Page 1 of Declan's Hope

1

“Ms. Danford! Ms. Danford!”

Hope glanced up from the lesson plans she had almost completed for the next week and held back a sigh. Little Johnny. Again. This had to be about the tenth time the kid had raised his hand since their restroom break after lunch.

Well, not really, but it sure did seem like it. He’d just gone a second time not long ago. She’d been warned kindergartners had walnut-sized bladders, but come on.

“Johnny,” Hope said, getting up from her desk and going over to him. She squatted down beside his chair and gave him her best teacher-ish smile. “Sweetie, you just went ten minutes ago.”

“But I couldn’t make it quick,” he whispered. She followed his furtive gaze going to a few surrounding classmates. None were paying any attention to them since they were all busy on their end-of-the-day artwork. He turned back to her. “And you said make it quick.” His voice went even lower. “So’s I didn’t poop.”

“Ah…” She glanced at the wall clock. School let out at two-thirty, and it was going on two. She smiled at him again. “Can you hold it until you get home?”

Johnny’s eyes went wide as he furiously shook his head. She took a deep breath, intending on encouraging him to hang in there, when the eau de poo aroma hit her. Hope closed her mouth tightly and wrinkled her nose about the same time a few others caught the scent.

“Eeuwww, who farted?” Toby complained.

“You farted,” Cindy laughed out. “My dad says, when you smelted it you dealted it—or somethin’ old people says like that.”

Laughter rang out in the classroom while poor little Johnny’s face flushed a bright red. Hope slowly rose and frowned at several children making raspberry noises across the room at each other, while a couple of the more talented boys managed some quite impressive underarm farts.

She was on the cusp of losing control. She could feel it.

“Okay, class,” Hope said, clapping her hands. “That’s enough. No one…” She refused to use the word fart in her classroom. “No one…” She searched for the best way to put it, finally coming up with, “Made a smelly.”

“A what?” Mikey said, looking up at her from his drawing, his nose scrunched.

Toby happily offered his interpretation. “It means fart.” Then to make sure everyone understood, he stood up from his seat and ran around his desk, chanting. “Fart, fart, fart.”

Little Johnny tugged on her dress. “Ms. Danford.” The aroma wafting up grew stronger as she met his now panic-stricken hazel eyes. “I gots a prairie dog.”

“Okay, go.” She helped him up from his seat and rushed him to the door while grabbing a bathroom pass on the way. The poor little guy was walking funny by the time she shoved the pass in his hand and pushed him into the hallway.

“I’ll be lucky if they don’t fire me first thing Monday morning,” she muttered, shutting the door. She leaned her forehead against the wood and blew at a loose piece of strawberry blond hair from in front of her eyes that had come loose from her ponytail. She tensed.

Crap.

She’d just broken the first cardinal rule when it came to kindergarten teaching. It had been the one thing all the seasoned teachers had repeatedly drilled into her head during her student teaching days.

Never turn your back on the pack.

An escalating chaos reigned from the boisterous group as she reluctantly turned and faced the twenty-one five-year-olds and grimaced. Her shoulders sagged in relief.

"Shew," she murmured. No blood. No scissors being used as swords. No glue in anyone’s hair.

“All right, everyone," she said louder. She had to, to be heard over the laughter and overzealous talk of burps, farts, and other bodily functions. "Let’s settle down.”

And to think, she’d been congratulating herself on keeping her class in order. Very few of her fellow first-year teachers had managed that feat. Talk about giving herself a false sense of security. At least she’d made it through the first week.

But she had to get control.

Now.

Five minutes and one tiny bribe later—if promising cupcakes during snack time the next Friday could be considered a bribe—everyone had settled down. Would bribes be considered a good teaching practice? No. Would she ever do it again if necessary? Absolutely. “Whatever worked” had become her new motto.

Thankfully, the afternoon’s last thirty minutes went off without incident. Even Johnny had managed to smile about the upcoming treat when he’d returned to the classroom. That is after making sure he’d informed her he’d made it just in time with only a small skid mark. It seemed five-year-olds liked to overshare.

The final bell rang, and she had never been so glad to have her kids lined up single file at the door. Luckily, she didn’t have car rider line duty. So, semi-apologetically, she handed her still slightly rowdy crew over to the poor teachers standing outside in the mid-August heat.

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