Fatty Patty (A James Bay Novel) (7 page)

Wait a minute. This is my classroom.

I clear my throat, edge closer to Nick.
Solidarity.
If he can’t help himself, I’ll stand up for him. “Nick is our new fifth-grade teacher.”

“I know. Everyone is talking about the new hire. I had to come see for myself.” Amy’s gaze settles on Nick with a calculating air. “Silly me, missing that staff meeting. Guaranteed I won’t miss the next one.”

I’d like to slap that smile right off her face. Why doesn’t she leave him alone? She’s already got a husband plus plenty of admirers trailing her around. Granted, most of them are only five years old and can barely recite the alphabet, let alone guess what color lipstick their teacher wears. But that never stops Amy. Little or big boys, they’re all the same to her. It’s absolutely nauseating.

And I’ll bet she never dreams about cookies. More like devouring men, one by one.

“The two of you looked very cozy,” Amy says. “What’s so interesting?”

“We were talking about bulletin boards.” I can’t fault Nick for falling for that wide-eyed schoolgirl charm, but I’ve been around Amy all my life and I know what she’s up to. I fight down the impulse to give Amy a well-deserved kick.

“Bulletin boards? I swear, Patty, you’re hopeless. Don’t you know better than to waste your time talking about boring things like that when you’re with a good-looking man?” She throws me a how-stupid-can-you-be-smile. “No wonder you’re not married.”

I open my mouth, then shut it just as quick. The contest’s preliminary round of voting takes place around Thanksgiving. I can’t afford to make any enemies. Then again, Amy would never vote for me. We’ve been sworn enemies since we were five years old.

“Nick, are you married?”

“Nope.”

Her eyebrows lift. “No wonder you’re the talk of the school.”

“Is that so?” He shoots her a grin that makes me want to cry.

Damn it, why doesn’t she go away? She’s not supposed to be the one he’s looking at.

“She’s really something.” Nick turns to me a few moments later when Amy finally saunters out the door. “I bet she keeps those five-year-olds hopping. She’s got plenty of energy for someone so tiny.”

“You’re right about that.” Amy is petite but not when it comes to confidence. She knows exactly who she is. She’s polished and perfect.

Perfectly sour.

“Guess I’d better get back to my own room and start working on that bulletin board.”

I swallow down my disappointment as he heads for the door. Nick and I barely had a chance to talk before she showed up. Damn Amy and her silly chatter, wasting our precious time.

“Call if you need help,” I call out behind him. “I’m right next door.”

“I won’t forget.” He halts in the doorway. “By the way, which way to the kindergarten room?”

My heart drops. I should have known. Why did I assume Nick would be different? When it comes to men, Amy always wins. I just didn’t expect him to be such an easy conquest.

“Down the hall and to your left.”

“Thanks. Just want to make sure I know my way around.” He throws me a wink. “That’s one room I want to avoid.”

“Excuse me?”

“Women like her scare me. The last thing I need is drama in my life.”

I stand there bug-eyed as Nick strolls out the door. Is he kidding? Amy’s ruled this school since we were in kindergarten—first on the playground and now behind a teacher’s desk. Everyone knows the rules. No one challenges her authority.

Or maybe not. Maybe this year, things will be different.

Suddenly I can’t wait for school to begin. Nick and I will make a great team. Together we can handle whatever the school year brings. Fifty fifth graders? No problem. That saucy little
In-Group
? A done deal.

Even Amy Lynn.

A feeling surges through me that suddenly makes me feel like anything is possible. I can do this. Make it through the preliminary voting round for Teacher of the Year. Conquer my lifelong fear of Amy by standing up for myself. Win the respect of my peers by finally winning that contest. And with Nick as my personal coach, who knows what can happen? I might even be tempted to try on one of those skimpy cheerleading outfits like Amy wore in high school. Back then, the mere thought of trying to stuff myself into one of those trim little skirts scared me silly. But I’m all grown up now. I can do it.

Especially if I lose another ten pounds.

I settle behind my desk, grab a catalog and start dreaming.

Brand new school year. Brand new body. Brand new me.

CHAPTER FIVE

Where do ten-year-olds get so much energy? I keep watch from my usual spot near the playground fence, eyeing my crop of fifth graders as they hit the playground for morning recess. Nick’s class beat us outside and most of the boys—including mine—have lost no time joining Mr. Lamont beneath the basketball hoop. Their shouts of laughter are sucked up in the hot dry wind, scattering over the asphalt court. Some of the girls pair up in clumps of twos and threes, giggling as they scamper for the monkey bars, slide, and swings.

Only two hours into the new school year, but every September it’s the same. Time and hormones dog them, especially the girls. They start fifth grade fighting over swings and finish the school year fighting over boys.

Brand new school year. Brand new students. Brand new faces.
Most of them I already know by name. By the end of this month, I’ll know their smiles and personalities, too.

Eric tops my list of kids-to-keep-your-eye-on. Painfully thin, dark smudges under his eyes, shabby clothes. A classic case. Problems at home.

Andrea, a diabetic whirlwind. No sugar. No snacks. Hopefully no seizures.

Billy and Joseph, big and brawny. Special attention for those two. They could turn into major troublemakers.

Matt and Mark, new to our district, identical twins. School policy mandates the brothers be separated; Matt’s in my class and Mark is in Nick’s. The twins haven’t been separated since they started school. I spent extra time reassuring their mother that her boys would be fine. They look fine now, laughing and shouting, part of Nick’s crowd under the basketball hoop.

The girls are another matter. Jenna and Sarah on the swings, twirling and whispering with their heads together. Tiffany is off by herself, knobby knees pulled tight, dirty sneakers squeaking in protest as she inches down the metal slide. The school year’s barely started but Lauren, Becky, Katie, Amanda, and Jamie are already holding court. Head high, arms locked tight, they rule the playground.

I keep an eye on them as they make another loop, then head in Tiffany’s direction. She sees them coming, tumbles down the slide and lands in a cloud of sand at the bottom. Loud hoots of laughter erupt from Lauren and her cohorts, making me cringe. Twenty years have passed since I was in fifth grade, subjected to daily torture on this very playground by the pretty girls. It wasn’t called
bullying
in those days, but I’ve never forgotten how much it hurt.

“
They’re mean girls, Patty
,” Priscilla whispered on a daily basis. “
Just ignore them
.” Poor Tiffany has to go it alone, while at least I had Priscilla at my side. The silent code of twins trumped being part of the in-crowd and Priscilla gave it all up for me. She could have joined them, but both of us knew I’d never get an invitation. Amy had made sure of that. I’ll bet she was the one who thought up that nickname that followed me through grade school.

Fatty Patty
. If I listen hard enough, I can still hear the voices of my playground torturers chanting in my head.

“Hey, Miss P. Want a cookie?”

Tyler, one of the smallest boys in my class, stands before me with a half-eaten cookie in one hand and an open baggie filled with cookies in the other. Huge homemade chocolate chip cookies. The best kind. A promise of pure pleasure sitting on your tongue.

“They’re pretty good.” He grins, showing off gaping holes from two missing front teeth. “My mom made them.” Sugary crumbs stain his lips as he spits out the words and holds out the sack.

Grab it quick, before he gets away.

“Thanks, Tyler, but I had a big breakfast.” I swallow down a surge of desire. That dry piece of toast didn’t go far. I suck in a deep breath, count to ten. “Why don’t you share them with your friends?”

“Okay.” He crams the rest of the cookie into his mouth and wanders off.

Ruth Proctor strolls over to join me. “Pretty outfit. Is it new?”

“I bought it Saturday.” I glance down at the blue and white blouse with matching skirt. Last weekend’s excursion to the mall for a pair of new shoes ended up a full-blown shopping spree. I cringe, thinking how much I spent. Sooner or later I’ll have to admit it to Sam. But everyone deserves a little splurge now and then, right? Besides, the blue blouse matches my eyes. And I know Nick noticed.

At least I think he did. I hope he did.

“Can you believe it’s another year already? Where does the time go?” Ruth shakes her head. “And these kids—where do they get so much energy? They’re like wild monkeys.”

“Better out here on the playground than during math class.” I watch Tyler as he heads for the swings with his snack sack. Poor kid. He’s got no clue how close he came to losing those cookies.

“The boys seem happy with Mr. Lamont.” Ruth nods toward the basketball court. Nick has the boys split into two teams. They scrimmage and shoot hoops on the hot asphalt.

“They do seem to like him.” I give myself a mental hug. It’s not just the fifth-grade boys who think Nick is something special.

“What about you, Patty? What do you think of our new fifth-grade team?”

I stand there as the flush creeps up my face. What does she expect me to say? That at thirty years old, I’m nursing a schoolgirl crush on the fifth-grade teacher? That I think he’s the cutest thing strolling the halls of James Bay Elementary? That I check him out every chance I get?

“Why do you ask?”

“No particular reason.” She tucks a few gray hairs back into place. “Well, I suppose that’s not entirely true. I will admit I do have a few concerns about Nick.”

I shoot her a fast glance. “Anything I should know?”

“Nothing specific.” Her eyes trail him around the basketball court, bouncing back and forth as he controls the ball. “He just seems a little… wild. Sometimes I wonder if he has those kids under control.”

I watch Nick whooping it up under the hoop with the ten-year-olds. I’m not sure what Ruth’s talking about. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no mistaking who’s in charge—the man in chinos, white shirt, and tie, dribbling the basketball. He darts, jumps, and scores the perfect shot, then takes an elaborate bow—much to the delight of his young fans.

“I think he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

She hesitates, like she’s about to say something more, then changes her mind. “I suppose you’re right. Forget I said anything. I’m sure it will all work out fine.”

I watch Nick score another shot. How can Ruth have any doubts? Nick is perfect with the kids and just what they need. A masculine presence, steady and reliable. A man in charge who makes them feel important by getting down on their own level while still managing to control the action and keep everyone in line. When was the last time one of our staff was out there playing with the kids? I used to do it myself when I first started teaching, challenging the girls to a game of jump rope. It was exhausting but fun. When and why did I quit? Now recess means me patrolling the playground and checking my watch to make sure we don’t exceed our fifteen minutes of freedom.

Exactly how and when did I become the warden?

“I just want to make sure he fits in here,” Ruth adds.

“That’s what I want, too.” More than she can guess.

“Help me keep an eye on him, would you, Patty? We don’t want our boy getting into trouble.”

I glance at Nick, busy directing a crucial play.
Our boy?
Ruth has it all wrong. Nick’s no boy. He’s definitely all man. And he’s
my man
. At least from the hours of 9 to 3. As for the rest of the time…

I block out the thought. Better not to go there or think that. Things are great between us and I don’t want to mess it up. Nick is totally out of my league.

Still, there’s nothing wrong with a girl dreaming.

“You can count on me, Ruth. I’m glad to help.”

She pats my arm. “I was hoping you’d say that. Now, there’s one more thing you can do.”

“What’s that?”

“Ring the bell.” She nods at the brass bell in my hand. “We’re five minutes late coming in from recess.”

# # #

“Does everyone understand the assignment?” The chalk squeaks in my hand as I list the page numbers. When will this school modernize and buy some whiteboards with the dry erase?

Loud titters erupt behind me. I whirl around and scan a sea of way-too-innocent faces. “Is there a problem? Did I miss something?”

“Eric called you
Mom
,” Joseph shouts from the back row.

“What a dork,” Lauren sniggers. Four other little girls scattered around the room quickly follow suit and the class laughs even louder.

“All right, that’s enough,” I say. “Everybody settle down.”

It’s hard to keep my temper in check. Lauren is proving to be even nastier than her reputation. First rule of teaching: let them know who’s in charge. Better they learn up front that I mean business, rather than me making the mistake of starting out soft.

Then again, it is the first day of school.

I glance at Eric, seated near my desk. Suddenly I’m glad I put him there. Something about the little boy brings out my protective instincts. Kids can be cruel and sooner or later he’ll have to learn to speak up for himself. An adult stepping in often makes things worse and that’s the last thing I want to do. I went into teaching to make a difference. To make things better.

I glance around the classroom with my dreaded-teacher look, as Priscilla likes to call it. My eyes settle first on Joseph, then Lauren, then the rest of the class. One after another until they get the message. “I’m sure Eric didn’t mean to call me
Mom
, did you, Eric?”