Page 4 of Best Frenemies

We’re supposed to leave for a much-needed, week-long spring break vacation together tomorrow on a seven a.m. flight out of JFK, and Anna Franklin is missing in action.

Me: Where the hell are you hiding today? Do you LIKE making me anxious?

Anna: No, actually. That’s why I’ve been avoiding talking to you altogether. So I don’t have to tell you the thing I don’t want to tell you.

Me: What don’t you want to tell me, Anna?

Anna: See, when you say my name like that, I get even more likely to ghost you.

Me: ANNA.

Anna: My classes have a sub today because I’m sick as a damn dog. Apparently, I have the freaking flu.

Me: Seriously? You got sick twenty-four hours before our flight takes off? Didn’t I tell you to sanitize at least twenty times a day? Now what are you going to do? Mask up for the flight?

Anna: Technically, no. Technically, I’m going to not mask up and, instead, stay within the confines of my apartment. Technically, I’ve been instructed to quarantine my contagious ass for the next seventy-two hours.

Me: Are you just saying technically a lot to try to make this news seem less awful???

Anna: Is it working?

Me: NO. Anna, I can’t believe this! I’m just supposed to go alone? How did this even happen?

Anna: Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I teach art classes to a bunch of germinators.

I can’t believe she’s not going to be able to go on our vacation. We’ve had this planned for months. And now…I’m just supposed to go by myself?

Me: Maybe you’d feel better in the Florida air.

Anna: Katy, honey, I’m running a 102 fever, sweating like I just did hot yoga, and my cough sounds like it’s coming from the depths of hell. I don’t think 99% humidity is going to help this situation.

Me: Ugh. I’m sorry you’re sick. Do you need me to bring you anything?

Anna: Dude. I can feel your insincerity through the screen right now.

Me: I’M SORRY. I CARE, I DO. But come onnnn. We’ve been waiting on this vacation all year. Maybe I should just stay here, and we can daydrink in your apartment.

Anna: KATY, YOU BETTER GO TO FLORIDA OR I’LL KILL YOU.

I roll my eyes and send her one final text when I spot Mrs. Ross standing at my door with my next class of second graders waiting impatiently behind her.

Me: Relax, I’m going to go. I was just offering to stay to make you feel better. Alma is giving me the stink eye right now, so I’ll call you later.

I shove my phone back into my desk and offer a polite smile toward my fellow Calhoun teacher, Alma Ross, knowing darn well it’s not going to have an effect. Alma’s crotchetiness is unmatched.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ross. Bringing the class yourself today?” I question. Normally, her aide does it.

“Not by choice. Olivia’s out today,” my seventy-year-old coworker grumbles. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be standing here trying to ignore the bunions on my feet while you dilly-dally on your phone, dear.”

Alma’s the oldest teacher here at Calhoun, and she runs our English Department. From my interactions with her alone, I’d be inclined to understand why the normal retirement age is what it is. But for all the guff she gives the rest of us, she does manage to keep her students engaged and excited to learn. I don’t know how, but I guess the only soft spot she has left inside her grumpy body is for the kids.

“I’m so sorry about that, Mrs. Ross,” I apologize. “I was just checking in on why Ms. Franklin isn’t at school today. If I would’ve known Olivia wasn’t here, I would’ve come and gotten the students from your room.”

“Too late for that,” Alma mutters and gestures for the group of second graders to file inside. She barely offers me a wave goodbye before she turns on her black orthotics and shuffles her way back to her room at the end of the hall.

I don’t bother waiting around to see her make it there and, instead, step into the waiting room of excitedly wiggling bodies. Second graders, as it is, don’t have any still bones whatsoever.

“Good morning, class,” I announce with a smile once my students are semi-settled into their desks. “How’s everyone doing today?”

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