Page 5 of Stolen Dreams

Thankfully, I get to be one of their sounding boards. A safe space. An adult they can share their feelings and opinions with and not feel judged, forgotten, or degraded when they leave myoffice. If anything, I teach them it’s okay to feel the way they do. It’s okay to be upset or angry or frustrated. What matters most is how they channel and release their emotions.

I may not be the best behavioral specialist in Washington, but I am the best in Stone Bay. A hallmark I wear with pride.

A couple half-packed boxes sit on the credenza behind my desk. Colorful pictures in crayon, marker, pen, and colored pencil stowed carefully. Thank-you letters in tidy and messy scrawl folded neatly and stashed in an envelope. A thick stack of photos with countless smiles and bright eyes.

Although my office will be the same next school year, I like to pack up special mementos from the current year and take them home. Add them to the scrapbook I started last summer after my first year in this role. Small tokens that make me smile and drive my love for helping children be their best selves.

A muffled buzz distracts me from my task. I open my desk drawer, pull out my phone, and tap on the text notification.

Clarissa

drinks later?

I smile down at the screen as I type out a response.

Count me in. What’s the occasion?

is that a serious question?

Light laughter spills from my lips, a gray bubble dancing on the screen as she continues to type.

I survived another year of teenage angst, being told I have no idea what I’m talking about because I’m old, and being told I’d be hot if I knew how to take care of myself. I’m still in my 20s. I am NOT old.

I laugh harder, grateful I’m not on the high school campus with Clarissa right now. Being the only person in my field in the Stone Bay school system, my time is split between the elementary campus and the middle and high school campuses, which are side by side with the shared administration offices between them.

You are not old. And I told you, don’t let the kids get to you.

I know… *insert dramatic eye roll with a huff*

Ringing through the room pulls me out of my conversation with Clarissa.

I press the speaker button on my desk phone. “This is Kaya.”

“Hi, Kaya. It’s Mia.”

“Hey, Mia. What can I help you with?”

A heavy sigh echoes through the line. “I’m sending a student your way. Tucker Calhoun. He’s been acting out most of the year, but I’ve managed to redirect the behavior. Today, no such luck. He riled up the class in no time and won’t calm down.”

A pang blooms in my chest. Most children act out for a reason, and it typically stems from a painful source outside the classroom.

“Thanks for the heads-up, Mia. I’ll talk with him and hopefully figure out what’s going on.”

“He’s a good kid. Just has some pent-up frustrations.”

“I’ll keep you apprised of what we talk about.”

“Thanks, Kaya.”

The line disconnects.

I type out a quick text to Clarissa before I stow my phone back in my desk.

Duty calls. When and where for drinks?

A knock sounds on my open door, and I look up to see an office assistant with who I assume is Tucker.

Genuine smile on my face, I step around my desk and toward the door. “Are you Tucker?”

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