Page 38 of One More Chapter
The other thing we haven’t really discussed is the walkie-talkie on my belt. Until Nate either confirms my position full-time as the Assistant Principal until Rita gets back from maternity leave, or they sign someone on full time, this is the best we’ve got. I stay in the classroom until he buzzes, I guess.
“Welcome to?—”
“Happy first day of eighth grade!”
She is the first of us to manage a complete sentence, after which a chorus of crickets seems to play out over the swamp of eighth graders in front of us. We have thirty-seven of them between us, a mixture of River Valley and Meadow Ridge kids alike. There’s a palpable mix of tension, apprehension, and indifference that permeates the swamp like a film of smog. I tug at the collar of my polo at the humidity, and clear my throat.Some of the students are staring at us intrigued. Some wear expressions that say, “Will you get on with it already?” One boy is already asleep at his desk.
Penelope beckons me forcefully with her hand low by her waist, almost like a mom trying to subtly chastise her toddler in public without causing a scene.
Except,wearethe scene. And this stage is getting a little awkward without a script.
I lean close to her, widening my eyes in indication for her to continue.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
“Uh… Welcoming my class?”
“Ourclass, Ellis.Ourclass, and for all intents and purposes, this ismyclassroom, so I suggest?—”
“It’sourclassroom for the year, Pen, and if we’re going to make it through an entire year in this classroom together, we should probably start acting like it?—”
“Yo, so like, are we gonna do anything, or are you two just gonna flirt all period?”
I can’t decide if the feeling of my own blush racing up my neck, or the sight of Penelope’s filling her face like a thermometer in the middle of July, is faster. We each take a gaping step apart, clear our throats, and take deep breaths. I turn to her, surrendering as I only know how to, and nod.
“Good morning, and welcome to eighth grade. My name is Ms. Barker, and this is…”
She pauses, allowing me to introduce myself.
“Mr. Ellis.” I nod, ready to pick up where she left off, when she takes over again.
“We will be your homeroom and math teachers this year.”
Immediately, hands go up and questions are tossed around the room.
“Like, all year?”
“Both of you?”
“How does that even work?”
“Will he take the Meadow Ridge kids?”
“I don’t want a River Valley teacher, no way, bro!”
I step back until my back hits the lip of my table. On its unsteady legs, the one framed photo I have—of my family on the Cape last summer—tips over. Penelope shuffles over to me, and we give the kids a minute to chat about the upcoming year.
“Did their parents seriously not tell them?” she asks, arms folded, gazing out over the chaos. I scratch at my chin.
“I’m sure enough blast emails and Facebook posts were sent. It might all be hitting them now that they’re actually in the trenches.”
I gaze down at her, letting those words echo our own truth between us. I had no idea what being in the thick of it with Penelope Barker meant until fate locked us together in every aspect of our lives. It’s downright torture in the sweetest of ways.
I let Pen field the rest of the questions.
Yes, this is happening.
Yes, all year.