Page 15 of Interpreter

The intercom shrieks in the classroom, and we all pause, waiting to see who is being called to the office or going home because a parent didn’t feel like waiting an hour in the car line. Have you ever seen the chaos that is the car line? This is my best advice: buy a house within walking distance so the little heathens can walk to school. Spare yourself.

“Ms. Iglesias,” the speaker cackles.

Mother forker! Who told on me? I was five freaking minutes late. Five!

“Can you come to the office? Principal Moorehouse would like to see you.”

Of course he does. It’s just not enough that I was in his office yesterday, bawling my eyes out like someone had told me Jimmy Choo was retiring.

I manage a fake smile in front of the kiddos before I smooth my skirt like a lady. “Yes, I’ll be right there,” I tell Francis, Principal Moorehouse’s secretary, as the intercom static fades from the room.

Okay then. Let’s kick a girl while she’s down.

“Mr. Sutter from across the hall is going to be listening in for the last few minutes until the bell rings. Do not”—I cut them my no bullshit look—“be loud.”

A collective “Yes, ma’am” flows through the class.

It’s a lie of epic proportions. These little stinkers will get loud the minute I get down the hall, but I don’t have time to worry about it. Principal Moorehouse needs me, and frankly, I can’t afford to be fired before the school term is up. I need time to find another job.

I glance over at Oliver and see he is deep in thought as he colors at my desk. He’ll be okay. Samuel is a turd but not a bully. I head out into the hall and knock on Cal’s door. He’s jumping up and down and hollering, as he does when his class gets an answer correctly.

“Hey, what’s up?” he says, almost out of breath as he pokes his head through the door.

“Can you watch out for my gremlins? Principal Moorehouse needs me.”

Cal frowns, and my stomach churns thinking it’s more bad news. Clearly Cal thinks so too. “Sure, I’ll keep an eye on them.”

“You’re a life saver,” I add, before nearly sprinting down the hall.

You would think the public school system would be more attuned to the diversity of its citizens and their needs, but like any school, everything boils down to money. Bleckley Elementary doesn’t have enough of it, especially not for foreign language in the younger grades. Those funds are saved for the high school. I was fortunate enough to initially get the job with federal grant money, which had been sustaining the program for the past two years. However, after yesterday’s revelation, the grant money has run out and this will be my last year.

It’s stupid that I’m even upset over it. I knew when taking this job there was a possibility that I would have to go back to Costa Rica in two years. But this is the country of dreams. I hoped that even if this program failed, I would be able to find another job and renew my visa. But that’s not been the case. Though working at a school was not my first choice, I thought I could build off of it. Maybe work for a hospital or somewhere that needed interpreting services. Hell, at this point, I may be able to be convinced to scrub toilets. Not Magic Michelle’s toilets though. I’m not that desperate… yet.

“Ms. Iglesias, Mr. Moorehouse will see you now.”

I give Francis a half smile and scrub a nervous hand down my skirt. The hallway to Principal Moorehouse’s office is lined with frames of the school’s accomplishments and title one designations. Bleckley is a school teacher’s dream of getting into. It’s a tight-knit family that I’m going to miss when I’m gone.

I rap on the door three times, and Principal Moorehouse calls me in. The door is heavy and weighted underneath my palms as all the pain from yesterday’s meeting comes back in one big rush of emotions. The last time I was here, I left with a quivering lip and a burning behind my eyes. If there is any alcohol still coursing through my system, now would be the time to give me a little warmth to get me through this impending anxiety attack.

Deep breath, Milah. You got this, mami. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? He fires you again?

Right. Nothing bad is going to happen.

I plaster on a fake smile and hold my head up high as I push through the entryway and come to a complete halt.

What in the fresh hell is this?

Sitting in the only two seats in front of Moorehouse, a man and a woman rise to greet me.

“Milah, thank you for coming on such short notice. Is your class attended to?”

Do not make a face.

“Yes, sir,” I refrain from gritting. “Mr. Sutter is keeping an eye on them.”

“Yes, yes. Of course,” he blubbers out awkwardly, glancing at the beautiful blonde in front of him.

What is going on here?

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