“Every December, Millwood Elementary School puts on a concert for the residents. They love it. For some seniors, it’s the only real interaction they have with kids. Their own grandkids aren’t in their lives much.” If at all. “Unfortunately, the school had to cancel for this holiday season, which means the highly anticipated Christmas concert won’t be part of the residence’s tradition this year. The seniors are extremely disappointed.”
“And you’re hoping our students can perform at the Christmas concert instead?”
I nod.
She leans back in her chair, her expression soft but unreadable. “Unfortunately, the decision for something like this isn’t completely in my hands, even if I do believe it’s a marvelous idea. I can give my stamp of approval, which is the first step.”
“Whose hands is it in?”
“Tabitha Windhouse’s.”
At the name, my heart spirals downward and hits my stomach with a loud oomph.
Tabitha Windhouse. The president of the PTA.
And the woman who, for some reason, doesn’t like me—although heaven knows why. I’ve never taught either of her kids.
“Why’s it in her hands and not yours? You’re the school principal.”
“The woman has clout with the school board you can’t even begin to imagine.” Principal Woodnut leans forward again as if to share a national secret. Her next words come out in a hushed whisper, barely heard over the heater whirling in the background. “Sometimes, I swear the woman has ties to some sort of mafia. I’ve learned to pick my battles; otherwise, she finds loopholes that work in her favor if she’s against the idea.”
At the detested word, “mafia,” my entire body feels as though Elsa from Frozen has turned it into a block of ice. “Surely she can’t be that bad.”
Principal Woodnut releases a long yes-she’s-that-bad sigh and nods. “But I’m sure she should be fine with you doing this—except for one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“Zoe’s the one who organizes the school performances, and she’s now on maternity leave.”
“I don’t suppose her replacement has the same musical theatre experience and the expertise to pull the show together?”
A barked, raspy laugh escapes Principal Woodnut. “I can guarantee Landon doesn’t have that kind of expertise.”
Before I can think things through, I blurt, “I can do it. I can organize the show.”
Please say yes. Please say yes. Please—
“Absolutely, if Tabitha and the PTA are on board with it, and you’re willing to organize the show yourself—with the help of any faculty who volunteers to assist you—then you have my blessing. But remember, we don’t have much of a budget for this, so you’ll have to figure out how to keep it within the allotted amount. And that includes transportation to and from the seniors’ residence.”
“Perfect. I can do that.” Buzzing with relief and excitement, I stand.
Principal Woodnut glances at the Mickey Mouse clock on her desk. “You’d better get to class. Kiera will be letting the students in shortly.”
Right.
I head for the door.
“Oh,” she adds before I get there, “and can you help Landon since he’s new…to teaching elementary students?”
“He is? What age group has he worked with?”
“High school.”
High school? God, I can only imagine what a disaster that would’ve been, with impressionable teenage girls falling in love with him because he’s good-looking. Talk about awkward.
“Does he have any experience working with kindergarteners?”
“No, that’s why he might need your assistance from time to time. You might consider keeping the door between your classrooms open, so you can hear if the kids prove to be a handful for him.”
That causes me to startle. Why would she hire him if she didn’t believe he was capable of dealing with that age? He can’t be the only available person who could cover for Zoe. “Okay. I can do that.”
“Attagirl.”
I enter my classroom a few minutes later and open the adjoining door. Ava’s laughing, and Landon has a big grin on his face.
She spots me and waves me over to join them. “I was giving Landon a few pointers, and we were catching up a little.”
“Catching up?”
She nods. “That’s right. We went to college together.”
“Back when she and her husband were first dating,” Landon points out.
I vaguely know the story about how Ava and her husband were college sweethearts, but then something happened, and they broke up until a few years ago when they bumped into each other and quickly fell in love again.
Romantic Me sighs dreamily. Their story sounds like a Hallmark movie.
Nothing close to mine.
“Well, good luck, Landon,” she says. “But I’m sure you won’t need it.”
“And I’m next door,” I tell him. “If you have any questions or need my help, just ask.”
“I’ll see you two at lunch.” Ava hurries out the door.
“Good luck,” I throw out at Landon and return to my classroom. Thoughts of how I can convince Tabitha that the Christmas concert is a great idea perform the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy in my head.
Humming the music to myself, I walk to the side cabinet and look inside the large cage on top of it.
“What the heck are those?” Landon asks from behind me.
A surprised gasp breaks free from my lungs. “Wow, way to sneak up on a girl and give her a heart attack.” I clasp my hand against my heart in mock exasperation. “What were you in your former life? A ninja?”
“Something like that. So what are those things?” He points at the three sleeping hedgehogs cuddled together in the corner, his eyebrow raised in jest or quizzical concern.
“My classroom pets. This is Pinecone.” I point to the hedgehogs in question. “And this is Thistle, and Tumbleweed.”
“I don’t have any classroom pets, do I? No snake I failed to notice or some sort of rodent.” His tone is laid-back, as if nothing scares him.
“No, Zoe doesn’t have any pets. I have these three because a friend of mine was moving, and she wasn’t allowed pets in her new apartment. There was no way I could let them go to a shelter. Who knows what would’ve happened to them?”
“So you adopted them?”
“I figured they would make great classroom pets, and the kids love them.”
“You love animals, then?”
I grin. “I do. Pets are wonderful for reducing stress. That’s why dogs make great therapy animals and reading companions for kids who struggle with reading.”
“Do you have any? Dogs, I mean?”
“No. These three are the only pets I own. I’m not home enough to be a dog owner.”
“Have a busy social life, do you?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a social life. I volunteer several evenings and on the weekend at a local seniors’ residence.” The school bell rings, echoing through the building. “You should go into your classroom now. The herd will be stampeding in there any minute, and the last thing you want is to be in here when they do.”