Page 13 of A Royal Menace

Me:No. I meant seriously, you’ve researched quicksand?

Emmett:Yeah. I mean, I want to live.

Another laugh bursts through my lips as students start to file into my classroom. I quickly type out a message that I have to get to work before silencing my phone and shoving it into my desk drawer. I take just a moment to marvel over how Emmett pulled me out of my bad mood with a couple of silly text messages, then my mood plummets again as I hear a ruckus coming from next door.

Royal’s morning ritual of greeting each student with individual handshakes may seem cool to the kids, but it takes forever and interferes with my ability to get my own class to focus over the noise. Closing the door helps, so as soon as my last student slips in, I push it closed and lean back against it with a sigh.

I open my mouth to address the class, but the class next door bursts into laughter, cutting me off.Mr. Manningjust cracked ahilarious joke, no doubt. I fill my lungs before blowing out slowly through my nose. The act reminds me of floating on my back in the pool when I was a kid, which reminds me of what Emmett said about quicksand. It’s more like water than sand, and if you just relax and lay back, you’ll float.

My irritation with Royal feels a bit like quicksand. The angrier I get, the easier I anger. I’ve been sucked so deeply into this vortex of irritation and resentment against Royal, everything he does and says sends me into a fresh spiral of rage.

Maybe I just need to let myself relax. Lay back. Float.

Straightening, I clear my throat and say, “Okay, class, you may talk quietly among yourselves until Mr. Manning’s class settles down.”

My students just stare at me with wide, confused eyes as I walk over to my desk and sit down. No one makes a peep, and when I look up at them, they’re still staring. Cocking my head, I twirl a hand in the air, motioning for them to get to it.

“I’m serious. Go ahead. Just don’t get too loud,” I say, nodding for emphasis.

A couple of brave souls turn toward each other and start whispering, and when I don’t react, the others slowly follow suit. I watch them for a minute, then pretend to read some papers on my desk so they can actually relax.

Jesus. Am I woundthattightly? Am I so austere they couldn’t even comprehend my giving them permission to be at ease and chat with their friends?

Royal’s last email about the field trip forms flashes through my mind, particularly the part where he inferred that I don’t know how to have fun. I definitely know how to have fun in my personal life, but here, at school?

Maybe I’ve let myself become a littletooprofessional. I don’t want to be as loosey-goosey as Royal is with his class, but maybe I could stand to loosen the reins a bit with my students. Andmaybe I could try not to let Royal’s actions burrow under my skin so much.

I realize the noise next door has died down, and I start to settle my own class, then pause when I see how happy they all look. Socialization is an important part of education. I know this, but I think I just forgot for a while.

Relaxing back in my chair with a sigh, I watch them whisper, giggle, and smile. A few more minutes won’t hurt.

I’ll give them five more minutes, then we’ll get to work.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Royal

“Okay, heads down, everyone,”I call out, then nod at the seven students standing in the front.

I watch as they silently scramble around the classroom, each of them touching a single student’s shoulder before scurrying back to the front. We play “Heads Up, Seven Up” every Monday morning, and it’s a great way to start the week and get the weekend wiggles out. Plus, it’s a mostly silent game, which means I won’t have Callie breathing fire down my neck first thing.

Once all seven students are back in line at the front, they look at each other, nod, and say “heads up, seven up” in unison. The seven students with upraised thumbs take turns guessing who touched them. The ones who guess correctly switch places with the person who touched them, and we play again.

After the fourth round, I call it, and there are only a few audible grumbles from students who didn’t get to play. I writetheir names on a sticky note and leave it for myself for next week, when I’ll choose them first to start the game.

The morning flies by, and before I know it, the bell rings for lunchtime. Callie and I are on lunch duty today, so I grab the food I packed this morning and follow the kids toward the cafeteria. Callie is already there, standing against the left wall and smiling down at her phone. My steps stutter and slow as I watch her, that smile lighting up her face in a way I don’t recognize.

She’s never smiled at me like that before.

Shaking my head, I resume my earlier pace as I push aside the thought. It doesn’t matter that she hasn’t smiled at me like that. She’s my coworker, and while I’d initially hoped we’d get along, I’ve actually found bickering with her to be…entertaining.

“Can I assume that whatever you’re smiling at is not suitable for work?” I ask as I slide in next to her.

She quickly hits the button to darken her phone’s screen, blocking out whatever she was staring at before I can even try to sneak a peek. I grin at her as she blushes, one brow arched as I wonder if she reallywaslooking at something she shouldn’t have been. I quickly disregard the idea. No way was Miss-High-and-Mighty-Goody-Two-Shoes doing anything untoward.

She was probably texting someone. Like a boyfriend, or something.

And that thought puts a damper on my good mood, leaving me feeling confused. Why is that? I shouldn’t have any kind of feelings on that particular matter. Shaking the feeling off, I lean in so I can speak quietly enough that none of the nearby kids will hear me.

---