should call her.
Hannah told the rest of the group about her crazy weekend fishing on the lake and how she caught a giant turtle.
They all take turns telling the table about their busy weekends and how ‘their kids are driving them crazy’ or ‘they went to see the grandkids this weekend.’ I listened intently to everyone’s replies, smiling at the thought of them all seeing their families.
It can be a little uncomfortable being the youngest teacher at the elementary school. Most days, it’s okay, but a twenty-five-year-old first-grade teacher isn’t widespread here. Most teachers in this grade have been here for ten-plus years and don’t plan to leave anytime soon. This being said, a girl fresh out of university with a bachelor’s degree and a heart for kids barely cut it, but they were desperate for someone to replace Mr. Briggs’s class, and here I was.
I thought of my weekend and referred to Grant nearly knocking me down with my shopping cart. I was getting my grandmother’s house remodeled, so we’re making progress. Charlie took a sip of his coffee, “Who did you get out there to see it? I haven’t been able to get someone to redo my dining room in months.”
I stabbed my limp lettuce in my cheaply made salad with a fork and flashed a shy smile. “Grant Dawes. He’s the only one who would answer my call.”
Hannah gave me a look. “Watch out for that one. He’s got some tricky history. I’ve heard things about him I’m too proud to repeat.”
So I’ve heard.
In a small town like Lakeshore, GA, once you get a reputation, it sticks. Good luck changing it. I shuddered slightly, thinking of the man. Still, Grant seemed like a mysterious guy, but a troubled history appeared to be a bit far. All I’d heard so far was his ability to start fights and have one-night stands, neither of which gave me a lasting impression, but nothing that was precisely forbidden.
“I heard he killed his ex-wife for insurance money and ran out of town, but he got stuck here.”
“I heard he was here as an undercover cop.”
Oh…Grant in a uniform…
No, June. Stop it.
“Someone told me he has been kicked out of every bar in the county.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard things, but I need to finish this place quickly. The sooner I can move out of my apartment, the better.” They nodded in agreement and continued their lunch and conversation.
When our lunch break ended, I gathered my students and made our way back through the hall and up to our classroom. Keeping them in a single file line, I began singing our marching song as we marched up the stairs.
Coming into our room, I opened the closet for each student to grab their nap mat and head to the floor to lay down while I shut the lights off and turned on their noise machine. I headed straight to my computer to check on my email and finish grading our latest works.
I opened my email. One stuck out, labeled “Estimated Invoice: June Hart.” My heart skipped a beat. Not at the thought of Grant, but just that someone finally gave me a quote. It was starting to feel real. The invoice included an itemized list of everything we mentioned in the walkthrough of the house with its cost in a column on the right side. The pricing seemed pretty fair for this market, so I had no problem replying.
These numbers look great. When can you start?
Maybe I should say thank you or something. I feel like a jerk for being so short with him because of one interaction a year ago. It seemed silly, but I replied once more and sent another email.
Thank you, by the way. You’re the only guy I could get out there.
I also saw an email right below from my landlord, hopefully answering my complaint about the broken oven.
The oven in your apartment will need a different specialist to see it. It is not on our top priority list, so it does not warrant an immediate fix. Well, of course, it didn’t.
I leaned back in my chair with a sigh. I was going to have a break soon, and I could feel it. But for now, I was just dragging through the trenches. Before I knew it, I received an email back from Grant.
I can start on Thursday morning. I will need you to meet me there to unlock the house and give me a key copy.
I made a mental note to have someone cover my class Thursday morning, so I could meet him.
Perfect, see you Thursday.
Attempting to ignore the butterflies in my stomach, I continued my day at work until student pickup. On my way out of school, I stopped by the guidance counselor’s office to grab fliers for the upcoming Mother’s Day Bake sale. I foolishly signed up to bring cookies, brownies, and cupcakes for different teachers so they wouldn’t have to. I was one of the only teachers who didn’t have children yet, so I understood they had less time to accomplish these things. Nevertheless, this leaves me with bringing four dozen treats to school in a little over a week and over twenty students’ tests and homework assignments to grade.
I spent that night in my apartment, cuddled on the couch by a lamp, playing a true-crime podcast as white noise and cozy under a blanket. My array of highlighters is sprawled across the sofa as I switch back and forth between the colors to grade each student’s assignment. Every once in a while, I run across a funny answer to a question or a side comment that one of the six-year-olds wrote that makes me giggle.
As difficult and tiring as teaching could be, I honestly couldn’t imagine being in another profession. The feeling of making a difference in a child’s life and seeing that innocence and sparkle in their eyes made it all worthwhile.
