Page 13 of When You Left Me Speechless

“Yep, the elementary school. It wasn’t my first choice, but I am excited to try it out. Maybe I’ll end up really liking it.”

My mom looks at me, confused, and I can’t blame her. I haven’t told her the drama, and for good reason. Growing up, I could never hide anything from her, like Lacey hid from her parents. My mom knew about every boy, every party, and even made me come clean the night I lost my virginity.

“I should have mentioned it. I didn’t want to worry you both. It’s all good, though.” I take another bite of potatoes.

“As long as you're happy, honey, we’re happy.” She glances over at my dad and then back to me.

When we finish our meal, David and my dad head into the kitchen to clean up. I head into the living room with my mom and sister. My phone pings and I see a reminder on my calendar that I have a study date with myself in half an hour. I swipe it away and join Olive on the couch. Dan jumps up and crawls into my lap. After the past week I had, I linger a little longer than usual and enjoy the time with my family.

Speech Sluts

Poppy: Good news girls! Olive made Pecan Grove happen. I start tomorrow!

Andrea: Thank God, girl!

Nicole: Yea! Yea! We all get to walk across the stage together. You had us worried there for a second, Pop!

CHAPTER 6: THE WORLD’S SMALLEST OFFICE

POPPY

Kids scurry through the hallways, laughing and screaming. I’m sitting in a chair meant for a kindergartner in a small office with cinderblock walls, sipping my extra-large coffee, waiting for my new supervisor to walk in.

The desk looks oversized for the space, but I can’t figure out if it's the world’s biggest desk or the world's smallest office. It’s probably the latter. There is a bookshelf scattered with board games and therapy materials I would kill to organize. The small bulletin board is decorated with cute speech bubbles and looks like something she probably found on Pinterest. The rumors about school speech therapists working in closets seem to be true.

“You must be Poppy,” the woman standing at the door says with a warm smile. “I’m Beth. I’m so happy you’re here.”

She looks to be in her early thirties. She has dark curly hair and chestnut skin. Pink square-frame eyeglasses surround her chocolate eyes. She’s wearing a T-shirt with the words “Just Speechie” written in large rainbow script across her chest and a matching headband striped with the samecolors. The lanyard around her neck resembles a friendship bracelet with different multi-colored beads. She wears hot pink high-tops that match her glasses.

“It’s so nice to meet you.” I stand and shake her hand. “Thank you for taking me on so last minute. You’re a real lifesaver.”

She laughs. “Of course. Something similar happened to me in graduate school. I get how stressful it can be, so when Olive reached out, I was happy to help.”

I reach into my bag and grab out the paperwork I need her to sign for school. She signs it quickly and shows me to a small filing cabinet where I can keep my purse.

“Okay, so now that you’re official, we have an IEP meeting this morning at eight thirty for one of our fifth graders, Freddie Anderson. Do you know what an IEP is?”

I nod, but she explains anyway.

“Right, so IEPs, or Individualized Education Plans, are like the road maps for students in special education. It helps all the teachers know what the student needs and how to support them, so they have their best shot at success.”

I give her another nod.

“Anyway,” she continues, “Freddie’s parents are great, but sometimes their meetings last longer than usual. You are welcome to join and observe. You will be working with Freddie, so meeting his parents and hearing about his IEP will be good.”

She walks over to her desk and picks up a stack of papers. “Here’s the current IEP, and here are my updated goals. Why don’t you look over them and let me know if you have any questions?”

I take the stack of papers from her hands and begin flipping through them while Beth catches up on emails at her desk. It’s a long document. Freddie Anderson is a fifth grader and has struggled his whole school career. Constantly behind and, because of that, constantly in trouble. He seemsto get speech therapy because he struggles to learn vocabulary.

At eight fifteen, I walk down the hallway toward the school's front office with Beth. On the way, she points out the bathrooms, the staff break room, and gives me an abbreviated tour of the building. Pecan Grove is a large school and has kindergarteners through fifth graders. Each grade has its own hallway, and from what I can tell, the school makes a large squared-off figure eight with the front office in the center. The speech room shares a hallway with the fifth grade students.

“Good morning, everyone. This is my new student, Poppy Collins,” Beth says to the mix of employees sitting around the long table. Random school accolades and posters hang on the walls. I offer a small wave and sit beside Beth in one of the few remaining chairs.

“Welcome,” a couple of the women say, both offering me warm smiles.

“Looks like we are just waiting on Freddie’s reading teacher, Mr. Peterson,” someone says. “He should be here soon, and then we will go grab the Andersons and get started.”

The room breaks out into multiple whispered side conversations. Beth begins to tell me about some of the strategies she has used in the past with Freddie. I pick up a pen and try to take notes.

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