whisper that he’s playing for my team.”
Abruptly, Max pushed to his feet. “I’m going to my room.”
I shrugged as Lauren asked with a look, Something I said? She and I had been able to stare-talk since junior high. Back then our conversations were a lot simpler, stuff like, God, so cute, look, and I know, right? It was something I’d only recently started trying to do with Angus, though I wasn’t sure how much of my meaningful glances he could interpret. Sometimes I imagined his thoughts went like this: Nadia sure stares at me a lot. She’s a nut.
For an hour or so, Angus and I played video games while Lauren paged through a magazine. Eventually the other two turned in, leaving me to decide if I was going out on the balcony. I put on the kettle, debating the issue with more ambivalence than the issue demanded. Impatient, I steeped the herbal tea, added natural sweetener and stepped outside.
It was a clear, beautiful evening, tons of stars twinkling overhead. The air was cool and fresh, and in two months or so, the weather wouldn’t permit me to sit out here, anyway. I relaxed into my chair, making a mental note to tell Max how much I appreciated it. Closing my eyes, I listened to the rustle of squirrels in trees nearby and the symphony of insects singing to the night.
A bit later, I heard the unmistakable sound of Ty’s patio door scraping open, so I took that as my cue to vacate. Even if he wanted to talk, I wasn’t in the mood, after the cold shoulder earlier. So I slipped inside and took a quiet shower, tiptoeing so I didn’t bother Lauren.
Between work, school and the new practicum, the week went fast, though I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t lost a certain spark. Yet in getting ready, I still took great care; in honor of my first hands-on classroom experience, I wore a tailored navy skirt, white blouse and sensible shoes. Does this look okay? Nervous, I hurried out.
I loved C-Cool from the moment I pulled into the parking lot. The school was tan brick, built in the ’60s. C-Cool was a sprawling, single-level structure that went around in a giant, rectangular loop. There were hallways branching off, but the main one ended up where it began, if you just kept following it and making right turns.
A glance into the classrooms said I might be overdressed. Mental note: nice pants and shirt would be fine for next time.
Eventually, I found my assigned room and teacher. My palms felt sweaty as I stepped in. A blonde woman turned, the dainty sort who made me feel like mooing as I stomped around, breaking china and generally trashing the place. But her bright smile diffused any awkwardness.
“You must be Nadia. I’m Madeline Parker.” She was wearing jeans and a sweater, so I felt even more like a dork.
Did you think this was a job interview? Sigh.
Trying to be sly, I wiped my palm on my skirt then shook her hand. A glint of humor in her hazel eyes told me she was onto me, but she wasn’t judging.
“Nice to meet you,” I murmured.
“The pleasure is mine, believe me.” She looked to be in her thirties, not so old as to be intimidating or perma-settled into cranky ways. “Some of my colleagues find this professional obligation annoying, but I can use your help. This is the tail end of my free period, so we can go over some things before wading in. You want to sit down?”
“Sure.” I took a seat near her desk, ready to listen.
What she dropped on me was pretty stunning. “I work in the classroom as a co-teacher for social studies, English, science, math, though I teach the at-risk and special-ed students for math by myself, as I’m certified 4-8. Then I have a thirty-minute study hall where I help with homework as set up by the administration. This is a normal workload, though at the same time, I’m supposed to be teaching remedial English skills, study habits, behavior modification for discipline-issued students, as well as offer social instruction for those on the autism spectrum.”
“Wow,” I said.
“The most important thing for you to realize is that burnout is high among special-ed teachers. I love my work, don’t get me wrong, but don’t forget to take care of yourself, okay?”
I thought of my Sleepytime tea ritual and nodded. “I won’t. Thanks.”
“Now that we’ve had our serious talk, I’ll show you how rewarding this can be. Ready?”
A couple hours later, when I left the practicum, I was exhausted, and I understood what Ms. Parker meant. Though I didn’t doubt my commitment to teaching, maybe I didn’t have the tolerance or fortitude to work with special-needs students. There was such a diverse array of challenges, and I felt exhausted just trying to help my mentor address them. It seemed like every time I turned around, there was someone standing behind her, saying her name on repeat, having forgotten instructions or wanting an exception to the rule. Her patience was astonishing.
That night, I ate ramen for dinner and went to bed early. I didn’t talk to my roomies or sit on the balcony. Thursday was a cipher of a day, but by evening, I shook off the bad mood and watched a movie with Angus and Lauren. Unsurprisingly, Max had a date, and it was two in the morning when he came in. I was still awake, though I didn’t want to be. Apparently, Sleepytime tea at the kitchen table wasn’t the same as drinking it by moonlight.
Max seemed surprised to see me when he shut the door. “Wild night, huh?”
“You know it. Nothing says party like an herbal-tea party.”
“I’m worried about you, Conrad. You’re out of control.” His smirk prompted me to give him the finger.
“You wish.” He sauntered past me, grabbed a bottle of water then said, “Don’t stay up too late.”
Since I was awake, anyway, I did some reading and started on a project that was due in two weeks. I got four hours of sleep, max, before I had to head to my first class. On Friday afternoon, I was surprised when the director pulled me off kitchen duty, where I was helping Louisa put together snack plates. Quickly, I washed my hands and followed her, confused, to the front of the center.
“I don’t know how this happened,” Mrs. Keller was saying, “but I double-booked myself. I’m meeting with a vendor about new equipment but I’ve also got a prospective parent wanting a tour. Can you handle it?”
“Sure, just introduce me.”
But then I saw him. Ty stood near the front door in a pool of sunlight, holding a little boy’s hand. The pair of them were just adorably ginger, and a smile beamed out of me before I could school my expression to something less Wow, I’m so glad to see you, more suited to a day-care center tour. Mrs. Keller was talking, making us known to each other. Though I could’ve said it was unnecessary, I didn’t.
“So I’ll leave you in Nadia’s capable hands, all right? If you have questions she can’t answer, I’ll be available in half an hour or so.”
“Understood. Thank you.” His voice was always quiet and grave then, not just when dealing with random girls.
I had seen enough of Mrs. Keller’s routine to know that I wasn’t supposed to focus on the parents in this scenario, so I squatted down to eye level with mini-Ty and offered a warm smile. “We haven’t met. I’m Nadia. I’ll be showing you around today. Is that okay?”
He thought about it and then nodded without looking at his dad.
