Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“’Bye, Miss Reed,” they say one after another as they pass me on the way out of the room. Giving them all smiles or pats on the back, I wait until the last student passes, then turn around and grin when I see Tamara, one of my favorite students, with her head buried in a book.
“Honey, class is over,” I say, and her chin flies up, causing the curly ringlets covering her head to bounce. As she looks around, her mocha cheeks get pink just a bit, and she shakes her head.
“I did it again?” she grumbles, and I smile.
“Don’t worry, the bell just rang,” I reassure her as she stands and pushes her cute little blue glasses up the bridge of her nose and slips on her three-sizes-too-big jacket. “What book are you reading now?” I ask, knowing it will probably be something that will surprise me. Tamara reminds me a lot of myself at her age. I loved reading and could easily get lost in a book for hours on end if left alone.
“To Kill a Mockingbird,” she says softly as she unzips her backpack, shoving the book inside.
“That’s one of my favorites,” I say after a moment, and she nods without looking at me. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’d love to hear what you think of the story,” I say, knowing this book isn’t something an eleven-year-old girl would necessarily be reading, but her mother explained during our last parent-teacher meeting that she allows Tamara to read pretty much whatever she wants. If I’m honest, Tamara is far too smart for the books we read in class.
“Thank you, Miss Reed.”
“You’re welcome, honey. Is your mom picking you up today?”
“I don’t know, her or her boyfriend will be here.” She shrugs, looking uncomfortable, and I bite my bottom lip. I have no issue at all with the fact that Tamara’s mom is a stripper. I actually think it’s admirable that she puts food on the table, a roof over her girl’s head, and clothes on her back. The problem I have with her is she constantly has men in and out of Tamara’s life, and none of them are ever any good.
“If no one’s here by four, come back in and let me know. I’ll make sure you get home,” I say, sliding off my desk to stand.
“Okay.” She chews the inside of her cheek, twisting her backpack in her hands.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, um . . . I got you something.”
“You got me something?” I say, not able to hide the surprise in my tone. Nodding, she opens her backpack and pulls out a crushed pink gift bag with darker pink polka dots on it.
“It’s nothing big,” she says quickly, looking nervous, but she’s very wrong. I know that whatever she has gotten me she most likely paid for with her own money and got on her own time, making it huge.
“Honey, you didn’t have to get me anything at all.” I pull her in, giving her a hug before leaning back and taking the bag from her. Opening it up, I pull out a simple purple candle and hold it to my chest. “I love candles.” I smile, giving her another tight hug. “Thank you, honey.”
“Happy birthday,” she whispers, then her body stiffens against mine, and I turn to see what’s causing her distress.
“Your mom said you’d be waiting out front. Come on, I’m going to be late.” Tamara’s mom’s new boyfriend, Juan, says from the doorway. He sounds annoyed and his eyes are narrowed. My spine stiffens. Moving closer to Tamara, I rest my hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Sorry, Mr. Varges. I asked Tamara to wait after class so she could help me put away a few things,” I lie, not wanting her to be in trouble with him.
“Well, we have places to be, so if you’re done, we need to go,” he says, keeping his eyes locked on Tamara. I step slightly in front of her, and his eyes finally come to me.
“Sorry about keeping her, and thank you for being understanding.”
“Sure.” He lifts his chin, and Tamara quickly heads toward him without a backward glance. Watching them go, I feel like I always do. Torn. There is nothing I can do, and there is nothing I despise more than feeling helpless when it comes to my kids. Taking a seat at my desk I put the candle back in the bag and carefully place it with my stuff to take home before pulling out the spelling tests I need to correct before I leave for the evening.
An hour later, I circle the huge A in red ink on the last spelling test and smile. My kids are all smart, and I feel like a proud mom who knows she’s done a good job. None of the kids got lower than a B, and by New York City public school standards, that is amazing. Tucking the now-graded tests away in the top drawer of my desk, I pick up my bags and head for the door. I’m starving—I didn’t get a chance to eat lunch, since we had a teacher meeting during my lunch hour, so the pizza I plan on ordering for dinner is sounding better by the minute.