Page 3 of Between the Lines

“Please don’t let this happen again.” As that rolls off my tongue, I picture ithappening again, and extend my hand. “Give me your cell phone. I’ll add my number in case you’re locked out on a weekend.”

Since the rest of the staff already has my cell number for such reason, I don’t see a problem punching myself in underMr. Harding. After I hand back her phone, she looks like she wants to saysomething, but swallows her words, nods, and heads out the back exit of the office into the teacher’s lounge.

“Have a great first day, Mr. Harding!”

I turn, and she’s waiting on the threshold, hope shimmering like the precipice of the sunrise on the horizon. For a moment, that shimmer blinks like the dawn of a new day. But then, I remember why we’re here before that very same sunrise on the horizon. With a nod and a grunt, I dismiss her, and head to my office to start my first day on the job I never wanted in the first place.

two

claire

“You can do this,”I say to myself for the hundredth time.

Hundredth time since twenty minutes ago.

I don’t know why I’m so nervous. They’re seventh graders.Zoeyis a seventh grader, and I eat her sassiness for breakfast—after I’ve actually fed her—most mornings. It might be a pain in the ass to have to care for all five of my younger siblings day in and day out, but seeing one of their faces might’ve taken the jump scare of working in my old middle school away.

I sigh, picturing the brightest of my younger siblings already two weeks in at her STEM academy. They didn’t have those when I was in school, and I can’t say I’m not a little jealous. Zoey is actually a year ahead—another program they didn’t have for me—so she’s on track to graduate at least two years early with the enrichment from STEM. Michael is up at the high school, and won’t step foot on the middle school side of River Valley even if it’s on fire since I’m here; Ryan and Harper are at the elementary school; and my sweet baby Oliver is still one year shy of preschool.

Here at River Valley Middle School, I am all alone.

It’s no different than when I’m at home—surrounded by a sea of people, drowning in the middle. At home, I’m a pseudo-parent.Here, I’ll be their pseudo-English-teacher until Juliet Ford returns from maternity leave. She and her husband adopted a baby this summer, and she’s taking all the time she can.

I get it. Childcare isexpensive. Which is exactly why my parents employed me as their live-in babysitter when they ultimately decided toleave the number of Benson kids in the hands of God.Sometimes, instead of praying, I simply stare up at the sky with a raised eyebrow.

Thankfully, I haven’t seen a positive pregnancy test in my mom’s hand since I was in college. While I hope that Ollie is the last, another kid honestly wouldn’t come as a surprise—Mom hasn’t had baby content for her Facebook or Instagram pages for a few years, and I’m sure she’s missing the likes.

But as the clock ticks closer to the first bell of the day, I push my siblings to the back-burner and go over my checklist for at least the hundredth time.

I have the syllabus copied in a different color for each class, a “Get to Know Your Classmates” game, and their first “homework assignment” of the year—a pile of damaged books that we’re going to use for blackout poetry.

My name is written on the board in neat, cursive font, black Expo marker highlighted in just the right spots with pops of color.

Ms. Benson, it says.

NotSissyorSisorDorkorHey, Claire-Bear, can you?—

Just like the literature these seventh graders are about to deep-dive into, there are two juxtaposed sides—the professional of Ms. Benson that is about to take control of this class, and the reverse Cinderella effect waiting to head back into her tower.

With five minutes left until the bell rings, I fidget with my fresh manicure—River Valley blue, but with green polish and a silver accent charm on each ring finger. My apprehension is interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by three sets of footsteps that don’t wait for a welcome.

Penelope Barker leads the charge, followed by our hand-in-handgym teacher and counselor, Aaron Russo and Lucy Greene. I went to school and was in the same social circles as Penelope’s younger brother Connor. She’s the reason I have this job in the first place, and has essentially adopted me into the fold, for which I am forever grateful.

“Hey, kiddo! You ready to go?” Penelope asks, her red hair a sleek and shiny wave that moves across her back as she plops into one of my neatly lined student desks like she’s been doing this for years.

Because she has.

“Don’t call herkiddo,” Aaron scoffs, nudging her in the neck with his knuckle. “She’s one of us.”

“Claire used to hang out in my basement. But maybe you’re right. I should be callingyouthe immature one.”

The two of them start bickering like Michael and Zoey constantly do, and Lucy and I roll our eyes and laugh.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, the counselor in her already prepared for the upcoming emotions of this new school year.

“Nervous,” I say on a shaky laugh. “But excited. I just need to get past the initial newness, and I’ll be fine.”

“Do you have any of your siblings’ friends in class?”

---