Page 20 of Teacher of the Year

Ah, so that’s what tigers sound like.

“Well, tigers, it’s time to line up, I’m about to blow the whistle.”

My hand grabs the keys in my coat pocket, yanks them out, and blows the whistle as the children sprint to the line. We head inside, taking the long way past the front office, so I can grab the coffee Olan’s left with Jean. Spotting the familiar white cup with Olan written on it, my lips curl up thinking of him waiting in the coffee shop for it. Along with the steamy sweetness, his thoughtfulness warms my entire body to the core.

Chapter9

Olan: Illona can’t stop talking about the sledding field trip. Are chaperones allowed to sled too?

Marvin: Allowed? Required. I’ll be barreling down the hill myself. That’s part of the fun for the kids.

Olan: Wonderful. Can’t wait.

The days leading up to our field trip, the children bubble with anticipation. Tomorrow we are leaving school. On a bus. Together. There’s something magical about exploring the world with your teacher and friends, and as the school day draws to an end, the anticipation of our day of fun boils to the surface.

I walk Illona down to dismissal, and a cheery, all smiles Olan appears. This gleeful version of him invites butterflies to my stomach, swirly and soaring, causing my breath to catch, but I do my best to appear unfazed.

Under his long coat, unzipped to his waist, he’s wearing a color-block sweater. The fabric, shades of blue and white, clings to his chest, and for a moment I think he catches me staring. To distract myself, I avert my eyes to his hair, thankfully not hidden by a hat today.

“Princess, another good day?” Illona never fails to leap into his strong arms. She hugs him, and he squeezes her tight, the fabric on his coat stretching around his biceps.

“Mr. Block.” We agreed he’ll call me Marvin privately, but for now, in front of Illona, it should be Mr. Block, and it’s rather adorable how he snaps the consonants. “I’ll see you in the morning for the field trip.” He smiles that smile, with that barely-there groove between his two front teeth behind lips so soft and plump they demand I stare, and a stunning straight male friend may be the end of me.Oy.

“You will. Make sure you dress for sledding,” I remind him, knowing he’ll look ridiculously handsome decked out in snow gear.

“Can’t wait,” he says, and damn him, he winks, sending my insides into melt mode. Am I supposed to wink back? I simply let out a feeble “heh.”

Our annual sledding trip to Chickadee Farm brings a much-needed jolt of post-holiday-season enthusiasm. Jill’s brainchild from three years ago, when she attempted to pull me out of my post-Adam breakup funk with some school-based adventure, it quickly became a winter kindergarten tradition.

“Let’s take the kids sledding,” she said at lunch one day.

“But we can sled on the playground.”

At the time, I had no idea where this sudden urge to sled came from.

“Marvin, that’s barely sledding. If we take the kids to a farm with giant, rolling hills, they can sled for an entire afternoon. Plus, there’ll be hot chocolate.”

“Are you using chocolate to persuade me?”

Jill opened her mouth and smiled, showing every single tooth, raised her shoulders, and squeaked, “Who me?”

* * *

Field trips present an interesting dichotomy. On the one hand, you don’t have to plan or prep for the time away from school. On the other hand, the kids bring a level of energy and excitement requiring extra supervision. Losing a student is never cute. Depending on the outing and number of chaperones, groups need to be created and monitored. My favorite trip, the sledding excursion, simply involves our two classes repeatedly climbing up an enormous hill on the farm and sledding down. Mr. and Mrs. Shelton, the farm owners, serve us hot chocolate for the last twenty minutes. Easy, peasy.

Because we don’t board the bus until after lunch, the morning consists of a series of vignettes where I attempt to contain the erupting exhilaration the entire class arrives with. I try to keep our routine as close to typical as possible, and during Morning Meeting, we put Sledding Field Trip on our schedule to have a concrete visual reminder of when we’re actually leaving the school. The children buzz with eagerness.

Finally, Jill and I, dressed head to toe in our finest snow gear, head to the cafeteria to fetch our classes. In her pink and purple snowsuit, Jill resembles a cotton-candy-covered astronaut.

“That outfit is… a choice,” I say.

“Hey, when you’re barely five feet, the children’s section calls. It’s cheaper, and the styles are way more playful.” She does a quick spin for me.

We pick the children up and they practically burst out of their snow gear, knowing we’re heading for the bus. Kindergarten thrills most children on a typical day but leaving the school building with your new friends and teachers takes it to the next level of elation. We trudge outside to the purring school bus, along with the family members joining us. My eyes spot Olan right away.

Huddled with the other adults joining us, he appears to be conversing politely with three mothers – two from Jill’s class I haven’t met yet, and Mrs. Schroeder, Teddy’s mom. He’s wearing a bright blue parka, black snow pants, and heavy boots. His hair hides under a black fur-lined cap with flaps, which currently are up but can fall down to keep his ears toasty. Even though he’s covered head to toe in winter gear, seeing Olan melts my frozen butter heart.

We head over to the bus, and the smell of burning diesel welcomes us as Ms. Darlene, the driver, pops open the door and perches on the entry steps, ready to squawk. Wearing what appears to be four thick flannel shirts instead of a coat, Darlene’s auburn mane pokes out from a Bruins baseball cap. I’ve never seen her with a cigarette, but Darlene’s raspy voice makes me wonder if she smokes an entire pack daily.

---