Page 52 of John Wilder Gets Schooled
“What’s that face for?” he asked, shooting me a questioning look.
I shrugged and shook my head.
Gracie sighed loudly. “It’s Friday! That means I don’t get to see Mr. Smith, or you, or Uncle Chase, or Uncle Cash, orDaddy, for two whole days!”
Gracie was not one of the kids who was struggling with math.
Danny wrinkled his nose and winced. “Well, sh-shoot! Uh, Grandma has Disney, though, right?”
Gracie sighed again. “Yeah.”
She looked like a tiny, put-upon version of her dad, all stress and worry, and my chest ached a little.
“Tell you what,” Danny said. “How’s about when you get home on Sunday afternoon, we bake cookies?”
“I guess,” she said with yet another sigh.
Danny threw me a look, as though I’d know what to say to make it all better.
I didn’t, but I smiled anyway. “Maybe you can bring those cookies over to my place, and we can have spaghetti night?”
The crease in Gracie’s brow eased the tiniest bit. She was a big fan of spaghetti night. “With extra garlic bread?” she asked. “And stinky cheese on top?”
“Of course!”
She still wasn’t happy when she left, but at least she wasn’t pouting anymore. I made a mental note to talk to Wilder about it,just to keep him in the loop. Gracie wasn’t the only kid in my classroom who had a complicated custody arrangement, and I liked to keep an extra eye on those kids. The fact that Gracie was also my neighbor and Wilder’s daughter? I told myself that didn’t make a difference, but of course it did. It wasn’t just Gracie I cared about in this situation; it was her dad as well.
I waved Danny and Gracie off, then turned to help Tyrell with his shoelaces. Sondra, his mom, chatted a little bit about her husband’s deployment and finally returned the permission slip for me to use pictures of her kid at the Adventurama in the next class newsletter.
Ugh. That class newsletter had seemed like such a good idea at the time, and the parents loved it! Just, I had better things to do in my spare time now than fuck around in Canva.
Like fuck around with Wilder.
I assured Sondra that I’d do my best to get a newsletter out next week, though. Never let it be said I didn’t follow through once I’d committed to something. Once she’d left, I tidied up the classroom ready for Monday and headed for the parking lot. Dana gave me a wave as she got into her car, pausing to ask, “Are you sure you can’t come tonight?”
“I’m sure,” I said. “Stuff to do.”
Dana gave me another wave as she drove off.
I stopped off and picked up some beer and the stuff I’d need for spaghetti night, and when I got home I went and sat on my front porch with a beer and called Dallas. It had become a habit by this point to call him on Friday afternoons and talk through the week, and I always felt better afterward.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asked. “How was your week?”
I let out a sigh as long as Gracie’s had been. “Do you think I’m suited to teaching?”
“Well,” Dallas said, his voice laced with its usual good humor, “I think that the time to have asked this question was before you started college, and certainly before you stepped into a classroom.But yes, for the record, I think you’ll be a great teacher. At the moment you’re in the sink or swim stage, is all.”
“How long does that last?” I asked worriedly.
“Until retirement, probably.”
“That doesn’t help!” I complained, but I was smiling.
Someone in the next street was mowing their lawn, and the drone of the mower cut through the peace of the late afternoon.
“What did I say was the hardest thing in your first year?” he asked me. “It’sboundaries, Avery. You love your job and you love your kids, but you can’t let that take over your life or you’ll burn out. You have to have a life outside the classroom. I mean that. You need to build connections that have nothing to do with school. Like, it’s great socializing with other teachers, but if they’re the only people you socialize with, pretty soon every single get-together turns into a bitch session about the administration, or other teachers, or the students you hate, or?—”
“I don’t hate any students!”
