Page 7 of Broken Blood Ties

“Miss Summer?” Aoife says.

I smile at her and Tommy, kneeling to their level. “I didn’t receive your parental permission slips back in your take-home folders for our field trip next week. They were due today.”

Tommy sniffles and pushes his orange frames up his nose with his thumb. “I-I know my mom signed it, Miss Summer. Can I bring it tomorrow?”

I nod, knowing I’d worked two extra days for late permission slips. He hisses out a “yes” while pumping his elbow down into his ribs in a celebratory fist pump. He runs over to his buddy, John, who is packing up his pencil case.

Aoife stands there, unsure where to look before landing on the giraffe animal below her spotless white Keds. Her expression flickers a memory to life in the back of my mind, but I squash it.

“And what about you, Aoife?”

She shrugs, and her tiny button nose scrunches with a sniffle. “I gave the folder to my nanny.”

My heart melts at her expression, and I reach up to squeeze her small shoulder. “It’s okay. We’ll get it sorted out.” At least, I hope I can.

Her frown turns into a light grin. “Thanks,” she says, and ducks into the line of tiny minions acting like feral cats trying to get outdoors. She taps another little girl on the shoulder ahead of her. “Want to play mermaids outside?”

Paige’s face lights up. “Yes!”

With my line leaders in place, we exit the room at the same time the pre-K3 class across the hall also attempts recess. The dark marble floors extend into several equally spaced pillars down the massive prekindergarten wing and instead of children’s artwork displayed proudly on the hallway walls like one would expect from a school, the sterile white walls are riddled with professional photographs of businessmen, politicians, and athletes who were once part of the Ardenbrook preschool program.

I’ll admit I offer them each a scowl out of principle each morning when I come into school.

Down the long hallway is a private exit for the preschool wing of the academy that opens into a shared courtyard with kindergarten and first grades already playing. Erect in the middle of said courtyard is a state-of-the-art playground made possible by ten donors, all of whom sit on the academy’s board. It’s impossible not to know with the giant bronze plaque on display as you enter.

The play structure is green and cream, matching the school’s colors, and it’s almost comical to see the kids—also in green and khaki—dart around like ants on their hill.

“Backpacks near the wall for dismissal,” I instruct sternly before my mouth widens into a smile. “And have fun.”

Kids dart every which way from their assigned lines. Crashing like waves upon the sand.

I fiddle with my lanyard, layered with alternating colored silicone beads and matching animals from the mammal-themed classroom I put together, and make my way to the seating surrounding the courtyard.

At the bench sit two of my closest teacher friends, Shelly and Mark. Shelly teaches first grade, while Mark is part of the main office and admissions staff.

“I don’t know how you wear those annoyingly adorable outfits when dealing with little ones all day,” Shelly says.

“And in the cold.” Mark shifts to make room for me on the bench.

As I sit, I nod toward his shaved head. “Finally, a day your head isn’t so cold, huh?”

“It’s supposed to snow tomorrow,” he deadpans.

I let out a discreet chuckle. When Mark is out of school, he’s always wearing a hat to cover his almost-bald head. He usually has the grunge look going on. But in school, the man wears the most eccentric suits and bow ties. When I’m fifty-five, I hope to have the confidence to wear whatever I want as well. He and his partner both have better fashion sense than I do.

“I’m looking forward to spring break,” Shelly chimes in. “After this field trip next week, I get a whole week off to wear sweatpants and watch Netflix.”

“You mean lesson plan, catch up on grading, and do all your neglected laundry?”

“Way to kill the vibe, Summer,” Mark says.

I shrug, actually looking forward to getting some lesson planning done. Then I spot Bree pushing Tommy and have to intervene with a “no pushing!” tirade.

“I have two students who haven’t turned in their permission slips for the New England Aquarium trip next week.” I don’t come out and ask the question to Shelly, but it’s implied.

Shelly is my go-to guru for all things teaching. She’s been at Ardenbrook for six years, and we have a friendship I’m not sure I’ve ever had before.

She lowers the glasses that she wears to match her outfits despite having 20/20 vision. Today they’re a light pink to match her magenta cashmere sweater and black dress pants. Her red hair is pulled up and clipped to the back of her head, two pieces framing her face.