Page 32 of Teacher of the Year

As happens more often than it should, I wake up on the sofa instead of my bed. I probably should consider a studio and save a few hundred dollars a month. Settled on my chest, Gonzo watches me, patiently waiting to be fed. I reach to pet him, and he leaps to the floor, bolting over to the lower cabinet, meowing toward his food.

“Ok, buddy, I can take a hint.”

As I sit up, in a flash, last night rushes back to me. I slowly touch my lips, still numb from our intense make-out session, the faint smell of cherry lingering. A swirl of conflicting emotions overtakes my head. Clearly, necking with the father of a student will not win me Teacher of the Year. Oh, my lord. Teacher of the Year. Dr. Knorse. The funding. My heart drops to my stomach, and I’m elated to be seated as the blood rushes from my head. But the way Olan touched me, his hot breath on my neck, my body reacted to his in a new and incredible way. I grab my phone from the coffee table and thumb a text to Jill.

Marvin: Morning, slag. Olan drove me home and kissed me. How was your night?

Grabbing a small plate, I shake the can of wet cat food out as Gonzo looks on, purring in anticipation. He begins scarfing down his breakfast, and I head to the bathroom where the faint smell of Olan lingers. Whatever soap, cologne, or deodorant he uses, the hints of lavender and sage dance on my nose. With a full inhale, he’s back here, nibbling on my earlobe and making me weak.

My phone dings from the coffee table, interrupting my daydream.

Jill: Who’s a slag now? I’m coming over. Stopping for nourishment and coffee.

Marvin: I have coffee.

Jill: Do you have real cream and Splenda?

Marvin: Stop for coffee.

My propensity for milk alternatives and real sugar never flies with Jill. I really should stock her necessities, but I mostly survive on frozen foods and seltzer and, much like putting gas in my car, only go food shopping when the cupboards are empty. Nick plays intramural hockey on Saturday mornings, so Jill and I often get together. It helps to have time as friends outside of school, away from the children and the overall circus of teaching. Usually, we meet up at a small local coffee shop equal distance between our places. Drinking coffee, gossiping, looking at catalogs before recycling them, and of course, peeping and dishing about men in the coffee shop are our favorite ways to spend Saturday mornings together.

Occasionally, we’ll just go to one another’s place because getting out of our pajamas feels too complicated. The time Jill had her wisdom teeth out, and her reaction to the anesthesia made her resemble a chipmunk for a week, I drove over and made us milkshakes. Of course, she could barely drink with her swollen cheeks, but I only laughed a little while cleaning up her mess because I’m a caring friend.

Awaiting her arrival, I sit at my small table – pushing aside random papers, bills, and lists I make to help me remember the minutiae of life – and pull my laptop open. I surf the web for pop news and take a minute to check my email. Among the spam from the most random senders (no, I’m not interested in an over-fifty Christian dating service, thank you very much), I spot a message from the Teacher of the Year Committee. I wasn’t expecting to hear anything until Monday, so I’m intrigued. Gonzo pounces on my lap and butts his head against my arm for attention. I stroke him with one hand, which elicits immediate purrs, and click to open the message.

To: [email protected]

CC: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Cumberland County Teacher of the Year Selection

Dear Mr. Block,

Hello! We know the excitement a nomination for Teacher of the Year brings to educators and schools. The selection process for Teacher of the Year takes months of hard work and dedication from our board.

We understand the time and commitment nominees put into the process, and we do not take our jobs on the committee to designate our county’s representative teacher lightly.

We are thrilled to inform you the committee has selected you as Cumberland County’s Teacher of the Year, 2022.

Next week you will receive additional instructions on the next steps to help you prepare for the state selection process. We will be in touch to schedule your interview and school visit for March.

Respectfully,

Dr. Angela Hayes

Cumberland County Division Director

Maine Teacher of the Year

Hot damn! I won. Sure, it’s only the county, but I won. I’ve never won anything. There was that couples dance off in PE with a girl named Olivia in second grade. We made up a quick routine to “Rockin’ Robin” and slayed it. But the only prize was a round of applause. Which was lovely. But still. This is huge. Even the county win. I wonder if the state title comes with a crown and scepter.

As much as I hoped to be chosen, I knew the competition was stiff, and I’d tried to manage my expectations. Dr. Knorse will be elated. This should give her some ammunition to fight for our school. I’m almost tempted to call her but on a Saturday? No way. Winning feels odd to me. As a child, I wasn’t competitive. The fear of losing overtook my urge to even participate in common rights of passage like spelling bees or board games, and with my clumsiness, sports were never an option. My athleticism only pertains to walking, maybe quickly, only if the right music blares in my ears. And now I’m thinking about my ears and Olan nibbling on them like he was tasting the sweetest ear of summer corn. My stomach does a little flippy-de-do until the roar of the buzzer brings it to a halt.

Jill enters, cloaked in her winter coat, a scarf wrapped around her neck and covering the bottom half of her face. She’s holding a box of Rockstar Donuts, and the sugary aroma hints at least one of the confections inside is my absolute favorite, usually sold out, sinfully delicious, frosted strawberry topped with freeze-dried strawberries and rainbow sprinkles. I grab the box from her mitten-covered hands, and we head to the kitchen as she peels off her winter gear.

“That was the last strawberry, I had to lie to a German tourist to get it. She ordered it and I poked my head in and told her the cinnamon ganache put Rockstar on the map as a donut destination shop.”

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