Page 67 of Napkins and Other Distractions
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is that what you wanted to chat about?”
“No, sorry. Still trying to wake up.” Shreya takes a long slug of her coffee. “We’re having a performance latency issue.” She plops down, clutching her mug like her life depends on it.
My eyes widen, and I softly shake my head.
“Shreya. I’m going to need the Gen X translation, please.”
Shreya’s chest expands, her dress’s dark purple and blue abstract flowers swaying.
“There’s a delay. We’re still loading the test data from yesterday. It’s not following instructions yet. Technically, the data is there, but taking its sweet time to populate. Screen load times are topping out at fifteen minutes.”
“What do we do?”
“Wait. Watch. Pray. Geoff is monitoring the transfer, and it looks good so far.”
“Oh, well why did you say we have a problem?”
“Because the data should populate quickly, and so far it’s not.” Shreya tips her mug upside down, attempting to get the last drops.
“It happens,” Vincent says. “I’m sure it will be fine. Let’s just give it a few hours. We’re not testing until tomorrow. We have the day.”
“Okay. Give it a few hours,” I say. “Good plan.” The lightness overtaking my brain begins to settle. I’m so in over my head, it’s ridiculous. It’s like the time I subbed in kindergarten on Halloween. Twenty-two five-year-olds in costumes with candy—what could go wrong? Oy.
“Sit tight,” Shreya says, returning to the conference room.
“Well, I guess we have a few hours to kill,” Vincent says, turning back to his screen.
“Principals do not have free time.” I glance at my watch. “It’s first-grade recess. I’m going to cover one of the teachers. Wanna join me?”
Vincent smiles, nods, and grabs a stack of napkins and wipes from his bag.
“Come.” I give his shoulder a squeeze and the contact sends a thrill of delight zinging through my core.
CHAPTER 23
Vincent
“Nolan, Norah, Noah, lovely morning.” Kent waves to three blond children.
“Are they triplets?” I ask, the sun struggling to warm my naked head.
“Nope,” Sheldon says, “not remotely related. Although they look and act like siblings. And like a good parent, I call them all by the wrong name at least seven times daily.”
With its vast area, Lear’s playground is a paradise for children, complete with slides, swings, climbing structures, and various outdoor activities. Woodchips carpet the ground under the equipment, and there are open grassy and paved areas for games. According to Kent, currently, only first grade is outside, but there seems to be an endless flow of children running, screaming, and creating complete chaos.
“How do you keep them all … ” I begin.
“Safe? Clean? Fed? Quiet?” Sheldon tilts his head.
“Yeah,” I say with a laugh.
“Mainly, with lots of routines and procedures.” Without taking his eyes off me, Sheldon kicks a rogue ball back to a group of children playing in the grassy area. “You can’t expect them to know how to do everything we need them to do at school. At least not the way I want them to. So I show them. And then have them practice. And then practice some more. Most really want to please their teacher, so I have that going for me.”
“Makes sense.” I shield my eyes from the sun.
“Vincent knows a thing or two about the value of routines,” Kent says. Our eyes meet, and my stomach takes a tiny topple.
“Hey, I take comfort in familiarity.”
