Page 28 of One More Chapter

If I’m not mistaken, I see Juliet’s back to school manicure sharpen into claws.

“Have you guys heard from Claire recently?” Lucy cuts in.

“She’s wrapping up her social work license for the winter,” I say. “She’s been super busy, but I think she gets a break in a few weeks.”

“We should have a girls’ night!”

At the mention of time with my girls, the knots inside me relax.

eleven

anthony

With no applicantsfor the assistant principal position this close to the start of the school year, and no one from the building willing to step up, Nathan contacted me about lending him a hand as interim assistant principal in the meantime. I intend to make the most of the meantime.

I’m excited, but I’m nervous. Why am I so nervous? This is all I’ve ever wanted, right? Teaching for me has nothing to do with the power and authority, and everything to do with the teachers I had growing up.

Having ADHD is a label that always put me on the troublemaker shit list, andboydid I just lean into it. I was the class clown, the jokester, and the guy leading the charge on the senior pranks. Despite that, I always did well in school. I just can’t sit still for shit, and have a hell of a time keeping my tasks organized. It’s one of the reasons I have seventeen different alarms set on my watch. What helped me figure all of it out—aside from two loving and supportive parents—were the teachers who saw through all the bullshit and didn’t let it define me.

When some saw hyperactivity as a nuisance, a select few saw to the kid underneath who just wanted to do well. They were the teachers I wrote about in my college admittance essays,the classroom management I modeled mine after. They are the reason I’ve done my best to make math interactive, even in the middle school setting. But as I worked on my administrator’s license, I started to realize how much more I could be doing for students on the behavior end of things if given the position. Now, with the opportunity sitting at my fingertips, I might just have the chance to make it a reality.

“I have to say, despite the fact that this is technically my third year in the position, I’m kind of in uncharted territory right now.”

Nathan takes off his glasses and swipes at his brow before replacing them. Poor guy looks flustered.

“Hey man, we all are. I’m sure you didn’t expect to absorb half of another building, same as we didn’t anticipate having to combine schools for a year. Hell, did Don even give you a head’s up that he’d be retiring this year?”

“No.” He shakes his head. I expect him to say more, but he leaves it at that.

“So…” I tap my pen against my padfolio to the beat of the song stuck in my head and lift my eyes to Nathan. “We have a large population of new people in an unknown building…”

“I thought of that,” he nods. “I’m not much for team building activities or ice breakers. When I was in the classroom, I often found that my students hated them just as much as I did, which was a bonus.”

“Sure,” I nod, then point my pen. “But, I feel like this year might go a lot more smoothly if we all know each other on some level. You know what I’m saying? Sure,Iknow a group of your guys, and my classroom partner is…”

I rub the back of my neck, where a tingle starts, same as it always does when Pen’s name rolls off my tongue like I stole it. I shake my head, knowing that it won’t do me any good toget rid of her, because she’s as constant in my mind as the unconsciousness it takes to keep breathing.

“I think it might be beneficial to get the staff together somehow. Something informal so we at least know faces and names…”

“But not something that would feel like a waste of everyone’s time.”

“Exactly!” I point my pen at him again. “Food would probably be a smart idea.”

“Food is always good.”

Nate starts jotting some things down, spit-balling different times during in-service where we could make something informal work.

“What about a cookout potluck type deal out by the baseball fields? There’s plenty of space,” he says.

And that’s when my wheels start turning.

“We’re doingwhat?”

“Wiffle ball!”

If I didn’t already know about Penelope Barker’s secret life as a romance author, I’d say her calling in the arts was acting. Her facial expressions could rival Jim Carrey’s. Her eyes turn to slits, the deadpan expression something out of a cartoon. I can see every single intention written without her having to utter another word.

And all of those intentions sayReally, Ant?andFat chance,andI will kill you if so much as a hair on my pretty head is touched.