Page 8

I know a lot of teachers count down until the end of the school year, but because I have no life, a limited number of friends, and a truly tight budget, I count down until the end of summer.

As soon as the bell rings on the last day of school and I’m shoved into the streets, I start planning the next year.

I spend the summer stalking the dollar store and Target’s dollar spot (that is no longer a dollar and I do have beef with them), slowly stocking up my classroom decor supplies so that when we’re allowed back in the school, I’m ready to set up the cutest, most magical kindergarten classroom in all of the world.

Or at least the Denver metro area.

“Holy shit.” Keisha lets out a long whistle as she walks into my classroom and spins around to take in all the work I’ve done. “Is this what you’ve been up every time you say no to coming out with me?”

“It is.” Well, this and a healthy dosage of self-loathing. “Do you like it?”

“It looks amazing.” She wanders around the room, taking a closer look at the bulletin boards I’ve covered with all of my laminated signs and affirmations. “What in the world do you need my help with?”

Besides being my best friend, Keisha is also an artist extraordinaire.

How she ended up being an elementary school art teacher and not a world-famous artist will forever be one of life’s great mysteries.

Selfishly, I’m forever grateful for whatever deity above decided to give me a small break in life and put her in my path when I was but a lowly student teacher.

The moment we met, it was like I found my other half.

We love the same movies, have the same sense of humor, and whenever we go out to eat, we accidentally order the exact same meal.

Even our differences align beautifully. She balances me out in a way I never knew possible, and even though I’m not against finding a love match someday, I rest easy knowing I already found my soulmate.

“My reading corner.” I point to the corner in the back of the room filled with green pom poms and handmade leaf garland.

“I want there to be a big tree that climbs up the wall and onto the ceiling. But I don’t want a decal this time, I want it to be papier-maché so that it has texture and comes out of the wall.

The problem is, the flowers are the full extent of my wall art talent, and I have no idea how to do it.

I did order all of the supplies the internet told me I needed though. ”

“Caviar dreams with tuna fish talent?”

“Absolutely.”

No point in denying the obvious. I love to craft, but I’m notoriously terrible at it.

I can muster together flowers if there is a detailed, step-by-step tutorial, but that’s the entirety of my skill.

I almost didn’t graduate because I was so close to failing my pottery class in high school.

My teacher thought I was mocking her until my mom showed up with a chest of the projects she’d kept over the years for proof that it was actually a lack of talent, not malicious mockery.

“I’ll do it, but you’re going to have to help me.” She pulls the hair band off of her wrist and twists her dreadlocks into a bun on the top of her head.

“You’re the best!” I pull her tall, slender body into a hug and try not to take it personally when her body locks up beneath me. Physical touch is her least favorite love language. “Your first day of school matcha latte is on me!”

Gift giving is her favorite.

“First two days,” she counters. “And a margarita on back-to-school night.”

Two days? She’s losing her touch. I was prepared to go up to the first week of school. Sucker.

“Deal!” I squeeze her a little tighter before finally letting her go and following her to the corner.

She gets to work immediately, hand-drawing the most majestic tree up the base of the wall toward the ceiling.

Because I’ve “worked” with her before, I know that when she said she needs my help, she really just needs me to fetch supplies, or like now, hold the chair steady so she can sketch the branches onto the ceiling.

“So,” she says as she finishes the final branch. “Are you ready to tell me where you’ve really been these last few weeks or am I going to have to pry it out of you with old fashioneds?”

She knows me so well.

“I told you, I’ve been—”

“You’re so full of shit.” She cuts me off. “Do not fucking lie to me. I know you weren’t sitting in your house and cutting construction paper this entire time.”

“Anyone tell you that you have a foul mouth?”

You’d think an elementary school art teacher would have a cleaner vocabulary, but she uses swear words as liberally as the glitter she encourages the kids to add to every project.

“Only my mom, dad, pastor, and every single teacher my entire life.” She steps off the chair and looks down her nose at me, just one more con of being a short girl with a tall best friend. “Now drop the shit and tell me what happened. I let you sulk for long enough.”

I plop down on one of the tiny beanbags I bought for the reading corner. “You’re so annoying.”

“I know you are but what am I?” She sticks her tongue out and sits across from me. “Spill, or I won’t finish your tree.”

“Fine, but everything I tell you stays between us.”

“Duh.” She rolls her eyes. “Who else would I tell? You’re the only person I like.”

See? Soulmates.

“Okay. So…” I’m not usually one who struggles to find words, but I’m also not one who has a one-night stand with someone who turns out to be a raging fucking asshole.

And there are so many layers to this story that I don’t even know how to begin.

I guess at the beginning. “Has Nora ever told you about—”

“Shut the fuck up!” She cuts me off before I can get started. “I swear to god, if you tell me this is about you falling for that bullshit she’s always going on and on about, I will hurt you.”

“What do you mean?” I know exactly what she means.

“You’re too smart to play dumb with me. You know what I’m talking about. Gardenia Lemon? Lemon Poppyseed? Blueberry Muffin?”

“Petunia Lemon,” I correct her, but only because she’ll go on all day, and she has a tree to make.

“Yes!” she shouts before remembering she’s supposed to be mad. “She’s been trying to pull me in for years. Please tell me you didn’t fall for that.”

“I didn’t want to…”

“Emerson! No!” She throws her head back and clutches her chest. A little too dramatic for my taste.

“I can’t believe she got you too. I’m pretty sure she suckered in Lilah Jenkins from third grade before she quit last year.

I know for a fact Anna joined, but I’m not sure if she’s still in it or not.

She’s too nice to gossip, so getting dirt out of her is like pulling teeth. ”

As if conjured by the devil himself, Anna peeks her head into my classroom and her soft, melodic voice floats through the room. “Did I hear my name?”

“Anna! Come, sit with us.” I wave her in. “Are you ready for a new year?”

“I think so.” Her trademark ballet flats gently pad across the floor until she sits down ever so gracefully on the beanbag next to me. “I decided to switch up the curriculum this year and try some new songs and instruments with the kids. I’m really excited to see how it goes.”

Like Keisha, Anna has way too much talent to be working as the music teacher at an underfunded public school.

She knows how to play something like seven instruments and has the voice of an angel.

Our music programs are so good that parents arrive up to an hour early to get the good seats and the choir has won multiple competitions under her lead.

She’s a star on stage but is quiet as a mouse off of it.

I worked with her for a year before I heard her speak outside of the classroom.

I was partnered with her for team building one year and practically had to bully her into opening up.

I’m so glad she did because she’s one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.

She was in the Colorado Youth Symphony and spent the summer before her junior year performing all across Europe.

She still performs over summer break and tutors in her spare time.

“It will be amazing, you’re magic in the music department,” Keisha reassures her. “But we already know that. What we don’t know is if you’re magic with Nora’s makeup group too.”

“It’s skincare,” I correct her. “Not makeup.”

Anna’s eyes go wide. “Do you mean Petunia Lemon?”

“Yes! See, Anna knew what I was talking about. They’re the same thing.” She sticks her tongue out at me before looking back to Anna. “Did Nora recruit you too? How long have you been in it?”

“Um, well.” Anna shifts on the tiny beanbag, and her petite body almost tumbles off. “I’m not really doing it anymore. I’ve been busy with preparing for the school year and you know…stuff.”

Oh yes, the all-encompassing “stuff.” Very specific.

“But you liked it, didn’t you?” I know Anna is quiet, so this was probably the perfect group to pull her out of her shell. “Everyone has been so nice and making a little extra money is always a bonus.”

“I met a lot of people, and it was very interesting.” Anna glances down at her watch before standing up faster than I knew was possible with these beanbags. “Shoot! Sorry, I have to go. I’m supposed to have a meeting about the new instruments we’re getting.”

“Have fun!” I call to her back as she hurries out of the room. “And remember, no parents like the recorder.”

I don’t even teach the third grade, and I still hear the parent complaints.

“Really, Em?” Keisha grabs the flower pillow next to her and lobs it at my head. Lucky for me, she’s an art teacher and has terrible aim, so I dodge it easily. “She sprints out of the room at the mention of Petunia Lemon, and all you can think about are recorders?”