Page 5 of Single Dad's Fake Bride
"Five more minutes," I announced. "Then cleanup and dismissal."
The classroom erupted in end-of-day energy.
I collected worksheets and mediated disputes over missing erasers until the bell rang and the stampede began.
While others rushed past, Eloise stayed behind packing her things.
Once her desk was cleared, she rose and walked to the whiteboard, picking up an eraser without being asked.
I followed her, pausing nearby as she started to wipe down the board.
It wasn't unusual behavior for her, though.
In fact, she had a habit of hanging out after class for a few minutes while the other children always rushed away.
"Did you finish the chapter inAnne of Green Gables?" I asked, already knowing from yesterday's reading time that Eloise was nearing the scene with the slate and the first hints of real tension between Anne and Gilbert.
"Yes. Anne's being stubborn about Gilbert." She shook her head with mature exasperation. "She obviously likes him but keeps pretending she doesn't."
"Maybe she's scared. Sometimes when we care about someone, it feels safer to push them away."
I picked up the eraser next to her and joined her in the quick chore.
It made my heart warm to know she shared my love of reading.
Eloise considered this seriously. "That's sad. What if Gilbert gets tired of waiting?"
"Then Anne will live with her choice. But that's what makes a good story—characters real enough to frustrate us."
Eloise smiled and handed me the eraser. "You're my favorite teacher ever, Miss Quinn."
I felt my chest tighten—pride mixed with sorrow, warmth tangled with the knowledge that being a substitute at Hawthorne wouldn't last forever.
"Thank you," I managed. "You're pretty great too, Eloise." I resisted the urge to tousle her hair and turned toward the horde of other nine and ten-year-olds gathered by the open door as the bell rang.
Eloise beamed and gathered her backpack.
The remaining students filtered out one by one as I was calling weekend goodbyes and reminders about Monday's math quiz.
But Eloise lingered, organizing the supply caddy with characteristic thoroughness.
"Miss Quinn?" She glanced toward the door, then back at me. "Do you think Anne will figure it out? About Gilbert, I mean."
I perched on the corner of Mrs. Kaup's desk and gave Eloise my full attention. "What do you think?"
"I think she's too proud. She doesn't want to admit she was wrong about him."
Eloise aligned the pencils in Mrs. Kaup's pencil cup into perfect rows, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"But sometimes, people surprise you. Sometimes, they do the brave thing even when it scares them."
The insight struck me as remarkably mature for a nine-year-old. "That's very wise. Where did you learn that?"
"My dad, I guess. He says being brave doesn't mean you're not scared. It means you do the thing you're scared of anyway."
She looked up at me with those serious gray eyes that reminded me so much of myself at her age.
"He was scared when I was born, but he did it anyway. The dad thing, I mean."
