Page 10

The first day of school is like if someone were to mix together Christmas with my birthday, throw some puppies and old fashioneds on top, and roll it all around in glitter. It’s the best day of the year.

The sheer joy and excitement I find in meeting my new students and seeing their eyes light up when they enter my classroom is the highest high in the world. Nothing makes me happier. It’s why, even though I make pennies, I know I’ll do this until the day I die.

I adore my classes every year, even when I have more students in need of a little extra love and attention, but this year is off to an especially promising start.

Not only did the parents I meet in the morning all seem lovely, but the kids have been getting along all day.

There was no crying at recess—everyone laughed and giggled as we played our games, and they were all engaged when we started learning our songs.

And, the cherry on top, nobody in the class shares a name!

“Okay, friends.” I clap my hands together two times to indicate eyes on me. “It’s time to clean up our spaces and make sure our backpacks are ready to go home. Who wants to help me hand out lunch boxes?”

We still have thirty minutes before the day ends, but I’ve found that giving them the time and space to wind down at the end of the day is best for everyone.

This way nobody is crying because they can’t find a folder or they need to go to the bathroom, and I’m not frantic and frazzled when parents approach asking how their child’s day went.

Next week I’ll have a job chart ready to go, but for the first week, I like to see personalities and who volunteers naturally before assigning positions.

The push and pull to get children to grow and thrive is such a delicate balance.

I want to make sure I’m challenging them without ever making them feel ashamed or embarrassed about what they’re comfortable giving.

I want to spotlight their strengths and teach them how to challenge their fears.

So, for that first week, I never call on anyone who isn’t raising their hand or volunteering for a position.

This room is a safe space for introverts and extroverts.

Thankfully, this group of kids has a lot of hand raisers.

I point to the adorable little girl with curly dark brown hair and a freckle-smattered nose. Her little pigtails she came in with this morning are falling out, and the tights beneath her skirt were ripped to shreds after the first trip to the playground.

“Isla, thank you so much for volunteering. Can you come up here so we can show the rest of our friends how we will get our lunch boxes back for the rest of the school year?”

I’ve barely finished asking the question before she’s out of her seat and sprinting to where I’m standing in the corner of the room. It’s like she has too much excitement in her tiny little body to go any speed other than fast.

I point to the lunch box bin, a glorified laundry basket that I glittered and hot glued to death with ribbon and fringe.

“At the end of every day, one friend is going to get the lunch boxes out of the bin.” I demonstrate by pulling out the first one I see and holding it high over my head.

“When you see our friend lift your lunch box in the air, I want you to put a bubble in your mouth,” the fun way of saying puff out your cheeks and keep your mouth closed, “and raise your hand high in the air so your friend can bring you your lunch box. Then I want you to tuck it into your backpack so it can go home with you.”

Jaxon, a little boy with a faux-hawk and a mischievous glint in his eyes, follows my directions and raises his hand in the air, quickly and quietly putting his lunch box in his backpack before aiming his proud, toothy smile at me.

“Great job, Jaxon,” I say, and watch as his smile doubles in size. “After we have our lunch boxes put away and our backpacks ready to go home, I have a special game for us to play. Is everyone ready?”

A loud chorus of little cheers explodes around the room, and Isla gets to work right away, moving as fast as her little legs can go so we have plenty of playtime left before it’s time to go home.

···

Isla and I stand together as the last of her classmates walk away holding their parent’s hand. The bright smile she wore all day wobbles as her little eyes begin to gloss over with unshed tears.

When Isla’s mom dropped her off in the morning, she told me that her ex-husband, Lucas, would be the one picking Isla up from school.

She’s far from the first divorced parent I’ve encountered, and even though I could tell she was trying to keep it together, the all too familiar roll of the eyes and deep frown said she was struggling to keep her thoughts about her ex to herself.

“You know what?” I reach for Isla’s hand and squeeze it tight in mine. “I have some extra snacks and a new board game in our classroom. Do you want to play Candy Land with me while we wait for your dad?”

Her bright green eyes light up at my words, her excitement chasing the fear straight off of her face.

“I love Candy Land!” she shouts on the now empty sidewalk. “My daddy always says I cheat, but he’s just really bad. He always gets the ice cream cone card and has to go back to the beginning.”

Her twinkly little giggles are like music to my ears as we make our way back inside.

We stop inside of the door to give Lisa, the school secretary, Isla’s name so she can call Lucas to make sure he’s on his way.

Isla keeps chatting as we wind through the hallways, telling me more stories about all the games she plays with her dad and the Candy Land–themed birthday party he threw for her fourth birthday.

I listen carefully, asking more questions and laughing at her jokes, and only interrupting so she can pick which color she wants.

Red, because it’s “the closest to pink.” Adorable.

I know teachers aren’t supposed to have favorites, but I can’t help it, and she’s quickly climbing to first place.

“How did you like your first day of school?” I ask her as I move my character to the next purple square on the board.

“I loved it!” She swipes away the stray piece of hair that keeps falling in her face. “Daddy told me I would love it and make lots of new friends and he was right.”

The more she talks about her dad, the more it’s evident how close they are. My irritation at the man who forgot his daughter lessens, and I just hope it was a simple mix-up and not something more serious.

“He was right.” Every time I saw Isla, she was sitting with a new friend, her bright, gap-toothed smile not leaving her face once. “Sounds like your dad is a very smart man.”

“Well that’s generous of you to say,” a deep voice calls out from behind me. “Hi, Bear, I’m so sorry I’m late. Mommy and I got a little confused.”

As soon as Isla hears her dad, our competitive game of Candy Land is all but forgotten.

“Daddy!” She springs off of the floor like only a child can do and runs across the small space in record time.

I follow her lead, pushing off of the floor—only much slower—and turning to greet her dad. He’s squatting down, his face blocked out by Isla’s tiny frame, but I can tell he’s got a great head of hair on him and his arms look fantastic in the pinstripe shirt.

“You must be Isla’s dad.” I make sure my voice is cheerful as I approach. I know the first day of school is overwhelming for everyone, and he already sounds frazzled so I don’t want to make it worse by letting any lingering irritation slip through. “It’s so nice to meet—”

I start, but the rest of the sentence lodges in my throat when Isla’s dad stands and the world around me crumbles.

Familiar green eyes, eyes that took in every single inch of me not even a month ago, meet mine.

The air in the room feels like it disappears as my lungs go frozen in my chest. The color drains from his face, and his mouth falls open.

“You’ve got to be fucking—”

“That’s a bad word, Daddy!” Isla cuts him off, her distressed little voice snapping us back into reality. “Say sorry to Miss Pierce!”

Oh sweet, wonderful child. If only she knew how much he had to be sorry about.

“You’re right, Bear.” Luke…I mean, Lucas says to Isla, who has now firmly cemented herself as my favorite student of all time. When he moves his gaze from his daughter to me, so many emotions cross his face that I almost forget that I hate him. “I’m so sorry, Miss Pierce.”

“Thank you for that apology, Mr. Miller.” I couldn’t hold back the smug, shit-eating grin on my face even if I tried…which I don’t.

“You’re welcome,” he grits out between his stupid, straight, annoyingly perfect teeth.

Someone who is such an asshole should not be allowed to be this attractive. Because even though my brain knows I hate him, my body is struggling to remember. And while I’ve experienced a lot of things in this classroom, being turned on by a parent is not one of them.

“Miss Pierce.” Isla grabs my hand and pulls my attention away from her now glowering dad. “Can I show my dad what we made today?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him shaking his head no, but I’m not a parent and what would I look like saying no to that face. If she’s excited about her work, I can and will only stoke those flames. Even if it means prolonged exposure to her asshole of a father.

“Of course you can.” I point to the table where the pictures are all spread out. “Why don’t you go get it and I’ll tell your daddy how great you did on your first day of school.”

She nods and skips away, and her pigtails finally lose their hard-fought battle, long curls cascading down her back as she goes. She’s so cute that I almost forget her dad is the devil.

“Daddy, huh?”

And just that fast, it all comes back to me.

“You so wish.” The smile on my face is as phony as it is wide. “Only in these walls and your dreams.”