Mama’s expression curdles with distaste. “I love ya like another daughter, Liz, but that was too much oversharin’ for my taste.”
Liz’s embarrassment is palpable in my tiny bedroom even from Chicago. “Sorry, Mrs. Wheeler. I just assumed you know where babies come from.”
I plop down on my bed, gazing out the window at my old treehouse. Not only do I know where babies come from, but I also know when I’m beaten. These women who love me so fiercely aren’t about to call a truce on my heart anytime soon.
I’ve rehearsed my lines with Mama and Liz as much as possible, but I’m still not prepared to walk through the doors of the building I once viewed both as a prison and as an escape.
Nothing much has changed except my position, and even at that, I’m still the low woman on the totem pole. Most of the faculty is the same since I was in high school. In the deep mountains, teaching jobs don’t open up because of high turnover or because the district focuses on staying on the cutting edge of education. New teachers are hired when the old pass away. Simple as that.
The hallways are empty as I make my way toward the auditorium for the all-hands faculty meeting to kick off the school year. Sweat trickles down my back, and it’s not just because this building is too old to be retrofitted with air conditioning. It’s not even because my ladies in waiting chose a form-fitting sheath dress for me to wear.
I’ll be meeting my new boss at the same time as the rest of the faculty. I would never admit it to Liz and Mama, but my hopes are high for a kindred spirit of the educational persuasion. Someone who didn’t grow up in Martins Landing maybe. A fresh face in an old town who will help me forget about my history here—not at all in the romantic sense. More than likely, it’s a newly minted principal who’s only putting in a few years of low-performing administration, so they can build a resume to move on to greener pastures.
I’d actually love the opportunity to turn around an underscoring school like this one.
Perhaps one day I still can. As it is, I’m lucky to have completed my bachelor’s degree in education in seven years between going to college part-time while working to support myself and my baby. For now, I have neither the free time nor the funds to pursue a higher degree.
I sneak in the double-doors in the back and slide into a seat in the last row.
The county high school is small, even by rural standards. My class graduated a mere sixty students. Of course, we had so many drop-outs by senior year that the funding statistics are horribly skewed. There are maybe thirty teachers and support staff gathered in the first few rows of seating near the stage, chattering away. They laugh, joke with each other, and exchange easy smiles as they await the unveiling of the new hire. There’s an unmistakable air of excitement tinged with apprehension in the room.
And they’re all dressed casually in jeans and nice shirts.
I knew I should’ve stuck to my guns this morning with Mama and Liz.
I recognize all the faces—even the ones whose classes I never took. The assistant principal has to be going on seventy years old. The school secretary has been here since my own parents were in high school, but she looks exactly the same as she ever has. One of my favorites—the junior high art teacher—spies me and beckons me forward with a wide smile.
I can’t hide forever. I run my fingers through my curled hair to smooth it out as I walk gingerly down the aisle in high-heeled shoes I haven’t worn since my interview for this position.
Mrs. Shanahan throws her arms around me with a gleeful giggle. “Lenore Wheeler! You’re as beautiful as the day ya graduated! When I saw your name on the new roster, I couldn’t believe my eyes!”
“It’s good to see you, Mrs. S. I’m only sorry it’s because Mr. Bennett passed away.”
A chorus of “bless his soul” resounds from the group.
The school librarian offers me a wry grin. “If anyone can do literature justice, it’s you. Course,” she backtracks on a laugh, “you were one of the only kids in this building who loved to read. For fun!”
There was another, but I brush those memories away. Liz and Mama would be so proud.
This isn’t so bad. Certainly not the gauntlet I’d built up in my mind this morning while getting ready for work. Then again, school was always one of my safe places. These are the most educated people in town, and they never looked down on me for not quite fitting in with my peers.
The junior high history teacher eyes my high-falutin’ appearance with a frown. There’s always an exception to every rule. He never liked me, no matter that I aced all his classes. Mr. Hanna ambles toward me, his big belly leading the way. “Heard ya came back to town with a youngin’ in tow. Surprised ya found time to graduate college and get your teaching credentials.”
I nod with my eyes downcast, a fair amount of shame blistering my cheeks. If not for the heels on my feet, I might hold my chin a smidge higher. “Yes, sir. I graduated college. The board reviewed my certifications when I applied for the position.”
“Well, now,” Mrs. Shanahan preens, wrapping her arm around my shoulders and guiding me to sit in a seat beside her, blessedly taking the weight off my already aching feet. “Ya started at Northwestern, right? Did ya just move from Chicago then? Your mama and daddy must be burstin’ at the seams to have ya home! And a granddaughter to spoil, to boot!”
“Yes, ma’am.” I don’t offer anything else. I might be a coworker, but I’m also a former student. I can’t quite shake off the feeling that they could still give me detention if I’m not respectful enough. As it is, several of the other teachers are eyeing me like I’m a walking dress-code violation.
The junior high English teacher I expect to be an ally takes the seat on my other side, not disguising her visual inspection of me as she clucks her tongue with a shake of her head. “I suppose you’ll do. You’ll find our school runs much like the rest of town. Mind the peckin’ order, mind your manners, do your job, and you’ll get along just fine.” She sticks her tongue in her cheek. “Course, the board done hired some new, young fella from Marshall as principal, so we might all be in for a shake up this year.”
Multiple sets of eyes train on me expectantly.
I hold up my hands. “I was interviewed by the superintendent who passed on my credentials to the board. The principal’s position was still open when I was hired on. I don’t know anything more than you do.”
The heavy footfall of dress shoes clacks across the wooden planks as a man walks to the center of the stage. His shoulders are squared; his jaw is tense, but his hands hang loosely at his sides. He doesn’t say a word as he takes his time making eye contact with every person in the room. Every person except me.
We both stick out like sore thumbs among our coworkers. He’s wearing a three-piece suit that looks custom tailored. Not even his predecessor was ever dressed so fine. He’s tall and broad—and in spite of being much younger than most of the teachers—he’s all man. Thick, black hair cut short on the sides but styled on top, clean-shaven, sharp green eyes assessing his employees spread out below him. His bright red tie falls across an undeniably defined chest that seems to strain the fabric of his crisp, white dress shirt.