Page 12 of Teacher of the Year

“Gonzo.” I put both hands up in my best no-way-no-how-deal-breaker shrug.

Jill knows any potential Romeo for me has to not only tolerate Gonzo but love and appreciate him for all his fluffy, silly, wonderfulness. When we adopted Gonzo four years ago, Adam was unaware he was allergic. He took allergy medicine to survive, and we kept Gonzo out of the bedroom at all times, which I detested. My baby kitty would sleep outside the bedroom door and just wait for us to emerge. Sometimes, when I got up in the middle of the night to pee, I’d sneak out and sleep the rest of the night on the couch so we could snuggle. Adam’s body’s disdain for Gonzo should have been a hint at our incompatibility. He also loved horror movies. And college football. The signs were everywhere if I’d only noticed them. The night Adam moved out, I opened the bedroom door so my snuggle buddy could cuddle with me and never looked back.

“One word. Claritin. Marvin, he’s cute. Just give him a chance. Or, we can see what happens with Olan Stone.”

“Fine, thumbs up!” I slide my finger across the screen, creating a satisfying bloop sound.

“Oh, this is kind of fun. It feels like a video game.”

I stop once Vincent M. receives my approval. One potential suitor is enough. Maybe if I’m lucky, he’ll give me a thumbs-down, and there will be no match, ending this charade. I know Jill and Nick are trying to help. They want me to have what they have. Do I want that? Sometimes, I think so. But Lord, men can be horrible. Adam was horrible. My dad was horrible. Focusing on work and putting my energy there fulfills me. Plus, it provides a lovely distraction. And the kids need me. Heck, the entire school needs me. Right now, flirting with Nick feels much safer, and there’s no risk of rejection because, well, he’s straight and married to my best friend.

“A video game? Like Mario Kart?” Nick asks.

Jill and I both look at him, look at each other, and crack up. The kind of laughter where we throw our heads back and cackle until tears stream from our eyes. Sitting here laughing with Jill, watching Nick’s confused face through wet eyes, I can’t help but wonder, with friends like them who fill my heart and make me feel completely adored, who needs the drama that accompanies a boyfriend?

Chapter6

Olan: Good Morning Mr. Block. This is Illona’s dad. I’m so sorry to bother you before school. Illona insists on bringing her stuffed kitty Noelle to school. I told her she had to stay home but she’s causing a fuss and I’m at my wit’s end. Is this something that’s allowed?

Marvin: Of course she can bring Noelle to school. No worries at all.

Olan: Thank you! You’re a lifesaver.

Marvin: Wait. It’s not a stuffed life-size tiger is it?

Olan: Ha! No, it’s small and will fit in her backpack.

Marvin: Awesome. Tell her I can’t wait to meet Noelle.

Olan: ??

“This is Noelle.” Illona stands in front of me, her hair pulled back into two ornate braids today, and if her dad did that, color me impressed. Her arms are outstretched, and she holds her stuffed cat. The cat isn’t as small as I’d hoped, about the size of a real cat if it had been fed four times a day and slept at all times except when eating, which is pretty much how Gonzo rolls. Illona’s fingers grab her cat with such force that, if Noelle were real, she would be squirming with all her might to get away.

“Oh, how lovely to meet you, Noelle. She looks a little like my cat, Gonzo. Although he’s more black with some white, and she’s more white with some black. Why don’t you put Noelle at your seat to keep her safe? Sound good?”

Illona nods. I want to be flexible with the needs of students but also know the potential distraction a stuffy from home can cause for the class. And if letting her bring Noelle wins me a few brownie points with her father, oh well. The other children understand Illona needs time to acclimate and might need some extra attention and comfort, but a distraction is a distraction regardless.

The day turns out to be a typical Friday. A sense of needing a break, a rest, or at least the weekend off always arrives on Fridays. The children’s energy soars, my tank nears empty, and I have a date with this Vincent M. fella. A few days ago, he messaged to arrange our meeting.

Vincent M.: Hank, hello! I was hoping we could meet for dinner this weekend. How about Friday?

Marvin: Hey there. Actually my name is Marvin. My friend thought I should use a fake name in case you’re a murderer.

Vincent M.: Smart move.

Marvin: Wait. You’re not a murderer are you?

Vincent M.: Well if I am you’ve just blown your cover.

Marvin: Crap. Well I suppose I should eat something before my demise. Do you have a place in mind for my last supper?

Vincent M.: I’m putty in your hands.

Marvin: How about The Purple Giraffe on Main at six?

Vincent M.: Awesome! Can’t wait to meet you in person.

Vincent seems nice enough, but I am, to be quite honest, dreading it. I have this problem where I vacillate between wanting a healthy, loving relationship and wanting to become a professional hermit. Putting so much of myself into my work flat-out exhausts me. I love my job, but being on your feet, attending to the needs of a class of kindergarteners, and being “on” all day sucks me dry. And while fatigue plays its part, I’m fairly certain the delightful combo of childhood trauma and anxiety deserves most of the credit. What I actually want to do is go home, order a large pizza for myself, put on pajamas, and be in bed shoving pizza in my face and watching Netflix with Gonzo by seven.

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