Page 39 of One More Chapter

No, there’s no way to transfer to the other building.

Yes, they have to listen to both of us.

It goes on like this for all of homeroom until the bell rings. Before I can so much as turn to face Pen so that we can have a better game plan going into how our actual math classes will function, the walkie talkie on my belt goes off.

“Ellis, I need you in the eighth grade wing, boys’ restroom. There’s a fight.”

I take off, dodging several students on the skidding toe of my loafer. Luckily, we’re not far from the bathroom in this wing. I can see the scuffle as soon as I exit our classroom.

“Itold youto take mymomma’snameoutyomouth!”

“Tell your momma to keep hermouthoff mydaddy’sthen!”

The two boys are very distinctly from different schools—one, I recognize from the halls of Meadow Ridge, and the other is wearing a River Valley wrestling tee. That boy also happens to have the Meadow Ridge kid wrapped up in some sort of hold from the back.

Nathan is already on the scene, and we work to peel the boys off of each other. Somehow, despite the fact that their two administrators have pulled them apart, their arms still swing out toward one another until Nate and I put some distance between them.

The Meadow Ridge boy—Jackson—is heaving in my arms, but seems to be calming down.

“Xavier, my office,” Nate says to the wrestler. “Mr. Ellis, you can take the conference room, and we’ll go from there?”

I nod, huffing as I give Nathan and Xavier time to pass us by before I walk Jackson to the office conference room, where I promptly find out that the two boys were almost step brothers before Jackson’s mom started cheating on Xavier’s dad. The boys thought they would get a respite, being at different schools, but ended up in the same homeroom together.

Nathan and I spend the morning tending to minimal wounds, setting up both boys with Lucy and Phyllis, and calling the parents to make them aware of the trauma that the boys are both still clearly carrying. By the time the situation is settled, I’ve missed first and second period. I stroll into third period as the bell is ringing, and meet Penelope at the front for a choppy round of introductions, before she starts handing out packets.

“Before we go over the syllabus, I like to start the year with a little Get to Know You glyph. And, since we’ll be one big happy school family this year, we’ll be doing it in cross-school partners. You and your partners will complete your glyph together, to represent both of you!”

I leave the pile of papers on my desk—myownfirst day of school partner activity—and sit back to watch. The kids begrudgingly get to work, and I begrudgingly lean against the lip of the whiteboard, trying to tamp my frustration.

“So, you’re just taking over then?” I ask when Penelope returns. Her eyebrows immediately scrunch.

“You had to take a behavior call, Ant. What did you expect me to do? Sit around and twiddle my thumbs until you got back? I had a class to run. I’ve done this with the other two periods, and I’d like to keep the day consistent.”

I sigh. She’s not wrong at all. I’m mostly frustrated that we didn’t think to communicate beforehand, but when have she and I ever had our stories straight before? It’s like we’re reading from different books. I want, more than anything, for this day to be over so that we can sit down together and have a civil conversation about what our classroom will look like for the remainder of the year. I want to be on the same page, with both of us having a say over certain aspects of how we do things. But when I return to the classroom after bus duty, the girls are in our room—debriefing, by the looks of it—and my walkie goes off with a call from Nate anyway.

And when I get home, she’s in her office, door closed, headphones on, fingers clacking away on her keyboard. I can see her through the glass panes of the French doors. She looks like she’s in a zone, so I head to the gym, shooting her a quick text that tells her as much, and also saysLet me know when we can chat about classroom strategy.

As I finish up my reps, I feel the energy drain from my body like the colors of a sunset dripping over the horizon. We’re in for one hell of a year.

fifteen

anthony

“You’re doing that wrong.”

“Says the guy who doesn’t know the difference between a box wrench and a socket wrench.”

My little brother, Grant, huffs a laugh and crosses his arms over his chest, widening his stance as he watches me line up the tip of the caulk gun with the wall.

“You’re going to end up with a huge glop of sealant, and then I’m going to have to clean upbothof your messes.”

I huff, tighten my grip on the caulk gun, squint an eye, and pull the trigger.

And then, I watch in horrified frustration as a massive glop of caulk rushes over the elbow joint of the ductwork.

Grant laughs, his light, airy, carefree sound, and is immediately at the ready with a damp rag to clean up my mess. As soon as it’s finished, he slaps a dry towel over my shoulder, an indication for me to finish the job. Crouching beside me in a catcher’s stance, he tilts his head, gives me a grin that saysI told you so, and holds out his open palm for the caulk gun. Sighing, I admit defeat, and hand it over, falling in a slump onto my ass and taking a water break while my little brother finishes the job.

Onmyhouse.

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