Page 47 of The Cupid Chronicles

At one point, I had to rewind the show because I wasn’t paying attention and completely missed what the judges said about a very hideous couture gown made out of wrapping paper and tinsel.

He said he’d help. But he never said when.

And the not knowing is really messing with my head. Maybe even more than the bully of a newspaper.

I get to work, stash my things in my classroom, and decide to take a lap through the hallway before I’m overrun by first graders ready for art. I catch snippets of conversations coming from inside the classrooms as teachers usher their students to their desks for the start of another school day. I smile, say hi, wave to my co-workers and their students, then turn to go back the way I came as the hallways begin to empty.

I’m passing by the main office when the front doors of the school open, and I see a harried woman walk in, holding the hand of a little girl with big, wide eyes. They both look frazzled.

I smile brightly because, personal woes aside, Iamon staff here, and I recognize her daughter, Alice, a very quiet, very artistic third grader.

“Good morning, Alice!” I say, in my brightest tone. To her mother: “I’m Miss Ellington.” I hold up my lanyard to show her my school ID.

“We’re so late,” the mom says. “Alice hates it when we’re late.”

The girl’s face falls.

“She never wants to make a scene.” The mom pulls Alice a little closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “We’ve got a lot going on at home.”

My smile holds as I nod kindly, studying them a little more closely.

Their matching red-rimmed eyes seem to be visual proof that they’re going through a hard time.

I smile at Alice, and for a flicker of a moment, I see something familiar in her eyes. A recognizable pain.

“Oh, my gosh, I get it,” I say. “I’ve been late twice this week.” I exaggerate my grimace and widen my eyes. “Thankfully I’ve got this great alarm clock that practically hits me in the face to wake me up!” I laugh, even though this is my least favorite thing about the newspapers. “I promise you aren’t the only one who’s late today. No need to apologize.”

Still, Alice’s worried expression holds.

“Alice, would you like me to walk you to class?” I ask.

Alice’s shoulders rise and fall, as if she’s just taken a very deep breath and let it out but without making any noise. Alice has probably gotten really good at making herself invisible.

Maybe I should take a page out of her book. I tend to jump in headfirst, whether anyone invites me or not. Always looking for my people. Never finding them.

It feels like if you don’t have “people” by a certain age, you just don’t find them.

At least, that’s how it’s been for me.

I suppose this latest move to Serendipity Springs is my attempt to accept that. And to change enough things about myself to avoid running people off.

I look at Alice. “Your teacher is Miss Ridgeway, right?”

Alice nods softly.

“I love Miss Ridgeway! She’s a good friend of mine,” I say brightly. “I think her class is in P.E. right now. I can take you down and get you settled.” I look at her mom. “If that’s okay with you?”

She looks at Alice, then back at me, and nods. “Of course.”

I smile and reach a hand toward the girl, who studies it for a moment, then finally steps forward and slips her own little hand in mine.

I give it a squeeze, smile again at her mom, and say, “My classroom is just down the hall, through those doors.” I point in the direction of the art room. “If you ever need anything, my door is always open.”

Alice’s mom nods. “I’m Joy, by the way.”

I smile. “Iris.”

She looks at Alice. “Have a good day, hon.”

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