Page 9 of Mistletoe & Mischief

Brad’s alarm clock rang every morning at six, but that didn’t always mean he paid attention to it. He smacked the top of the clock to stop the incessant buzzing and lay in the darkness, listening to the crash of wind against his little house. It was chilly in his bedroom, which made it easier to fall asleep but much more difficult to get up.

But then, he remembered something. Today was the day he would meet with Maya, the newcomer, to plan the Christmas festival. He whipped the comforter from his legs, headed to his dresser, donned a pair of running pants and a big sweatshirt, and was out the door in no time. His best days as a teacher (and as a person) began with a five-mile run. He thought better of himself and the world afterward— perhaps because of the endorphins. Besides, he was fifty years old. He needed the exercise.

As Brad whipped toward the riverwalk, he stretched his legs out and considered the day ahead. He’d already made a list of to-dos for the Christmas Festival, which he planned to translate to Maya later, perhaps over coffee and cake. He could take her to his favorite coffee shop and maybe ask her questions about herself between planning. She seemed like a fish out of water— nervous and jumpy in the small town Brad knew like the back of his hand. But she was beautiful. Her big, brown eyes seemed to peer all the way through his soul, and her voice sounded a bit like Scarlet Johansson, raspy but adorable. He’d felt embarrassed, taking her to the bed and breakfast like that. Did he think he was some kind of hero? Did he think he could “save” her day? Then again, that was kind of his thing. He loved lending a helping hand. A therapist had once told him it was his way of neglecting himself and his own needs. Not long after that, he’d witnessed the therapist back her vehicle into a stop sign on accident and stayed with her for over an hour, waiting for the cops to arrive. He’d canceled a date to stay there with her, making sure she was all right. Afterward, she’d said:“See what you’re doing. You’re sabotaging yourself.”He’d suddenly seen her point.

Brad got back to his house at six-forty-five, jumped in the shower, and donned a pair of slacks and a navy button-down. He drank a cup of coffee and scarfed down a bowl of oatmeal with peanut butter and raisins, then headed out by seven-fifteen. The elementary school was just four blocks away, and he loved the walk.

Brad reached school by seven-twenty. Already, a line of big yellow buses stretched around the block, dropping off kids from the outskirts of town and the countryside beyond that. He waved to previous and present students as they scampered past, their backpacks bouncing. Before school began at eight, the kids were kept in the gym, where they played games and socialized. Some weeks, Brad was assigned morning duty, which meant he had to stand at the edge of the gym and make sure there was no funny business. He was glad today wasn’t one of those days.

Brad had begun teaching at Hollygrove Elementary School at the age of twenty-three, more than half his life ago. At first, he’d been a sixth-grade teacher, then a kindergarten teacher, before he’d stopped at second grade. That was fifteen years ago now. To him, second grade was a sweet spot. Kids were still kids; they were still excited about learning, and they seemed to lack the cruelty that came in third and fourth grade— especially amongst little girls. The things he’d heard ten-year-old girls say to one another had turned his blood cold.

Brad entered through the office to check his mailbox. Principal Sally Rodgers waved from the inside of her office, where she talked on the phone. Brad waved back and strode toward the hallway, greeting the secretarial staff by name.

“Have a beautiful day, Brad!” Mrs. Quincy called.

But when Brad ducked into the hallway, he nearly stumbled directly into Rainey Michaels. His heart stopped with surprise.

“Oh! Brad! It’s you!” Rainey’s smile was enormous, showing too many of her very white teeth. Sometimes, Brad had the sensation that she wanted to eat him.

“Good morning, Ms. Michaels,” Brad said, his tone formal.

“Did you just get in?”

“I did.” Brad eyed his classroom door with longing. “I have to run. The class hamster, you know. He needs to be fed.”

Ms. Michaels giggled. “I forgot you got that thing.”

That thing? Brad’s cheek twitched with annoyance. Clifford the hamster was his classroom’s favorite little creature on earth. Students took turns feeding him and changing his water, and they often traded off weekends to take him home. Naming him had been a multi-day event of discussions, with Brad’s students writing small speeches about why they thought each name was best. Clifford had eventually won— but barely.

“Yes, well. See you later, Ms. Michaels.”

“I meant to tell you,” Rainey said, stepping in front of him again. “A few of us are going out after school gets out. The Mexican place has that deal on margaritas again.”

This wasn’t the first time Rainey had invited him for after-work margaritas. After one too many invites, Brad had eventually agreed— and he’d spent the entirety of the afternoon miserable, listening to teachers gossip about other teachers in a way that made his head spin. He’d vowed never to go again.

“I can’t make it,” Brad said. “I have plans this afternoon.”

“Maybe another day, then.”

Brad tried to match Rainey’s smile, but his lips failed him. Finally, he walked around her and called back over his shoulder, “See you at lunch duty, Ms. Michaels.” He disappeared into his classroom, shut the door, and exhaled all the air from his lungs. He’d known for years that Rainey had a crush on him— but her advances had gotten more insistent lately. She seemed unwilling to accept that he wasn’t interested in her. Maybe Brad should have been flattered; maybe he should have given her a chance. But there was a cruelty to Rainey that he couldn’t ignore. He often heard her screaming at her fourth graders from down the hall. She’d been written up twice for disorderly conduct. That wasn’t the type of woman he saw himself with.

Brad turned on all the lights, cleaned a few of the desks with spray and a sponge, and made sure his day’s lessons were ready to go. After that, he checked on Clifford the hamster, who slept peacefully, his fuzzy belly expanding and retracting. Brad felt an inexplicable surge of affection for the little guy.

Brad’s students scampered down the hall just before eight. All twenty-four of them were between the ages of seven and eight, and they were often exuberant this early in the morning. Brad often wondered why adults were so tired in the morning, why the weight of the world fell so hard on their shoulders as they aged.

“Good morning, Mr. Turner!” A little boy named Alex waved from his desk, where he removed his pencil box and sharpened his pencil with a portable sharpener.

“Good morning, Alex,” Brad said as he leaned against his desk up front. “How was your weekend?”

“It was great! We drove to the mall and met Santa!” Alex announced.

This caught the attention of several other students. Santa was a hot topic around here. This was another reason Brad treasured teaching such young children. Usually, by fourth grade, their belief in Santa Claus flew out the window.

“What did you ask him for?” Jason, the boy to Alex’s left, asked.

“My mom said if you tell what you wished for, it might not come true,” Alex explained.

Jason nodded, looking more serious than ever.

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