Page 35 of A Royal Menace

Despite that awkward scene in the elevator Saturday night, things have changed. For the better. I don’t hate it.

Pulling open my classroom door, I slip back inside. Only a few students look up, most of them intent on their task. I walkover to my desk and sit in my chair to go over my lesson plan for today, but I can’t stop my eyes from scanning the class, taking in their somber expressions.

Sure, they’re learning. By the end of the school year, they’ll be ready to move on to fifth grade. I’ll have done my job in getting them there.

But what will they remember about our time together?

Royal’s giggling students flash through my mind, and my shoulders droop. His class will rememberhim, for sure. As teenagers and adults, they’ll recall fourth grade with happy memories and wide smiles. They’ll remember how Mr. Manning instilled a love of learning inside them, showing them math and science and all of the other subjects can be fun. Exciting.

I know I’m a good teacher, but I have to finally admit––to myself, at least––that Royal is, too.

And while I don’t want my class to be the chaotic environment his is, Icouldloosen the reins a bit. Make learning a bit more fun for my students. To be a little less rigid. There has to be some kind of middle ground between our two approaches to education, right?

I make the decision to put some real thought into it this week. I know if I put my mind to it, I can come up with ways to bring the fun to this spacewithoutdisrupting the other classrooms in this wing.

And if worse comes to worst, I can just ask Royal for advice. The thought makes my stomach churn, knowing how smug he’d be if I resorted to that, but it would be worth it.

These kids are worth it.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Royal

After the final bell rings,my students call out rambunctious goodbyes as they file out of the room. I wave to them from behind my desk, reminding them of their homework in a voice loud enough to be heard over the noise.

I straighten my desk and shove the papers I need to grade into my messenger bag before plopping down into my chair to check my work email one last time before I leave. My brow quirks up when I see a new email from Callie, and when I click it open and read it, a bark of laughter bursts through my lips.

From: Calliope Barnes

To: You

Subject: Dinosaur Impressions

Dear Royal,

Your Gallimimus impression could use some work. You looked like a drunk chicken. Also, thank you for keeping the kids quieter today. My class appreciates it. As do I.

Sincerely,

Callie Barnes

My eyes scan the message again, getting hung up on the greeting. Last week, her email was more formal, addressing me as “Mr. Manning,” and the word “Dear” was definitely omitted. And teasing me so overtly like that?

This weekend obviously softened her toward me a bit. Maybe offering to share my room with her wasn’t such a disaster, after all…that almost-kiss notwithstanding.

My smile widens as I click the reply icon and start to type.

From: You

To: Calliope Barnes

Subject: re: Dinosaur Impressions

Dear Callie,

Spying on me, were you? And I’ll have you know the Gallimimus did, indeed, walk like a drunk chicken. My impression was spot on. And you’re welcome. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I am capable of compromise.

Your Favorite Drunken Poultry,

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