Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Anna: KATY, YOU BETTER GO TO FLORIDA OR I’LL KILL YOU.
I roll my eyes and send her one final text when I spot Mrs. Ross standing at my door with my next class of second graders waiting impatiently behind her.
Me: Relax, I’m going to go. I was just offering to stay to make you feel better. Alma is giving me the stink eye right now, so I’ll call you later.
I shove my phone back into my desk and offer a polite smile toward my fellow Calhoun teacher, Alma Ross, knowing darn well it’s not going to have an effect. Alma’s crotchetiness is unmatched.
“Good morning, Mrs. Ross. Bringing the class yourself today?” I question. Normally, her aide does it.
“Not by choice. Olivia’s out today,” my seventy-year-old coworker grumbles. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be standing here trying to ignore the bunions on my feet while you dilly-dally on your phone, dear.”
Alma’s the oldest teacher here at Calhoun, and she runs our English Department. From my interactions with her alone, I’d be inclined to understand why the normal retirement age is what it is. But for all the guff she gives the rest of us, she does manage to keep her students engaged and excited to learn. I don’t know how, but I guess the only soft spot she has left inside her grumpy body is for the kids.
“I’m so sorry about that, Mrs. Ross,” I apologize. “I was just checking in on why Ms. Franklin isn’t at school today. If I would’ve known Olivia wasn’t here, I would’ve come and gotten the students from your room.”
“Too late for that,” Alma mutters and gestures for the group of second graders to file inside. She barely offers me a wave goodbye before she turns on her black orthotics and shuffles her way back to her room at the end of the hall.
I don’t bother waiting around to see her make it there and, instead, step into the waiting room of excitedly wiggling bodies. Second graders, as it is, don’t have any still bones whatsoever.
“Good morning, class,” I announce with a smile once my students are semi-settled into their desks. “How’s everyone doing today?”
“I’ve been better,” Jimmy Lucas says through a deep sigh that’s worthy of a man who just got off a twelve-hour shift working construction in one-hundred-degree temperatures.
“Oh no…” I bite my lip to fight the urge to laugh and force a sympathetic smile to my lips. “I’m sorry to hear that, Jimmy. Is there anything I can do to make today better for you?”
Before Jimmy can answer, Seth Brown is quick to chime in. “You probably just need a wine cooler, Jim. My mom says wine coolers make her feel less stressed.”
Here we go.
If there’s one student I can rely on to get a class way off course, it’s Seth Brown. He’s adorable and even sweet to his core, but he’s practically a professional distractor.
Throughout this school year, I’ve had to contact his mother Sammy numerous times and have had several parent-teacher meetings with her because of Seth’s penchant for disruption in the classroom.
“What’s a wine cooler?” Jimmy asks, and a rocky future of angry emails from concerned parents about alcoholic beverages being encouraged in my class as a coping mechanism for their seven- and eight-year-old kids flashes before my eyes.
Quick as a whip, I jump into the conversation. “A wine cooler is an alcoholic beverage that only adults can have and is not approved by any official agency as a way to deal with stress.”
The words just barely leave my lips and Melanie Morris’s hand shoots up like a rocket from the fourth row.
“Yes, Melanie?”
“What’s a alkalolic beverage, Ms. Dayton?”
“My mom says they’re delicious, and she loves—” Seth Brown starts to put in his unneeded two cents, but I quickly cut him off.
“Seth,” I state firmly and meet his eyes. “You know the class rules. If you have something to say or a question to ask, you need to raise your hand.”
“Sorry, Ms. Dayton,” he says sheepishly, his part-time Opie persona in full effect.
“Now, we have gotten way off track here,” I announce and walk toward the front of the classroom. “And it’s important that we get back on track. Today, we’re going to take a timed addition test.”
“A stinking test? On a Friday?” Seth groans from the third row, clearly forgetting about the whole raising his hand during class thing in a record amount of time.
“Yes, Seth,” I respond. “A short test to see what we’ve learned these past few weeks.”
“Yes!” Caroline, one of my most motivated and well-behaved students, cheers from her spot in the first row. “I love timed tests!”
“Of course, you do,” Seth mutters under his breath, but Caroline hears it and she’s quick to respond.
“Shut up, Seth!”
“That’s enough,” I hop in without hesitation. “Everyone, settle down. Unless you want to spend your recess with me doing more addition problems, there will be no more outbursts, okay?” I look around the classroom, meeting each of my students’ eyes to ensure they know I mean business.