The Teacher (4 page)

Someday,
she
thought wistfully gazing down at her sleeping niece,
I’ll be tucking my own
little ones in.

*     *     *

Emma made it home from Audrey’s with
just enough time to change and repack the suitcase she’d been living out of
while she camped in Seth’s bedroom. He promised to clean his junk out of the
second bedroom tomorrow, so she could move in properly.

“How was your flight home?” Emma asked
her elbow propped against the back of the couch. Her head rested in her hand.

“Same as always,” Seth said with a shrug.
Emma tried to draw her eyes away from his finely sculpted biceps, hugged by the
cuff of his sleeve. “How was your first week of school?”

“Don’t ask,” she replied, rolling her
eyes and letting out a deep sigh.

“What? Are those five year olds too
rough on you?” he teased, flashing his perfect smile that reached all the way
up to his clear blue eyes. The man could melt hearts with a smile like that,
just like Emma felt hers melting right now.

“No,” she said. “But I have twenty-eight
in my class.
Twenty-eight
and it’s difficult to get around to all of
them each day, even having them for a full day. I certainly have my hands full
with this group. Especially this one little boy…” her thoughts trailed off as
she thought about Brayden.

“What about the little guy?” Seth asked.

“He spends most of the day sitting in
his coat locker. I can’t seem to figure out what to do to reach him. He’s a
little disruptive to everyone else and there’s just something about him that I
can’t quite figure out.”

“Relax,” he said as he patted her knee
and then left his hand there to rest. She felt the heat of his touch on her
skin. “It’s just your first week, you can’t have them all figured out yet.”

“I know, but I just want to help him. And
then there’s his father.”

“Oh yeah, what about him?” Seth asked,
pulling his hand back as he turned to face her.

“Well, I don’t know much, except that
he’s some high-powered attorney downtown and both times he dropped his son off
this week he was on his cell phone, looking annoyed and walked away without
saying good bye.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very happy situation.
Maybe the little guy doesn’t get much attention at home and he’s looking for it
at school.”

“I’ve thought of that,” Emma replied. “But
I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Maybe things will be better next week, but
enough about me. How are things with you?”

“Things are pretty good.”

“How was California?”

“Good. Hot. Sunny,” Seth shrugged, a shy
smile playing on his lips.

“And?” Emma waited.

“And what?” Seth turned to her.

“Not what, who?”

“Who, what?”

“Who did you meet down there?”

“Who says I met anyone?” Seth asked
coyly.

“Stacy.” Stacy was a gossip queen and
loved anything surrounding a romantic relationship. She was convinced Seth
spent an extra weekend in California because of a special someone and didn’t
waste a moment in sharing her thoughts with Emma.

“Oh. Well, yeah I did meet someone down
there.”

“And does this person have a name?”

“Kelly.”

“Kelly, huh, and how did the two of you
meet?” Emma asked playfully.

“At the gym. Kelly’s a personal trainer.”

“Uh huh,” Emma waited, but Seth didn’t
continue. “You’re not going to tell me anymore are you?”

“Not unless you want to hear about the
great sex we’ve been having?” His thin lips curled upward.

“Oh God, no,” Emma cried, throwing her
hands over her ears. “Save that stuff for Stacy. Just tell me this,” Emma
paused, knowing what she wanted to ask was none of her business, but also
desperate to know. “Is it serious?”

“Not yet,” he replied with the smile of
a lovesick puppy and confirmed Emma’s suspicion, Seth was falling in love and officially
off the market.

He turned and smiled at her before
pushing up from the couch. “Have you eaten?” he asked, throwing the question
over his shoulder as he walked into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” she called after him. She leaned
her head against the soft tan couch cushion, closed her eyes, and listened.
Seth opened and closed the freezer door, tore into a box and punched the
buttons on the microwave. Emma opened her eyes when Seth returned, carrying a
fork in one hand and a plastic tray of food on a plate in the other.

“How can you eat that?” Emma asked,
turning her nose up to the smell of the re-heated, mass-produced Salisbury
steak and potatoes he was about to eat.

“It’s not that bad, if you don’t really
think about what you’re eating. Besides, I’m hungry and take-out would take too
long. Wanna watch something?” he asked and tossed the remote to her.

Emma flipped the TV on, even though she
was content to sit and watch Seth. She settled on a movie,
No Strings
Attached.
It started ten minutes ago, but they’d both seen it.

“Oooh Ashton,” Seth said in a husky
falsetto. “He’s so dreamy.” He grinned at her before shoveling another bite of
his dinner into his mouth.

When the movie was over Emma could
hardly keep her eyes open. She yawned and said, “I’m going to bed. Do you mind
if I borrow a pillow and blanket for the couch?”

“No,” he replied with his gorgeous smile.
“But you probably will. This couch is too small and hard to sleep on. Go ahead
and crash in my bed. I’m going to be up a little while longer and then I’ll be
in.”

Emma stared at him. Was he suggesting
the two of them share his bed? She was about to insist on taking the couch
again when Seth laughed.

“Sorry Vanilla,” he said using the
nickname, he and Stacy had given her in college. “I forgot what a good girl you
are. Don’t worry I won’t try anything funny with you. Scouts honor.” He smiled
and held up two fingers, giving his pledge.

It’s not you I’m worried about
,
Emma thought in her next breath, but she was too tired to argue and trudged
down the hall. Sleep came to her almost immediately after her head hit the
pillow and she never felt Seth climb into the bed next to her or slide out the
next morning.

The smell of coffee and the sound of
movement from across the hall awakened her. The front door creaked open and then
closed. She dropped her feet to the floor, shuffled out of the room, and ran
her fingers through her tangled hair.

The room across the hall, her room, was
almost empty. It looked much bigger than she imagined. She could see the full
length of the built in armoire and drawers. Seth’s room had a full walk-in
closet where he hung all of his suits, jackets, and shirts, grouped by color.
She wished she had a closet like his too, but these built-ins would suffice. The
cabinetry was painted white. She pulled on the handles and cracked the armoire door.
The faint smell of cedar greeted her.

The cool morning breeze blew gently
through the open window and softly touched her cheek. She crossed her arms over
her chest in a hug when she heard Seth come back into the apartment. He walked
through the door carrying a broom and dustpan.

“Hey sleepy head,” he said. He wore the
same shorts and t-shirt from the night before.

Emma couldn’t help but smile as he
dropped the dustpan and began to sweep the dust bunnies out of the corners.

“You should have woken me up,” she told
him as she watched his hips rock back and forth from behind.

“Nah,” he replied, continuing with his
task. “You were pretty out of it. This is all my junk anyway you shouldn’t have
to move it.”

“But, it’s because of me that you are
moving it,” she reminded him.

“You got that right.” He turned and
flashed a smile. “I’ve got to get you into your own room, so I don’t have to
listen to you snore all night long.”

“I snored?” Emma asked, covering her
mouth with one hand. She was horrified.

“Just a little.” He smiled back at her.

“I’m sorry. I was so tired last night.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said and crouched
down to scoop up the pile of dirt he’d created. He straightened holding the dustpan
in one hand and the broom, tipped parallel to the floor with the other. She
smiled at the sight of him looking sexy and domestic at the same time.

“Coffee?” he asked as he walked out of
the room.

“That sounds great.” Emma said following
him.

In the kitchen, Seth dumped the dustpan
into the garbage under the sink and returned it along with the broom to the
small closet. He poured Emma a cup of coffee and she noticed two purple crowns
sitting on the table. The velvet caps were trimmed in white faux fur and gold
bands crisscrossed over the top. Seth followed her gaze over his shoulder and
smiled when he saw what she was looking at. He stepped over to the table and
donned the larger of the two crowns.

“Aren’t these great?” he asked. “I found
these in one of my old boxes. I think they’re left over from Mardi Gras a
couple of years ago. What do you think?”

“I think purple is definitely your
color,” she said and sipped from her cup.

“Thanks,” he said and reached for the
other one. “This one’s for you.”

She arched her eyebrows at him, “It’s a
little early for Halloween, don’t you think?”

Seth didn’t answer, but stepped right in
front of her. He held the other crown in both hands and drew his shoulders
back. “I, Seth Brown, the king of apartment 3B, dub thee, Emma, my queen to
rule over this kingdom with power and grace.” He settled the crown atop her
head and bowed regally.

Emma laughed and straightened her crown
as it nearly slipped from her head.

“What is your highness’s first wish?” he
asked theatrically, using a terrible sounding English nobleman’s voice.

For you to really want me as your queen,
she thought, but “breakfast” is what came out.

“Very well,” he said, still using that
voice. “Go get dressed and I’ll take you to get the best cinnamon rolls in all
of Portland.”

She walked out of the kitchen and called
back, “Okay, but I’ve got to shower first.”

“Well, hurry up.” Seth shouted, finally losing
the theatrical tone. “I’m starving.”

C
hapter Three

September soon gave way to October,
bringing with it Portland’s infamous rainfall. Bright crimson leaves decorated the
trees and before Emma knew it, she was penciling turkey and pilgrim activities
into her lesson plans.

Emma walked to school through the
morning’s mist-filled air on a brown leaf-stained sidewalk, wet from an
overnight shower. She buried her hands deep in the pockets of her coat to ward
of the November cold. The little black umbrella she picked up in the checkout
line of the grocery store was tucked inside her bag awaiting the sky’s next
cloudburst.

Despite the cavernous feel of the main
hallway, the school was warm and sheltering when she stepped inside. Her wet shoes
skittered across the front door rug and squeaked on the shiny tiles. Once in
the classroom she dropped her bag and coat in the chair behind her desk.

Mary Ellen charged into the classroom,
arms loaded with papers. “Earthquake drill today at nine-thirty, okay?” Emma
tugged at the hem of her gray turtleneck sweater before accepting the stack of
red papers Mary Ellen held out.

“Thanks.”

“Yes, so,” Mary Ellen continued without
skipping a beat. “Debbie is going to run the drill at nine-thirty today. I told
her that would be a good time so we can send the kids out to recess right
after. You’ll need to talk to them about it first, of course. Here are some
notes I made for you. This is what I tell my class.” Mary Ellen pulled a folded
paper from the pocket of her denim apron, and handed it to Emma. Mary Ellen
tilted her soft white-haired head to the side and smiled as if she’d done Emma
a grand favor.

“Of course,” Emma smiled back and
pinched her lips together to keep from reminding Mary Ellen that she was aware
of how important it was to prepare their young students for these new drills.
She had done it with the fire drill last month and the lock-down drill last
week.

“This is the last freebie we get,” Mary
Ellen reminded her. “From here on out Debbie won’t tell us when the drills are
and they’ll be a surprise for us just like everyone else.”

“Got it,” Emma replied.

“Oh, make sure to hand these out at
conferences.” Mary Ellen thumped the stack of papers she had given Emma. “It’s
our schedule through the end of December. Lots of important dates to remember.”
Again with the smile. “And here is a sign-up sheet for the party.” Mary Ellen
tossed her another page, bright purple with a Christmas tree, a dreidel, and
the seven candles of Kwanza bordering the edge.

“Great,” Emma said and looked over the
page as Mary Ellen waddled across the hall to make the same delivery to Susan.

Studying the sheet, Emma learned her
class would be decorating gingerbread houses made out of graham crackers,
serving snowman pizzas made on English muffins, playing pin the buttons on the
snowman, and doing a snowflake walk at their holiday party.

Well, there goes Mary Ellen planning my
lessons for me again,
she thought and set the papers on her
desk. The bell rang, signaling the start of another school day. Kids and
parents started through the door. Brayden stormed in just like always—nostrils
flared and feet stomping. Mr. Lewis watched from the hallway, keeping his
distance. As soon as Brayden was through the door he retreated, his cell phone
glued to his ear.

After the entirely-too-long
announcements were read and the children valiantly attempted the pledge of
allegiance, Emma picked up the morning’s storybook. With Brayden sitting in his
coat locker and everyone else at the carpet, she began the story. Donald, who
spent the first few minutes of his day in the Special Education classroom,
quietly came through the door with the aide, Sandy Jenkins, as Emma turned the
first page.

Donald hung up his coat and backpack before
walking over to Brayden. He waved his hand inches from his classmate’s nose and
said “hi”. Brayden said nothing—he never did. Donald, unfazed, walked to the
carpet, sat down next to Naomi, gave her the same greeting as Brayden and
turned his attention to the story.

Naomi curled her lip up at Donald and
scooted away from him. Emma was about to give Naomi her stern teacher look when
a movement in the back of the room distracted her. Brayden walked to the carpet
and squeezed into the tiny space between Donald and Naomi. Not wanting to skip
a beat or lose her students’ attention, Emma turned back to the story.

Closing the book Emma asked, “Does anyone
know what an earthquake is?” Three hands shot up into the air. “Yes, Hillary?”

“It’s when the ground moves and things
fall down.”

“That’s right…”

“Yeah, and it breaks the windows and
things smash on your head,” interrupted Lyle, who made explosion sound effects
and smashed his hand on his own head. The other boys joined in, making sound
effects and producing the subsequent screams that would follow their perceived
injuries.

“Um, yes, well.” Emma raised her voice,
trying to regain her class’s attention. “That’s why it’s so important to know
what to do, so we can be safe and not get hurt.”

She showed them how to get under their
little tables, hook an arm around a table leg and cover their head with the
other.

The real drill commenced with the
principal, Debbie Wolf, saying, “This is an earthquake. I repeat this is an
earthquake.” The woman made a poor attempt at trying to sound alarmed and calm
at the same time.

The children screamed and squealed as
they dove under tables. Emma walked around saying the words, “duck and cover”
to remind them to protect their heads.

“What about you Ms. Hewitt?” Little Mariah’s
tiny worried voice asked.

“If it was real, sweetie, I’d get under
there with you, but this is just pretend and I need to make sure everyone is
safe first.”

Two minutes later, “all clear,” came
over the intercom and Emma had her students clean their tables before lining up
for recess. From the large metal doors that led to the playground, Emma stood
and watched her students file out into the cool gray day. Susan’s class was
right behind hers.

“Are you going out?” Emma asked Susan
who was wearing a black fur-lined coat.

“No,” she said, turning back down the
hall with Emma when the last of her class was out the door. “My room’s
freezing, so I’ve been wearing my coat all morning.” Susan pulled a snack size
plastic bag out of her pocket and offered a pretzel to Emma.

Emma took one. “Thanks. Why’s your room
so cold?”         

“I’m airing it out,” Susan replied,
turning a little green.

“Why?”

“Vincent threw up.”

“Oh no,” Emma said. “I’m guessing you
sent him home?”

She nodded and chewed a pretzel. “And
his sister.”

“Really?” Emma asked. Susan had
mentioned Vincent and Valarie before, the twins whose mother insisted the two
be in the same class because they were so connected, but also fought like cats
and dogs.

“Yep,” Susan smiled. “’Cuz he threw up
all over her.”

“You’re kidding,” Emma said horrified and
then laughed. “That’s awful.”

“I know.” Susan giggled. “But now my
room smells like vomit covered in disinfectant. It’s quite the combination.”

“Well, I hope it’s better by lunchtime,”
Emma offered.

“Me too,” Susan replied as they each
turned into their classrooms.

The long shrieking sound of the recess
whistles blew as Emma walked back outside. Mary Ellen already stood on the
bright yellow star painted on the pavement and waited for her class to line up.
Emma took her place on the red star. Susan followed behind her to stand on the
blue star. The kindergartners came running finally aware that the sound of the
whistle meant recess was over.

During the first weeks of school, getting
the kids off the play equipment and into a line took effort. While Emma stood
on her star and waved the children over, the recess aides would chase the stragglers
with outstretched arms and guide them into line. “It’s like herding cats,”
Susan had whispered to her. But today all of Emma’s little kittens were lined up
and ready to walk inside—even Brayden, who stood at the end with his arms
crossed and eyes downcast.

The rest of the day passed quickly. When
everyone was gone, Emma sat down at her desk and ran through her mental
checklist of students. Did everyone get to where they were supposed to today?
Did Donald get on his bus? Yes. Did all seven kids that stay for the after
school program go there and get checked in? Yes, Adam, Brayden, Hans, Maria, Naomi,
Petya and Savannah all walked with her to the gym. Hillary went home with
Maria, yes. Was Carl picked up by his grandma? Yes. And everyone else was met
by either a parent or nanny, yes. They were all accounted for.

Emma pulled out the stack of progress
reports from her top drawer. She finished them yesterday, except for one.
Brayden’s comment section was still blank.

Picking up her pen, Emma looked down at the
progress report. She tapped her pen on the paper. Her old standbys of wonderful
things to say about students like;
a pleasure to have in class, enthusiastic
about learning, has made tremendous progress, is well liked by others…
didn’t
exactly fit with Brayden. She could easily fill the section with her concerns,
but she prided herself on looking for the positive in each of her students.

She opened his work sample file and
flipped through the first few pages. Most projects were incomplete, some never
started. She picked up the pictures of the pumpkin plant he was supposed to
have cut out and glued down in sequential order from seed, to sprout, to vine,
to pumpkin. The pictures were colored nicely, but the pumpkin was torn in half.
He started cutting on the lines and then got frustrated. Emma remembered how he
yelled out that he couldn’t do it, threw the scissors on the floor, crumpled
the rest of the papers, and stomped off to his locker. Emma salvaged the
project and tucked it into the folder as a “talking point” for conferences.

Next, she turned through the pages of
his writing journal. Today, he’d drawn a picture of the classroom with broken
windows, broken toys on the floor, and something falling on his head. Earthquake,
Emma assumed. Flipping backwards, she looked at the pictures he’d drawn of the
firefighters after they visited last month.

Brayden retreated to his coat locker
when the firefighters walked in. He watched their presentation with an
intensity Emma had never witnessed from him before. The rest of that day, he’d
been more irritable than usual and got into a shoving match with two of the other
boys when they lined up to go home. Throughout the next two weeks drawings of
firefighters putting out fires in cars, trees, houses, and schools showed up on
every page.

His conception and the details in his
drawings were advanced for his young age. Quickly she jotted down:
Incredible
aptitude for drawing.
After another several minutes of pen drumming she
added;
shows interest in making friends
and
has an amazing sense of
awareness about his surroundings.

Now she needed to pare down the laundry
list of concerns she had formed in her mind. Finally, she wrote:
Concerned
about academic progress and social integration into the classroom. Let’s
discuss ways to help Brayden be more successful.
There, now she was done. She
stacked up all the progress reports and took them to the copy room. Tomorrow
she would sit down with Mr. Lewis at the parent-teacher conference and finally
start getting somewhere with Brayden.

She wasn’t going to let Mr. Lewis leave
her classroom without giving her some idea about how to work with Brayden and
answering some of her questions. Emma scoured Brayden’s registration material during
the first week of school, looking for any clues to help her learn about her new
student. She was disappointed to find the only emergency contact listed was the
mild-mannered receptionist she left messages with at Lewis and Sons Law Firm. She
had more questions than answers about Brayden.

Through a brief conversation with Marjorie,
the school secretary, she learned Brayden spent one day during the first week
of school in a classroom at Portland Christian Academy before he transferred to
Fitzpatrick. That explained his late start, but Emma was curious about what led
to the transfer.

Marjorie, being the wonderful resource
that she is, looked up the number and passed it on to Emma. Her conversation
with the other kindergarten teacher was brief and all she learned was that Brayden
behaved the same as he did in her class—sitting alone, glaring and refusing to
follow directions.

“We simply cannot tolerate that kind of
disrespect from our students. It is disruptive to the learning environment.” An
utter lack of compassion encased the other teacher’s words. Emma gently agreed
and thanked her for her time before hanging up.

She would get her answers and start
filling in the blanks on Brayden tomorrow. Mr. Lewis’s secretary assured her the
messages about their conference had been received and he hadn’t called to
reschedule.

*     *     *