Page 65 of One More Chapter
He cleans his glasses with a lens cloth, then replaces them on his face.
“It’s something I didn’t consider when taking over for Don: how often the administrative tasks are meaningless. I could pop into your classroom just as easily to watch you teach. Why the paperwork trail for someone who is clearly competent?”
“That’s what I’ve been saying for years. But we’re all just cogs in the system, right?”
Nathan hums through his amused smile.
“Well, let’s go learn some geometry, shall we?”
He takes his laptop, notepad, and pen, and follows me to my classroom.
What I expect to see is my class doing their daily warm-up.
What I donotexpect is the utter pandemonium that we can clearly hear from four doors down the hallway. My blood is boiling before I even reach for the door handle.
My students are in two lines, running at the board to fill in answers to a multiplication wheel that Ant has projected onto our SmartTV. It’s utter chaos. They’re running, cheering, throwing the styluses at each other. We must come in at the end of the game, because someone shouts, “It’s a tie, Ellis!” and Ant pulls a basketball and a mini hoop out of nowhere and says in a deep, menacing voice, “Sudden death!”
“Or,” I shout, “How about we get back tomath?”
It’s so quiet in my classroom, you could hear a mouse fart. Half the kids’ heads drop as they sulk back to their seats, and the other half actually try to argue with me. It’s half-heartedattempts of,Come on, Ms. Barker!and,Can we just finish the sudden death?!before they realize that I mean business. Once they’re all seated, I take a deep breath, and take my place at the front of the room.
By the looks on their faces, you’d think I just murdered someone’s puppy. They’re clearly pissed that I stopped their game. They keep looking to Ant to take over, but he grabs his walkie and keys from his table and slips out the door. Someoneactually booswhen they realize that he’s leaving. It’s like he’s the fun parent and I’m the one who drops the hammer.
Needless to say, my lesson is hot trash.
Well, in the sense that no one is engaged, they barely answer my questions, and the life has been sucked out of learning. But, to be fair, I didn’t do the tried and true “the principal is coming in to watch me teach so if you’re on your best behavior I’ll get everyone Dunkin’ Munchkins” trick. I didn’t think I had to. I thought this class, being my best of the bunch, understood the game by now. Teacher observations are all a game.
Except for today. Today, the game was played by Mr. Ellis, and then Ms. Barker was left to pick up the pieces instead of giving a flawlessly executed lesson.
By the time I get home, I am drained. Ant was in and out of class all day because Nathan stacked up his other observations, so I barely had to deal with him. Between a throbbing headache and the dull ache in my wrist, I wanted nothing more than to come home and drown myself in a bowl of popcorn and a good Netflix show.
Except, I have a second job. One that has deadlines. One that, for all intents and purposes, I’m supposed to love more than the one that I drive to every day. Not when I can’t write a scene to save my life though. Not when writer’s block is a Mac Truck careening toward me on a slippery highway.
I’ve been sitting at my computer for forty-five minutes, and all I’ve typed so far has been,I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. Is that my main characters and their unrequited love talking, or just a little breaking of the fourth wall?
I rest my head on my keyboard and groan.
“Everything okay, Ms. Layne?”
And then immediately shoot up out of my seat, because Anthony Ellis has snuck up on me.
I wish he’d stop doing that.
Luckily, I don’t have to let my heart pitter-patter, because it’s currently annoyed. I scowl, my brows knitting together like the front lines of a battlefield.
“Why are you here?”
“Uh… Because I live here?”
“No, Anthony, I meanthereas in,in my office.”
“Because the door was wide open and you were talking to yourself.”
His eyebrows lift all the way to his hairline as he smiles sheepishly. I forgot that I talk to myself when I write. I call it “part of the creative process.” Claire called it “time to get out of the house” during those few weeks when I lived with her and Nathan.
“Thanks for the reminder to shut and lock the door,” I say, crossing my arms as a signal for him toget out.
“These doors don’t lock.”