Eleven

You Need Help

When class ended, Sharleen started to collect her things. To her surprise, Professor Richter approached, a look of concern on her face.

“Forgive me if I’m being intrusive, but are you all right?” Lena Richter asked, once the other students were gone and out of earshot.

“I’m fine, Professor,” Sharleen answered with a reassuring smile. “Why do you ask?”

“You haven’t seemed yourself lately. I’m concerned. I’m just wondering if my hunch is right. I hope you know you can talk to me, Sharleen … about anything.”

“Well … to be honest … my grandmother passed away last week.” Sharleen stopped for a moment. Saying the words was still difficult, no matter how often she said them. It still hurt. “She was the only family member I had left, so adjusting to life without her hasn’t been easy … but I’m trying to handle it as best as I can.”

Professor Richter offered Sharleen an expression of deep sympathy and said, “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

“If you need anything…”

“And of course, the holidays are almost here,” Sharleen continued, “and no one likes to spend Christmas alone.”

“No, I can’t imagine they would.”

“Which is probably why I slept through Thanksgiving last week,” said Sharleen. “On a brighter note, I got a new job. I’m working at my old elementary school in the neighborhood I grew up in.”

“They must be happy to have you back.”

“I just hope I don’t let them down,” Sharleen explained. “See, they’ve asked me to direct their holiday show. But this show is really important to the kids participating. And they’re so talented … you should see them.”

“For what it’s worth, you don’t seem like the type of person who doesn’t rise to the occasion,” Professor Richter said. “Or back down from a challenge.”

“Thank you. I’m not exactly sure what you mean by that, but you’re older than me and you’re a professor, so clearly you know what you’re talking about,” said Sharleen, followed by a short nervous laugh.

“Let me put it into different terms,” her teacher offered. “Sharleen, there’s a reason you never learned to play the tambourine.”

Sharleen replayed the conversation over again in her mind during the afternoon bus ride to her old neighborhood. While she was grateful for Professor Richter’s concern, a plaguing thought would not leave her alone.

Am I destined to be a sad person for the rest of my life?

In Sharleen’s twenty-four years, many of them seemed permanently scarred by one form of tragedy or another. The magnitude of each and the shadow they continued to cast over her world felt inescapable.

By the time she squeezed her way through the exit door of the bus and planted her feet back on familiar ground, Sharleen was convinced every person she met would somehow pity her.

Including Jake.

There was no doubt he had feelings for her, but she started wondering whether part of her appeal was the fact Jake wanted to take care of someone. He was the perfect prince in waiting, ready to rescue her at a moment’s notice.

But I’m definitely no damsel in distress.

Or am I?

When she walked into the multipurpose room a few minutes later, she was surprised to see Maisy sitting at one of the tables. Dressed in her usual comfortable style, Maisy stood to greet her, holding a clipboard in her hand and a pencil tucked behind her ear.

“Hello,” she said, sounding and looking stoic. “I’m here for your surprise onsite evaluation.”

Sharleen placed her belongings on another table. Her backpack made a heavy thud when it met the hard surface. “What does that mean?” she asked.

“Well, you’re a new employee,” Maisy said. “All new employees are observed in their environment to make sure they’re providing the best support possible for the students they’re working with.”

She’s not making eye contact with me. I think she’s lying. But why?

“I don’t think that’s true,” Sharleen challenged.

Maisy tried to appear busy by writing on a piece of paper on her clipboard, but when Sharleen peered closer all she saw were scribbles. “Which part?” Maisy asked, still pretending to write something of significance.

“I think you’re here because of Victor Salazar,” Sharleen said. “Most likely because of his father, who I’ve been meaning to call, by the way. It sounds like he got to you first.”

Maisy let out a sigh of exhaustion and looked up from her doodles. “Okay, I’m going to level with you,” she said.

Sharleen grabbed a seat at the table. “That’s better. Please do.”

Maisy sat across from her. “Mr. Salazar did contact my office. I won’t deny that,” she said. “He had some choice words about his son participating in this show. The man sounds like an idiot, but who am I to judge? But he is the boy’s father.”

Sharleen’s jaw tightened with anger. “You tell Mr. Salazar he can come down here and talk to me in person if he has a problem with me teaching his son to dance,” she said, “and while you’re at it, can you give the school board a call for me? Maybe ask them to help some very talented kids who need and deserve their support.”

“Tell ‘em yourself,” Maisy shot back. “I’m not doing your dirty work for you. You want them to hear your demands, then go talk to them.”

“I will,” Sharleen assured her boss. Then, quickly added, “and how exactly do I make that happen?”

“There’s a school board meeting next Thursday night. They have a microphone there for guests. Although I think you’ll have no problem being heard.” She met Sharleen’s fiery stare from across the table. “Let me remind you that it is never our place to tell anyone how to raise their children. Even if we don’t agree with a parent’s choice, they’re still the parent. We’re not. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes,” Sharleen replied, with a slight nod.

“Good. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, don’t you have a show to rehearse?”

Sharleen got off the chair. “Yes, but Victor is still going to dance … but only if he wants to. That should be his choice.” She left, anger still embedded in her veins, to meet the children flowing in.

Midway through rehearsal, Sharleen saw Maisy slip out the door, trying to do so without being detected.

I must have passed my fake onsite evaluation. Either that or Maisy has better things to do.

Still, Sharleen had to admit she was grateful to Maisy for her concern. She knew her boss only had her best interests in mind.

“You’re all doing a wonderful job,” Sharleen told the twenty-nine students who were on stage breathing hard, and sweating, and looking to her for approval. “But let’s do it again. We only have a few more weeks to get it right.”

Ivy raised her hand. “Miss Sharleen, where’s Victor? He was in class but he isn’t here.”

That’s an excellent question. I hope he’s okay.

“I don’t know,” Sharleen answered.

“The dance isn’t the same without him,” Raquel offered. “He’s better than all of us.”

“Yeah,” Camilla agreed. “Even though he’s a boy, he’s the best dancer in the show.”

For some reason, hearing the belated praise for Victor triggered a strong response in Sharleen.

“Well, why don’t you do Victor a favor and tell him that?” Sharleen suggested, hoping the anger simmering beneath the surface wasn’t seeping through. “He’d probably like to hear that from someone other than me.”

The students fell silent. They shifted uncomfortably, seeming awkward and unsure. They looked to Raquel for guidance since she was the biggest and oldest in the group.

“Miss Sharleen, are you mad at us?” Raquel asked.

“Yeah,” added Camilla. “What did we do?”

Willie appeared then, poking her head through the doorway that led to the kitchen area in the far corner of the room. “Maybe they need a water break,” she suggested. “Or maybe you do, Miss Sharleen.”

Trying to walk off her emotions, Sharleen started to pace.

It’s so damn dark in here. No wonder I’m sad. This place is like a cave—a sad, gloomy, pathetic cave.

“What we need in here is some sunshine.” She was at the windows with both hands on the edges of the heavy drapes. With considerable force, she threw them open. Light shone in her eyes and covered her body, bathing her in the glow of December sunshine.

Look how much brighter it is in here. I should’ve done this on my first day.

Then, it happened. The curtain rods folded in on themselves and came tumbling down along with the drapes, crashing with a loud sound. Like weighted parachutes, the drapes did a swan dive to the floor.

On stage, the students all shared similar expressions of shock, wondering if their sweet director had really lost it this time.

“There,” said Sharleen, making her way back to the piano. “That’s better.”

She sat down, cracked her knuckles, and placed her fingers above the keys, ready to play the opening number.

“From the top,” she said.

Willie stepped further into the room. She joined Sharleen at the piano. “Well, look at it this way,” she observed. “At least you have some fabric now. The color is pretty awful, but those drapes might make decent costumes.”

Sharleen tried to keep a straight face, but it was no use. She laughed. Relieved by the joyous sound, the students laughed too, looking nervous but relieved.

“I tried to warn you,’ Willie said, grinning. “This place will do it to you. I’ve seen stronger women than you lose their minds in half the time it took you.”

I need to say something to the students to let them know I’m okay.

Sharleen stood and turned to address them. “Kids, the lesson of the day is … do whatever it takes to bring some sunshine into the world.”

After rehearsal, Sharleen sat at one of the tables, exhausted.

Willie appeared and sat across from her. “You need help,” she said, as a matter of fact.

“Don’t remind me,” said Sharleen. “Wait. What kind of help are you referring to?”

“The obvious kind,” Willie said. “You need backup.”

Sharleen was confused. “What … you mean like protection? I know how to defend myself, Willie. That’s a rite of passage around here. Especially for girls who love to play the piano.”

“You’ve got problems,” Willie continued. “No budget. No money to buy cute costumes, or enough for fabric to sew a bunch of stuff—even with those nasty drapes you tore off the wall—nothing to decorate the stage with. You’re gonna have these kids dancing barefoot on this rickety stage because you can’t put dance shoes on their feet. These lights barely come on, and if they do, and you leave them on long enough, they’ll probably burn the place down.” Willie took a breath before continuing. “From where I stand, you only have one option.”

Sharleen lowered her gaze. “Quit my job?”

“No,” said Willie. “Something even better.”

Intrigued, Sharleen leaned in. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Willie said. “You need the mothers.”