Setting down my marker, I turn back to the children. They all straighten in their seats as angelic smiles light most of their faces. They’re hardly innocent, but I’ve got to admit they’re pretty adorable and good at playing the part.
Most of them, anyway—except for Ryan Eckhart.
He sticks out like a sore thumb, his mop of dark hair turned toward the window, his chin in his palm. He noisily taps his pencil against the wood of his desk, the point already worn down. A few irritated glances are thrown his way by the other students. His school uniform, supposed to be pressed and clean, is wrinkled and smudged with dirt from where I saw him playing in the grass before school.
I watch his deep brown eyes follow the trail of raindrops slithering across the glass window panes.
“Ryan,” I say gently, waiting for him to blink and come back to reality, but he just keeps tapping his pencil and staring out the window.
The other kids watch my interactions with Ryan like a hawk, eager to see if there’s any sort of weakness in my methods of discipline. Growing up surrounded by nannies and pampering, the students at St. James Academy are used to manipulating those around them, but I refuse to let them see a chink in my armor. If I'm going to connect with them, they can’t see me as someone they can walk all over.
I move around my desk to look at the young boy, hands finding my hips. “Ryan,” I repeat. “Ryan Eckhart. The rain cannot possibly be that entertaining.”
He stiffens as the sound of my voice pierces the haze of his daydream. His eyes shift to lock on me but his face stays slightly turned away.
“What do you want?” he asks irritably, leaving me dumbfounded.
The students snicker, heat pooling to my cheeks.
As a new teacher, I’ve had a tough time commanding the attention of the children this year and this is not going to help. If only Mr. Eckhart would actually answer his phone once in a blue moon so we could work out some sort of plan for the poor, distracted kid sitting in front of me now.
Even though I expected the transition from public schools to an elite prep school to be bumpy, it’s been rougher than I could’ve estimated. It’s like the kids can sense that I don't belong amongst the other teachers who’d once been students here and were social elites themselves. They seem to sniff out that I’m from a lesser social status than them. It’s probably a skill they picked up from their parents while they lounge in their mansions and order around their maids and butlers.
Okay, I know I’m being a little ridiculous . . . but the kids here, even the well-behaved ones, are spoiled. It’s obvious by their Louis Vuitton pencil bags and the way they gaze at me down their snooty button noses.
But I'm not here to be a pushover or to be treated with disrespect.
I'm here to help these kids not only learn a lesson or two about education, but about how to be decent young people who can make positive changes in the world. They’re going to leave my class with a new definition of humanity whether they like it or not.
Before I can rebuke the dark-haired young man who’s gone back to staring out the window, I hear the sound of a throat clearing behind me—an all too familiar sound that makes my skin crawl.
I don’t have to turn around to know who it is, but I do anyway after arranging a polite smile on my face. I'm glad I set down my marker, otherwise I’d be gripping it so tightly it may have snapped right in two.
Principal Eugene Walton, about as attractive as his name makes him sound, glowers at me from the doorway. A ruddy and round man, he has perpetual dollar signs in his eyes. He doesn’t care about these kids as much as he cares about the ridiculous paychecks he receives from their parents for tuition. It’s tiresome to work under a man who cares so little about the children, but I know not every boss is going to be flawless and good-intentioned.
Sometimes you just have to pick your battles and bite your tongue, and I’ve been doing an awful lot of that with Principal Walton.
He and I have already had a few ‘altercations’ regarding the way I like to teach my students, but I’ve done the best I can to follow his strict set of rules, within reason.
I have no idea what I’ve done this time to bring him and his quivering jowls to my room.
“Miss Davis,” he instructs snidely, jerking his chin toward my door.
“I’ll just be a moment, class,” I say with a smile, hoping they can’t sense how much I dislike the principal, but I know that kids are more perceptive than most would think.
I follow Principal Walton out into the hall and close the door behind me. The hardwood presses against my spine as I lean against the door. I can hear the familiar sound of chatter and giggles from behind it.
“Miss Davis,” he hisses again, dropping all presumptions of niceness as his ruddy face blooms bright crimson, “how many times must we discuss the illustrious reputation that many of our students’ parents have?”
“Excuse me?” I ask, baffled.
“I'm speaking, of course, about Jacob Eckhart. He called this afternoon saying that you . . .” Eugene gulps in a rasping breath of air and fanned his face as though whatever I’ve done is unthinkable, “. . . that you mailed him a letter regarding young Ryan’s performance?”
“Oh. Yes,” I answer simply, brows lifting when Principal Walton folds his arms like he’s waiting for an explanation. “I mean, you’re aware I’ve tried to send Ryan to detention multiple times.” Tried being the keyword because Principal Walton always sent Ryan back within seconds. “He speaks back to me in class and refuses to participate. I thought maybe a conference with Mr. Eckhart would clear things up.”
“Mr. Eckhart is a celebrity and a renowned football player with the NFL, Miss Davis,” spits the red-faced man as though I’m supposed to be impressed, “and you will treat him as such.”
I try to remind myself to keep calm, but irritation fizzes in my stomach like a shaken can of soda that’s already starting to spring loose. “A celebrity? Meaning that he can’t be held accountable for Ryan’s actions? Ryan needs a guiding hand—”
Principal Walton lifts a hand and cuts me off, his eyes turning to slits. “I'm only going to say this once. You are not to personally contact any of the parents from this moment on without my precise permission. If you continue to behave improperly, I will have no choice but to dismiss you from my staff without further references. Are we clear?”
I swallow hard, my throat tight. I can’t lose this job. It means too much to me. I’ve worked so hard to get here and I don’t want to fail.
Plus, I know what Principal Walton is saying. He’ll blacklist my name if I piss him off, something I'm sure he’s done to countless other teachers before me. Now we’re not only talking about my future here at St. James Academy, but my future as a teacher anywhere. If I get myself fired, I’ll probably have to move overseas to try and find another teaching job, and that’s assuming Eugene’s ire doesn’t follow me across continents.
When it came to Eugene Walton, you could never be too sure.
“Crystal clear,” I whisper back, sagging against the door when the principal finally turns and marches away.
I close my eyes and drag in a tired, shallow breath.