Page 28 of A Class of Her Own

“I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal.”

I laughed. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“I hadn’t met you yet.”

My face froze, and I glared at him. “Those decorations are staying up.”

He nodded. “I kind of figured.” He ran one finger through a pile of sawdust that had collected on the bench. “Those tickets are going to get pretty costly. I’m not sure you’re going to have a happy holiday season.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that phrase, yet I’m still standing.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The noise in the school cafeteria was deafening, but over the years I’d become a pro at either sorting through the chaos for important sounds or blocking it all together. I stood on the stage, raised above the general mayhem, and surveyed the area for any spills, choking issues, or kids who were trying to thieve food from others. Yep, it was my day for lunchroom duty. Rather than hiring extra workers to come in and assist, the principal had worked it out for teachers to take turns every couple of weeks while their students were in other classrooms. Today mine were at their weekly music class, and I was doing one of the many non-educational things required of us. I watched as Ruby, who often volunteered to be in the cafeteria at lunch, walked up and down the rows of tables. She chatted brightly with the kids, gave out high-fives and smiles, and carried a tube of wipes that she used to wipe faces or hands as needed. We were the school version of good cop/bad cop. Guess which one I was?

I did a sweep of the tables and was working my way back when Ruby’s head suddenly popped up, and she blinked down at a first grader she’d been walking past. The kids around him were giggling, and Ruby said a few things to him before moving on. Curious as to what had happened, I left my perch and met up with her in the second-grade table section.

“What went down with the first graders?” I asked quietly enough for kids to not hear, which, in this situation, meant I said it at normal voice volume, not bothering to whisper.

Ruby laughed. “That first grader kissed me right on the bum.”

My eyebrows rose, and I grinned. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. He said, ‘I love you, Nurse Ruby’ and gave me a smacker straight on.” She tugged a wipe out and handed it to a child next to her. “I told him that we don’t kiss people on the bottom, and he felt a little embarrassed, so I told him I wasn’t angry.”

“I definitely don’t condone bum kisses, but I think it’s pretty sweet that he likes you so much,” I replied.

Ruby nodded, and we started walking again. “Last week when I had to quickly spin around to try to catch a kid before they dropped their whole tray, one of the third graders got hit in the head with my backside. She turned around and called me Big Booty Judy. So, I think I’ll take the kisses over that.”

I bit my lips to keep from chuckling. “Creative.”

“Yeah. The whole third-grade table likes to whisper ‘Big Booty Judy’ now when I walk by. It’s both embarrassing and hysterical. I finally get a nickname at school, but it’s because my rear end knocked a kid in the head.”

“Would that be considered bullying and name calling?” I asked. “Do we need to put a stop to it?”

Ruby shrugged and picked up an empty tray that someone had left. “If it lasts more than a few more days, I’ll address it. For now they seem to think of it as an inside joke between us, and there’s no intent to hurt my feelings.”

I tugged at the cuffs of my button-down shirt as I thought about how my natural inclination was to look for offense and then react to it. Ruby’s was to assume good intent. She was the type of person I could learn from, and I was trying. I liked to think that I was improving under the good influence of all the women in my friend group.

The first lunch bell rang, and the entire table of first graders whooped, gathered their things, and thundered out of the lunchroom. We had five minutes before the fourth graders—including my class—would arrive to take their place, so Ruby and I went to the wash station and gathered rags and sanitizing spray to get the table cleaned up. We worked quickly, starting on opposite ends and making good time. Honestly, I considered it a success if I didn’t spill anything on my slacks or accidentally bleach them somehow. We finished right as I saw the next wave line up at the cafeteria doors. I signaled to them that we were ready, and the students with home lunch came streaming directly in while the school lunch kids got in line at the serving window.

“So, I went to Brooks’s house yesterday to confront him about a warning letter he left at my house,” I told Ruby as we stood off to the side, monitoring the second graders who were getting ready to be released into the playground. “He’s a woodworker, and, for some reason, it knocked me flat.”

Ruby’s eyes grew large as she looked over at me. “Really? I’m surprised it bothered you.”

“Yeah. I stood there like a frozen dummy for ten entire seconds, looking around and feeling like I’d fallen into a black hole. In what world do my dad and my . . .” Stumped on what to call him for a second, I waved my hands. “. . . enemy neighbor person have the same hobby?”

“I can imagine that brought a tidal wave of thoughts.”

“Yeah. None of them flattering.”

Ruby released my shoulder when we heard the particular squeal that accompanies spilled drinks. It came from the third graders, and Ruby headed straight over while I moved to the side of the room to get a mop and rags. Ruby got the student cleaned up while I mopped the chocolate milk that had pooled on the table and under her chair. Her white pants weren’t going to survive this, and I wondered for the millionth time why white pants, shirts, dresses, skirts, or anything were made for kids. I couldn’t even keep white clean as an adult.

We finished right as the next bell rang and the second graders one table over herded out. Now we had five minutes before the fifth graders arrived to claim their spots. It was a never-ending cycle of quick transitions. I still had to finish mopping, and Ruby was helping the girl who’d burst into tears, so I knew it was going to be tight. I was right. We pulled it off, but by the time the fifth graders came in, I was sweating. I hated getting sweaty at school and having to wear the same clothes all afternoon.

Eventually things were as settled as they could be in the lunchroom, and Ruby came to where I was standing under the basketball hoop. The good thing about older grades was there was a little less spilling. The bad thing was there were a lot more reminders to stay in seats and keep hands to yourselves. The first graders might keep dumping their trays over, but the fifth graders liked to pinch, poke, tug, and generally irritate each other. It was definitely early attempts at flirting.

“Okay,” Ruby picked up our conversation. “So, Brooks likes to be creative. Doesn’t mean anything. Lots of people do woodworking.”

---