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And I’ve made a lot of mistakes.
Am I really going to do this?
How can I not…my stupid fucking idiot of a cousin is going to be a dad. He can’t be locked up for three years, which is the max sentence according to the judge. The judge made it crystal clear that if Josh didn’t complete the tasks he was given and stay out of trouble he’d get the max sentence with no possibility of early parole.
He’d miss out on the first few years of his daughter’s life.
Lyle opens the door and pulls baggies of pills out of the backseat and Josh looks at me with tears in his eyes.
“Out of the car, Josh,” Lyle says, his tone switching from light to stern.
Josh doesn’t move.
But I do.
I step out of the car and Lyle turns toward me.
“Fuck are you doing, Blackwell?” he asks and I shrug.
“The pills are mine.”
He knocks me in the shoulder with a chuckle. “Fuck off, man. Get in the car. We all know who the addict is here. It’s my pleasure to get him off these streets.”
Josh stays quiet and I turn toward the car, placing my hands behind my back.
“Come on Lyle. Let’s get this over with,” I say, my stomach churning.
Cars buzz past us, causing Lyle to yank the two of us off to the other side of the car.
“What the hell are you doing, Sam? I’ve known you since we were kids. You don’t fuck with this shit. You leave it to your dopehead cousin. You’ve never even had a goddamn traffic ticket. Why are you doing this?”
I stare at him, unblinking.
I’ve never been a great liar but I guess now’s a good time to start.
“Don’t know what to tell you, Lyle. The pills are mine.”
He shakes his head as he pulls cuffs from his side.
“Don’t make me do this, Sam. Come on.”
I turn around again, placing my hands around my back so my old friend can cuff me, knowing I’m fucking myself but quite literally maybe saving my cousin’s life in the process.
ONE
LUCY
There isnothingmore exciting than the first day of school. Even as a child, I looked forward to this day more than any other day of the year - including Christmas and my birthday.
Growing up, we didn’t have much money, but my mom always made sure my sister and I always had a new outfit and shoes for the first day. It’s a tradition I’ve kept for myself as a teacher. It’s also the one day of the year I don’t bring coffee from home and splurge on an iced caramel macchiato from Starbucks.
I feel a little rebellious in my plaid trousers and beige knit Oxford shoes. The Blackwell Academy, where I teach kindergarten, is known for its high standards when it comes to education. Standards that extend to members of the staff as well. While there’s no specific rule stating that women teachers should not wear pants, I’ve never seen any of my co-workers in anything but dresses and skirts.
When I pull into the parking lot, I have my choice of spots. The only other vehicle in the faculty lot belongs to the headmaster herself. I chuckle to myself as I step out of my used little Honda Civic. It’s a good, reliable car, but it looks like a beat up Matchbox car next to the brand new big, black Cadillac Escalade parked next to me. Not too long from now, this lot will be filled with the likes of Mercedes, BMWs, Audis, and the occasional Tesla.
When I first started at Blackwell last school year, it bothered me that I was, very obviously, in a class below most of the other teachers. I couldn’t afford clothes from Nordstrom and to go out for drinks at the swanky martini bar downtown after parent-teacher conferences, but I loved my job. I loved my students. That’s what matters. Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Before I head to the teacher’s lounge, I head to my classroom and give it one final inspection. I spent the last week perfecting my Eric Carle-themed classroom. From the paper lantern caterpillar hanging from the ceiling to the hand drawn name plates, the room is full of bright pops of inviting colors. A calming wave of lavender hangs in the air from the diffuser plugged in at my desk across the room.
