Page 24 of Game Changer

“I’m gonna guess they’ll all be out long before that happens.” He chuckles.

“I’d love a raincheck on a Boone slash Hart hangout.” I smile at Lindsey and Lily.

“What does that mean?” Lily asks me.

“Means next time,” Lindsey tells her.

Chapter 5

Vs. DC

Sydney

With my first full week, long-term kindergarten sub gig at Blue Valley Elementary behind me, I make my way out to the Jeep and go over the highlights in my head while making a mental note so that I can catch up on my journaling tonight and tomorrow.

Room 104 is a chaotic wonderland of tiny chairs, around half moon tables, atop colorful rugs. On any given day, it could smell like Play-Doh, glue, disinfectant and yes, occasionally, vomit. The walls are covered in finger-painted masterpieces, letters spelling out the children’s names, and an alphabet train that winds around the room.

Kindergarten was definitely not on the choice of grade levels I wanted to teach, third through fifth where my preference, but the long-term sub opportunity doesn’t come with an option for preferences.

But seriously, they’ve been amazing. The boy who is named Bobby has a mop of curls on top of his head and a fascinating petat home. Each day, he has a new story to tell me of what Speedy his pet turtle got up to the night before. Lola clings to my leg like a koala bear while her best friend, Gertie, still stares at me like I might be an imposter.

Little Dylan Donaldson will definitely be a lawyer or some sort of negotiator someday, because every day he attempts to change the classroom dynamics. Today it was, “Miss Sparks, can we have snack before circle time? My tummy says yes.”

To which I responded, “We’re gonna follow the schedule Mrs. Olson left us for now. We might revisit that next week.”

Circle time, which is my favorite time of the day, is a mix of giggles and wiggles, and today, we had a debate about whether dinosaurs could fit inside the school. Dinosaurs were not part of the educational planning schedule left for me, but as excited as they all got in the way they naturally thought deeper and deeper about how they could actually make one fit in the gymnasium, I remembered what it was I love about teaching in moments like that, moments when kids problem solve in a group and think deeper than a color-by-numbers worksheet.

Lunchtime is an Olympic-level event. I open applesauce pouches, peel bananas, and mediate a philosophical discussion on why Goldfish crackers are superior to pretzels. Someone spills their juice, someone else eats only the marshmallows from their Lucky Charms, which to me should not be considered a meal, and I will remember to keep a lookout to see if it’s a reoccurring situation. And then there is little Owen who every day has tried to convince me that the five-second rule was, in fact, real and his cookie was still okay to eat. I’m convinced he throws them on the floor just so we can have that discussion.

Recess, I’m herding a small army of bundled-up littles outside, in the freezing January air, and watch them scatter like puppies, unbothered by the cold. Lola refuses to touch the playground because there was a “mean squirrel” she saw beforeChristmas break, so she simply resumes her preferred stance—koala bear hugging my leg—as I basically run around for half an hour, picking up dropped mittens, loosening stuck zippers, and retying boots.

Then it’s back inside, where we always do an art project that involves way too much glitter, followed by what I call happy hour, where Miss Valentine, the preschoolers, and I sit in the doorway that connects our classrooms and talk about our day. And yes, she tells at least one story in those thirty minutes about something absolutely adorable that Lily Boone has done, while Lily gins at me from her rest mat on the floor.

At three p.m. today, when Dylan Donaldson, future lawyer, leaves, he tugs on my sleeve and whispers, “Miss Sparks, you did good, super good all week.” And he puts one of his gold stars on my hand, and of course, my heart melted.

Week one was a complete success, and I have high hopes for the next eight weeks.

“Tell me all about your week,” Maggie says when I walk into Sugar Rush.

“One down, eight to go.” I smile as I look around for Mom then hold up my hand, showing her the back with the gold star. “A future lawyer, or politician, told me I didsuper good all week.”

“That’s freaking adorable.”

“I know.” I sigh and then ask, “Where’s Mom?”

“She, my mom, and grandma went somewhere to meet Tessa.” Maggie grabs a piece of paper from her bag and sets it on the table. “Work release papers. I only have classes in themorning and can be out by eleven a.m. if you sign them saying I work here every day.”

“We’re only open Wednesday through Saturday.”

“True.” She bats her lashes at me. “But with the game on Sunday being in DC, we’re gonna get home late. I could come in Monday and Tuesday to load the machines up to keep inventory ahead.”

“Aunt Kendall okay with it?” I ask.

“She is.”

“Sounds good.” I sign the paper. “Just remember, I work at the school now, so make sure you tell me when you’re working in case they ask.”

“You got it,” she says as she walks over to put the paper in her bag. “Are you upset I’m here alone?”

---