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“Yes, I can. I’m the teacher. I can say what I want.Youcan’t say stupid.” I don’t need to look at the little pigtailed brat to know she’s glaring at me. I look at the chalkboard instead and my art illustration of a fish and its parasite friend. “Where was I? Oh, right. So Brennan bores his way into the tongue, my tongue, and then drinks the fish’s blood until the tongue falls off. Once it does, Brennan becomes the fish’s tongue until the fish dies.”

I’m not sure about the twenty-two pairs of wide eyes staring back at me. The boys are fascinated. . . the girls. . . not so much. Do you think that story was appropriate for them?

Cash’s hand shoots up, and I’m happy he’s participating today. “Did Brennan take your tongue?”

I laugh. “Well, no, but the moral of this story is by just passing by Brennan, who hadn’t washed his hands all day yesterday.” I point at him. “Don’t think I didn’t see that, dude. But because of that, I got sick.”

Arrow raises her hand. Fuck me. “For one, it would take longer than a day for you to get sick. The average incubation period of the common cold is five days. . . and what does that story have to do with you getting a cold?”

You know, I hope Arrow’s parents show up at the parent-teacher conference next month so I can punch her dad in the face. “Actually you’re wrong, Arrow.” I love saying that. It’s so goddamn gratifying. Mostly because shedidn’tbring me a Twinkie today. “The incubation period of a cold is twenty-four to seventy-two hours. And this story has nothing to do with my cold. But. . . we’re gonna study fish this week, and I just thought you needed to know the next time you eat fish, don’t eat the tongue. Could be a parasite in there.”

I guarantee you none of the girls in the class will ever eat fish again, and forgive me if I’m silently hoping Arrow has nightmares about her tongue falling off.

“Okay.” I clap my hands together. “Today we’re supposed to work on a family tree.”

At the time, I didn’t think anything of this particular project, but just wait, as with most things, it comes back to bite my ass. Or does it?

I hand out paper to all the kids, and they’re cutting out their trees when I notice Brennan’s paper. I glance at his paper that’s jumbled with letters that should be his name, and clearly aren’t. “That’s not how you spell your name, germs.”

Wide eyes meet mine. “I don’t know how to spell it.”

His name is Brennan Zimmerman. His parents should be ashamed of themselves giving him such a long name. His middle name is Nathaniel. Pretty sure this kid has the longest name in history.

Actually, he doesn’t. Hubert Blaine Wolfeschlegelsteinhausenbergerdorff has the longest name. Don’t believe me?

Google it.

And if you ask me, that’s not a name. That’s a bunch of fucking letters thrown together.

“Why can’t you spell your name?”

Brennan shrugs. “I don’t know.”

I kneel. “Okay, let’s try this. Write your first name.”

He does, but instead of an N on the end, he leaves it off. I grin. “Nice to meet you, Brenna.”

He frowns. “That’s not my name.”

I point to the paper. “Then learn how to spell it because I’m calling you whatever’s on your paper.” Just before he appears to be in tears, I nudge him with my elbow. “Relax, B.” I point to his name tag on his desk. “Copy that for now and we’ll work on it every day.”

It’s then my attention is drawn to the front of the classroom where Grady had finished his family tree and Cash has ripped it up and is yelling at him, “That’s not your family anymore. We don’t have one!”

I rush to the front of the classroom to separate them, because the boys are actually throwing punches at one another. I see the tree, well, half of it, and Grady has written the name Brie in the corner next to his dad’s name.

Shit.

Yeah, I’d be pissed too, but it was an honest attempt on Grady’s part. He was just doing the assignment. I’d like to point out, this wasn’t my choice in assignments. I was given a lesson plan by Burke and told to follow it. Don’t blame me here.

Back to the boys. I look at both of them, both hurting, both angry at the circumstances they find themselves in, together. I want to tell them they need to stick together and not hit one another, but should I get involved? Would it even make a difference?

I glance at Cash, red-faced and breathing heavy. My chest hurts, a pain I recognize stabbing at me. I remember where this little boy’s mind is at. He’s hurting because he feels let down by his father. I took my anger out on my mother because she left, but with Cash, his fucking hero left him and his brother. He’s eight. He shouldn’t have to deal with any of this but he is, and he’s taking it out on paper and his brother.

I’ve been here in the same mindset he’s in. My relationship with my mother was irrevocably damaged after she cheated on my dad.

Separating the boys, the bell rings for their first recess, and I make them stay inside for a minute. Grady’s crying and Cash is angry, arms crossed over his chest. “I want to go outside,” he tells me, glaring.

Fuck, he looks just like Austin when he scowls. “I know you do, but not until you calm down and apologize to your brother.”