In the morning, APD texted me asking for a favor—he’d ordered a large box of bagels from a place a block away from my apartment.” He’d already paid for everything—he just needed me to pick them up because his kid had gotten sick. It was no big deal, and I added an extra box of donuts for our team. Meeting with the other first-grade teachers was my favorite time of year because we could share ideas and align our plans, and I refused to let thoughts of him intervene in my happy place.
The first trip from my car was to the teacher’s lounge, where I set the box of bagels on the staff table and placed the napkins next to it. It came with an assortment of cream cheese, and I set them all out.
Once it was in order, I picked up the box of donuts and hummed as I left the teacher’s workroom and stopped mid-step when Christopher stood on the other side of the door. He laughed at something Kennedy, a fifth-grade teacher, said, and seeing a smile stretch across his face sent a wave of lust through me. He was so dang good-looking and that smile…whoa.
He mumbled something that sounded like “see you later” to her when his gaze landed on me, and every ounce of joy evaporated. His lips went into a flat line, and his face hardened as it dropped to the box in my hands. “Figures.”
“What?” I snapped back, blinking a few times to see if I imagined the look of loathing coming from him. “What figures?”
He shook his head and scoffed, brushing by me and into the workroom without another glance. The interaction bothered me, again, and it was difficult to mask emotions when I continued to my classroom. His accusation made zero sense. He figured what? I liked donuts? Who the hell didn’t?
His attitude wasn’t my problem, and life was too short to worry about other people’s actions. I couldn’t control them, no matter how much I wished I could.
I put my hair up into a messy bun and opened my boxes of supplies and started decorating before our grade-level meeting. I chose purple and turquoise for the year as our classroom colors and spent way too much time cutting out stars and shapes to hang around the room. The behavior chart was up and straight, the carpet squares organized by color, and each student had a cubby hole in alternating colors. Content with my design, I played some Taylor Swift and lost myself in the process until Maggie poked her head in my room with a toothy grin.
“Gilly, oh, your room looks great!”
“Thanks, Mags.” I beamed at her. She reminded me of my mom, who I missed since she and Dad decided to travel the world, and I eyed my watch. “Shoot, our meeting starts now, huh?”
“Sure do. In here is okay, right?”
“Yes. I printed an agenda, let me go get it real quick. Sit down. Have a snack.” I pointed to the box of donuts.
While my teammates never questioned why I always brought them food, they certainly never complained. She clapped her hands and waltzed over to the snack area while I sped out of my room toward the teacher’s lounge. It was a quick trip, and I grabbed the copies, stapled them, and smiled as I filed them in bright-turquoise folders. I loved getting packets ready for the team. Pride filled my chest as I put a laminated cheat sheet in the front. It had all the important numbers and emails for them, and with a smile on my face, I made my way back to my room.
My heart pounded against my ribs when I approached my doorway and found Christopher laughing with Maggie, Marisa, and Maria—the other three members of our grade-level team. He had that huge smile and had them in giggles, and I dug my nails into my palm. Did they not realize he was a jerk?
The second his gaze landed on me, the smile disappeared, and he sat straighter.
“Oh, Gilly, have you met our newest teammate? Christopher is just wonderful. He taught at Canyon for five years up in the city.” Maggie reached over and patted his forearm, like she did with me.
“Yes, welcome to our team,” I said, keeping my voice polite even though I wanted to take scissors and cut off just one eyebrow.
Christopher didn’t answer. He crossed his legs so one ankle rested on the other, and he spoke to Marisa. “Who usually runs our meetings? Do we always have them in here?”
“Gilly. She’s the best. She writes all these grants and gets all these donations to get snacks for the staff and supplies for the students. It is wonderful, and we’re so thankful for her. Have you gotten something from her snack table? She always brings us stuff.”
“I bet she does,” he said, the insinuation making my spine straighten.
I bet she does? What the heck does that mean?
“Anyway, yes, I run the meetings, and since I like to bring food, we meet in here.” I grabbed my chair and rolled it to join their circle, and his left eye ticked again when I pushed a student desk along the floor, making a loud sound. “To start, we need to go over goals and expectations.” I passed out the folders to the group, and three of them started writing. Christopher did not.
“Is the whole color folder and sticker thing necessary? Can’t we just write our goals on a sheet of paper and call it a day? Kids should learn. End of goal.”
“I agree with you, Christopher,” Maggie said, nodding and clicking her tongue. “The paper work and hoop-jumping always grinds my gears. We’re here for children, why do all the song and dance?”
“Exactly.” His jaw clenched, and his stare penetrated me. “Is this a you thing or a school thing?”
“Well, I always thought it’d be great for us to track our goals each month and hold each other accountable. It’ll help us be honest with each other.”
His lip curled up before he blinked away the hate and looked at Marisa. He lowered his voice and spoke so softly and kindly, it almost gave me whiplash. “What if we just verbalize our goal and talk about it so we can avoid busy work?”
I gripped the pencil harder, and a part of the plastic broke off, landing on the floor by his foot. His lip curved up just a little when his gaze landed on the piece, and he dragged his attention back to my face. “Unless that’s not okay, Gilly. I wouldn’t want to steal anything from you.”
His nostrils flared, and for the third time that day, a weird sensation took root in my gut, churning and growing the longer he stared at me. My stomach bottomed out, like the elevator lurched and gravity had me thinking I’d crash. What don’t I know?
The question played on repeat in my mind.
He raised one dark eyebrow and tilted his head. “Well?”
“Sure, yeah. Let’s try it,” I said, my voice shaky and uncertain for the first time since I’d grown to love this team. This was my zone, my place, my people, and Christopher made me feel like an outsider. The other three nodded and shut the folders I’d spent hours making and shoved them to the side.
“I’d love to go first, if that’s okay. Be kind on the new guy, all right?” He smiled sheepishly at my teammates, and they ate it up.
How the heck did this happen?
Maggie and Marisa stated their goal to have ninety percent of their students to meet each standard, Maria opted for all students to score well on their literacy skills, and Christopher wanted every student to read at grade level. Maggie loved his goal and offered to help him get set up, and the two of them got up to leave our meeting as he joked around with her about the Chicago Cubs.
It grated my nerves seeing him joke around with everyone but me.
“I just love your room, Gil. It’s straight out of Pinterest! I wish I had the eye, and wallet, for this,” Marisa said, her loud voice carrying into the hall.
Christopher stilled and looked back at me, his gaze moving toward my wall with cutouts I had spent all night creating with my Cricut, and he shook his head.
“Thanks, Marisa,” I said, swallowing down the unease. “I researched all summer.”
“The kiddos are going to love it!” She beamed at me and studied the behavior chart wall. “I’d love to try this. Care if I take a picture and make one myself?”
“No, of course, go ahead!” I gushed, somehow needing to defend myself and make sure my team still liked me. “Do you need any help getting set up, Marisa?”
“Oh, now that you mention it,” she said, her voice going low, “I could really use an extra set of hands cleaning out my library. My sister got a huge donation using a GoFundMe, so I’m going to donate these books to the library and replace them with a bunch of new ones.”
“How wonderful!” I smiled and followed her out of my door and across the hall to her room. She was in between Maggie and Maria, leaving Christopher and me on the opposite side.
Marisa winced when she bent down on her knees, and I joined her.
“Here, I can unload into the box. You figure out how you want to sort the new books.”
“You’re a doll, thank you. I spent too much time gardening this summer, and my back does not agree with me.”
“It’s no worry.” I spent ten minutes placing books in a box, mastering it like a game of Tetris, and stood to set it on the desk. I kept my favorite book on top, debating if I wanted to take it for my class library. Chicka Chicka Boom Boom would always be one of my favorites. “I’ll run these to the library real quick.”
“Oh, perfect. If you want anything before you take them, go ahead.”
It wasn’t too heavy, but it did strain my muscles as I headed down the first-grade hallway and toward the school library center. The maker-space section had Legos and all sorts of crafts. I would’ve loved having something like that when I was in school. I’d always loved crafts, but my time was always limited with all the traveling. Always an event, or a mission, that my parents dragged us to. Being a positive, consistent adult in these kids’ lives that fostered creativity was a reflection of the time I had in school. It fueled me to be the best I could for them.
“Hey, Miranda,” I said to the librarian. “These are from Marisa.”
“She did mention that, yes.” She pointed to a red-and-white table in the back corner. “Go ahead and set them there. I’ll get to them in a minute.”
I did as she asked, and when I set the box down, the flap opened, and I said to heck with it. I took my favorite book. The cover was still intact, but the pages were yellowed. I picked it up and ran my fingers over it. Marisa did offer I could have one of the books, and I smiled, already knowing where I’d put it on my shelf.
With the book tucked under my arm, I waved to Miranda just as the hairs on the back of my neck tingled. Christopher glared at me as he stood at the counter, mid-conversation with Miranda. He narrowed his ice-blue eyes at the book under my arm, and my stomach dropped with dread. It took a lot of effort to smile, but I managed. “Have a great day, Miranda!”
“You too, Gilly! Oh! Drop off all the materials you need laminated. I’ll have time later this afternoon to get the machine fired up.”
“Will do.”
My neck hurt from how tight my muscles got whenever Christopher was in the same room, and I ducked my head and beelined for my classroom. The brief joy at finding Chicka Chicka Boom Boom disappeared from his accusing glare. I hated how flustered I was. Why in the hell was he so nice to everyone but me? Was I that unlikeable? Did I do something to him for him to hate me? I couldn’t recall a single thing from that night together.
My fingers shook a little as I set the book on my shelf near my award and took a few seconds to settle myself. I didn’t need him to like me. I had my friends and my students. It just sucked because it bothered me. I stretched my arms over my head and took a calming breath, pushing him out of my mind. The only thing I needed to complete my room was the flexible seating, and I got my phone to track the shipment and squealed when it said delivered.
That meant they were in the front office.
All thoughts of Christopher disappeared, and I practically skipped down the hallway and into the double doors. Sally, the office manager, wiggled her brows the second she saw me. “Oh, your order just got here, and I’m dying to see what else you got! Your room is just the absolute cutest, Gilly.”
“Thanks,” I said, blushing at her compliment. My room was a source of pride. There was nothing too expensive or time-consuming that I wouldn’t do for my kids, and providing a creative, colorful, and engaging classroom was my passion. The large boxes contained four bouncy balls and four standing desks.
Sally got up from her chair and pushed a dolly my way. “Need any help?”
“Oh, I got it. I’m itching to get started with these new seating arrangements,” I practically sang with glee as I loaded the boxes onto the dolly and pushed it out of the office. “Thank you so much.”
“Let me know when you’re set up, so I can peek in there. My baby girl is going to be a first grader next year, and I’ve already been telling her all about your fun room. Fingers crossed she gets you!”
That comment lit me up inside with pride and joy that I never got anywhere else. I smiled and let that high carry over as I unpacked the boxes in my classroom and made a game plan on how to set them up. I tapped my finger on my chin as a large, overbearing presence stood at my door and the happiness disappeared. “Christopher,” I said, not hiding my dislike. “What do you want?”
He put his hands on his hips and studied the packages on the floor. His gaze swept over the bouncy balls, the half-created desks, and the adjustable table that could go up and down by two feet. He curled his lip up before tossing a package on my desk. “Miranda said you’d like these.”
It was a pack of sticky glue, and I smiled. “Yes, I would.”
He scoffed and a reluctant smile crossed his face. “You go all out like this every year?”
“Yes,” I said, my hackles raising. “I do.”
“Interesting.”
Dang it. Before I could stop myself, I asked, “Why is this interesting?”
“You could’ve spent all summer planning lessons, figuring out how to teach students standards and how to spell and say words. But instead, you did who knows what to get all this stuff. Hundreds of dollars of junk that doesn’t make a lick of a difference when it comes to doing your job.” He eyed the award again and laughed. “Let me guess, you buy new toys and prizes for them all the time. You think students like you, but really, you use all this stuff to buy their affection.”
“That’s…that’s not true,” I said, my voice weak and pathetic as he hit me right in the center of my insecurity. “It enhances learning to have options and provides students different ways to absorb the material.”
“False,” he said, his tone stronger. “It overwhelms them. They need a teacher who cares and a teacher who meets them at their level so they can learn. They don’t need all this crap.” He waved his hand in the air and twisted his mouth into a scowl.
“I’d rather have all this crap than be boring. Your walls are bare, and you have nothing that says fun in your room. How can you possibly inspire anything?” My legs shook. I reached over to steady myself on my shelf. My normally calm and goofy demeanor was shot to hell around him. I hated confrontation.
But he wasn’t done. His eyes flashed with warning before he took a step closer to me and lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “You think all these gadgets and knickknacks make you a better teacher? They don’t.” His gaze landed on the glass plaque on my desk. “I couldn’t sleep at night if I didn’t think I’d earned my accolades on my own merits. But by all means, you do you.”
And with that, he stormed out of my room and into the hallway, all before my brain could catch up to even form a comeback.