Page 7

Chapter seven

Danae

I glance down and see Jason enthusiastically waving goodbye to Samantha.

We spent nearly two hours together over lunch, and I was surprised by how much I enjoyed her company.

This lunch started as an opportunity to scope out whether I’m comfortable letting her babysit Jason, but it became an opportunity to get to know a new friend.

She was open but careful sharing about her past, and I could tell that Jason felt a connection with her through their similar experiences. Samantha even brought me a copy of her background check and CPR certificate, as though the transparent effort would tip the scales of my skepticism.

It might have.

Her genuine interest in me also helped—she didn’t treat the lunch like I was interviewing her but more like a mutual conversation. She loved hearing stories about teaching, and we all bonded over a shared appreciation for Harry Potter (even if she’s only seen the movies—we’ll forgive her for that).

Once we’re back home, I pull out a notebook and draw a line down the middle for a pro/con list.

The cons of letting Samantha babysit primarily center around the short amount of time that I’ve known her. Is it irresponsible to leave Jason with her when I don’t know her super well yet? What if she’s a con artist who’s really good at convincing people to trust her?

That cynical spin doesn’t sit right, though. After all, she’s been helping Griffin with the camp for several years, working with multiple rounds of kids in foster care. She doesn’t seem like the con artist type.

The pro side is significantly longer. Those points include Jason having a role model to look up to who understands what he’s been through and me enjoying Samantha’s company.

But the lynch pin of the pro column is that if I am ever going to have time to myself to fill my own cup like Samantha said, then I need someone to babysit Jason.

Someone who isn’t scared off by challenging behavior.

And Samantha seems like that someone, at least right now.

Jason comes over to the table where I’m sitting, holding the tablet out to me. “Could you update this game?” he asks. As I punch in the code, he adds, “Will we hang out with Sammi again soon? She’s so cool!”

Handing the tablet back to Jason, I weigh my answer. Glancing at the list in front of me, I look back up to his expectant eyes. “I think we will, bud.”

I send Samantha a text confirming Wednesday.

Setting the picture book to the side, I make the quiet sign and wait for the first-grade class to settle down. It takes a moment for them to still their wiggling bodies on the carpet and fall quiet.

Speaking in my soft, soothing library voice, I tell the students, “You can look around to find what book you’d like to take home this week.

After you check out with Ms. Pam, please place your book on your table.

Then, you may choose a station to play at quietly for the next ten minutes.

We’ll spend the final ten minutes of library time silently reading the books you picked out. ”

Light chaos ensues as eighteen first graders mill around the library space, browsing the shelves.

I make the rounds to assist students in finding books that interest them, making suggestions to the ones who seem indecisive.

The noise level slowly grows as students begin playing in groups of three with blocks, marble towers, and puzzles around the room.

I make rounds through the stations, pausing near groups that are getting a little too rambunctious, encouraging them to use appropriate library voices.

The first day back after a long break is always an extra challenge, but I’m grateful to be with our students again.

Checking my watch, I announce that it’s time to clean up and move to silent reading.

This is my final class of the day, so I’ll have a little bit of time to clean up and prepare for tomorrow before it’s time to assist with dismissal procedures.

I’m nervous for the day to end, however, because I got a visit from Meghan, our school counselor, during my lunch period.

Apparently, Jason had an angry outburst at morning recess.

From what she could gather, Jason was sharing about getting to meet Kansas City Crowns players last week, and another student rather rudely pointed out that the only reason he got to meet them is because his mom is dead and his dad is in jail.

At least, I think it was rather rude to point out. There’s a good chance that Jason was being a little over-the-top in bragging about his experience, but my mama bear instincts have already kicked in to come to his defense.

I know that I need to discuss the issue with Jason—not only what appropriate behaviors at school look like but also how he was feeling when the other student brought up those realities.

I just wish I knew how to handle these conversations. How to empathize and validate Jason’s very complicated emotions and reactions while also guiding him toward how to better cope with those feelings.

When the students are dismissed, I bundle up in my coat and weave through the hallways to wait with two other staff members for all the students who walk home to the south of our building.

The bell rings, and we lead the group down the sidewalk past the car line to the crosswalk.

After ensuring that all the students make it across the street safely, we backtrack to the school building .

Kara is one of the other teachers assigned to the south walkers line, along with one of our young paraeducators, Michelle. “So? How was the first day being back with students?” I ask Kara.

“Oh, typical first day back. Felt extra long and extra rowdy, but at least we know to expect that by now,” she replies. “You?”

“Same,” I say, contemplating whether to bring up Jason’s outburst. I sigh. “Jason had a little bit of a rough day back, from the sound of things. I think my long day may be a little longer tonight.” I fill them in briefly on what Meghan had told me.

“Poor kiddo,” Kara says, and Michelle agrees. “Although, I’m not gonna lie— I’m jealous that the two of you got to meet some of the Crowns players! Not that I’m condoning the other student’s comments by any means.”

I wave a hand. “It wasn’t a huge deal. Well, it was a huge deal to Jason. I didn’t really care about meeting the players,” I say. I ignore the temporary increase in my heart rate in response to my minor fib. “But I did get a babysitter out of the deal, so that’s exciting!”

Before we go back inside the building, I quickly fill them in on Samantha and her offer.

“Wait, Griffin West’s sister is going to be your babysitter?” Michelle asks, eyes wide. “How about I casually drop by your house when she’s coming so I can meet her? Griffin West is the hottest player on the team.”

Kara’s eyes look glazed over. “ Mm-hmm ,” she sighs.

I elbow her. “’Scuse me? You’re happily married.”

She shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I don’t have eyeballs. Or good taste. You may hate baseball, but even you had to have noticed how attractive he is.”

Holding my badge over the security sensor, I unlock the door as an escape from this conversation.

Jason is waiting for me in the library when I walk back in, feet poking out from the reading tent.

Looks like he’s enjoying having uncontested access to the most popular reading nook while he waits for my workday to end.

I walk over and nudge his shoe with my toe. “I have a few things to wrap up for tomorrow, and then we can head home, okay?” He doesn’t answer but taps his feet together, so I’m counting that as agreement.

Twenty minutes later, we get in the car to drive home. Jason is unusually quiet.

“What sounds good for dinner? I could make chicken tacos, or spaghetti and salad, or maybe some chili?”

In the rearview mirror, I see Jason staring out the window. He shrugs.

“Or does something else sound good? What would you pick?” I ask.

He turns his head to the front. “Could we have some raviolis?”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you liked ravioli,” I say, darting glances to observe him in the mirror. “We have some spaghetti sauce at home, but we could stop and pick up a bag of ravioli.”

“Huh?” Jason sounds completely confused. “What do you mean?”

“You know, like a bag of pasta . . .” I trail off as understanding breaks through. “Do you mean the ravioli that comes in a can? Not a bag?”

“Yeah, those ones,” Jason affirms. “The easy ones that you don’t even have to heat up.”

I stifle the threat of tears. “Yes, we can have those tonight, absolutely. How about we stop at the store on the way home so you can show me exactly which ones you like?”

He seems to perk up at the suggestion, so moments later, I park in front of the grocery store.

I lead Jason to the pasta aisle, and he shows me the generic brand of canned ravioli that he likes.

He also leads me to the same brand of boxed macaroni and cheese, citing it as another favorite meal.

I put several of each into our cart, and then I lead Jason to the fresh produce section to grab some salad and baby carrots.

“How about we strike a deal? We’ll have ravioli for dinner if you have a little bowl of salad and carrots too,” I say, holding out my hand to shake on it.

“Deal,” Jason says, placing his hand in mine. After solemnly shaking it, I playfully shake his hand back and forth, making him smile.

At home, I ask Jason if he’d like to try the ravioli warm this time, crossing my fingers and praying that he’ll agree. Thankfully, he does and eats them with enthusiasm.

I’ve never had canned ravioli in my life. It’s not exactly the type of food my parents deemed acceptable for a refined household. But I’m in this with Jason, so I manage to eat a small serving of ravioli alongside an extra-large bowl of salad.