Page 13 of Manhattan Secret

I nearly faint.

There’s no buying pens and paper myself.

No begging letters to the parents for supplies.

It’s all just there in the hugest stock room.

How the other half live, I suppose.

In the first school I trained at was in a low-income area of Oregon where the parents couldn’t afford to bulk buy supplies, if the kids ate lunch it was a bonus, no one cared about pencils or paper towels. Most often than not, I ended up buying out of pocket and then tightening my belt for the rest of the month.

This school is on a whole prestigious level that leaves me breathless the more I see of it.

After he’s shown me through the different departments, up every level and then finally to where the staff congregate between and after classes, my thighs feel like I’ve done a two-hour advanced spin class.

Thank god for my Vans. I was right to leave the heels at home.

With only minutes until the first bell, I get ready for class.

All in all, the first few go as well as I could have hoped.

Two down so far, one with the seniors and the other is grade 9.

I learn names quickly; make seating assignments and I take a mental note of the troubling students to keep an eye on.

First impressions aren’t always correct and never for the kids who present what they want an adult to see. Wanting to set the tone right off the bat with each class, so while I’m friendly and try to make each lesson fun to learn, I make it known I’m there to teach, that my door is open if they ever need help, but I won’t tolerate disturbances.

On my lunch break, over an apple and a diet Sprite, I text to let the girls know my day is going fine so far and then it was time to go into the lion’s den. AKA, the teacher’s lounge. If I thought the kids were overprivileged snobs, then it’s nothing to the snooty stares I get walking in.

Thank god I’m good with meeting new people, even ones who look at me like I’m a waif orphan wandered in off the street. I smile, introducing myself, dialing my niceness up to a nine.

I’m claimed while having my second coffee.

I discovered a state-of-the-art machine in the lounge, almost molesting it with my body, I about fell into a cup. And it’s there a voice behind me says. “Thank god! I needed a new work wife, you’re Delaney, right? I’m Margo from the Lit department. How do you feel about strawberry daiquiris?”

“Eh…” she plonks down in her flowing white flower dress and wicked wedges at the side of me with a tired sigh. “I like them?” I pose it as a question, because hell if I know if this was my initiation, I don’t want to answer wrong.

Truth is, I prefer wine, sometimes beer.

“That’s good. Some of these stiffs here wouldn’t know a good daiquiris if it spit in their eye.”

Okay, maybe I judgedallthe teachers too soon because Margo seems pretty cool. Within our break, she tells me her whole life story (married twice, divorced once, three kids and a poodle called Jeffrey) she’s worked at the Academy for four years and in a hushed voice she proceeds to tell me which staff are banging who, which male teachers are best avoided because of sleazy behavior and cringe-worthy come on’s.

All in all, it’s not a bad half of the first day.

I drink great vanilla coffee and make a new nutty friend.

My second from last class comes around 2 pm.

In the flow now, I pull out the lesson plan I’ve worked on for weeks and set out the worksheets on each desk before the sixteen kids I’m expecting barrel into the room.

That’s another thing about a private school, the class numbers are tiny. It’s virtually Christmas for me, because it means I can truly focus on each kid and their own individual needs if some learn faster than others.

I don’t figure I’ll have that problem right now because it’s my second seniors, elite advanced class. The students who are already taking college classes and they’ve already surpassed the intermediate computer science curriculum and need something a little more challenging.

This class will be my jam.

“Take your seats, everyone.” I call out knowing almost instantly that though they are the elite seniors in the school, they’re also going to give me the most trouble when they don’t immediately sit, they keep right on talking in groups in the middle of the room. “Everyone, class is about to start, please take a seat and…”

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