Page 54 of What You Wish For

In theory, at least.

In practice? Taking attendance is just about the most boring possible way to start a class.

Other little changes that Duncan worked into the schedule bit by bit without ever causing a riot: Shortening lunch by ten minutes. Shortening recess, too. Decreeing that faculty could not cover each other’s classes. Decreeing that faculty could not leave campus during the school day.

Not to mention, adding locks and keypads to every gate that let you in or out of school grounds—except for the front entrance, which was guarded by security at all times.

The keypads themselves weren’t all that onerous, but what did turn into a serious drag was that they changed the security codes every two weeks.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, if you had nothing else to think about.

But teachers always haveeverythingelse to think about.

It was the worst for people who drove—which was everybody except me—because the parking lot was on the far side of the school’s entrance. If you forgot the code, you had to walk all the way around tothe front. It made me glad, in a way, that I didn’t drive anymore—not since the seizures came back. Partly because I didn’t want to be on medication, which was required for a license. But also, if I’m honest, after that first, spectacular reintroduction to my adult epilepsy, I wasn’t too eager to get back behind the wheel.

It was fine. There were upsides.

It was a slower pace of life.

Most mornings I just rode my yellow bike—with my supplies tucked into the handlebar basket that Babette and I had hot-glued fake flowers all over—and Chuck Norris would come bounding out of the gates and lick my ankles while I locked it up out front.

Remember how Duncan told us not to pet him?

Yeah… I would pet the hell out of that dog.

It was good for both of us.

In fact, I did my best to ignore most of Duncan’s changes.

But the one that hit me the hardest was car-pool duty.

He completely overhauled car pool the third week of school—deciding that it wasn’t safe for kids to sit outside the building while they waited to go home.

“They’re literally sitting ducks,” he’d said to Alice.

“Well,” she had famously said, “notliterally.”

By royal decree, the kids now had to sit inside in the courtyard for car pool. It took twice as long and required a relay system.

It required twice as many teachers, too.

I got conscripted into it—against my will. Everybody did. So once a week, at the end of a long, draining workday, I got to stand out in the hundred degree heat for more than an hour, breathing carbon monoxide and fielding angry parents who’d roll down their car windows and shout, “I’ve been in this line for over an hour!”

“At least you have AC,” I’d say, taking a swig from my water bottle.

It got so bad, Alice suggested we stick ice cubes in our bras—which I did not go for, though it was tempting. Instead, I found a giant pinkparasol at one of the beach shops and used it to create my own personal patch of shade.

Which helped a little. But not enough.

It was close to Thanksgiving before Duncan went nuclear on us.

I’m not sure if he’d been trying to lull us into a false sense of security, or if it just took him that long to get organized, but by the time it happened, we had settled into a comfortable state of discomfort.

I, for one, had found a very unexpected peace with him. As profoundly as his revised personality had disappointed me, for the most part, it had also cured me of my epic crush. I almost thought of them as two different people now. Old Duncan, who I still pined for, and New Duncan, who I most definitely did not.

Old Duncan was still my irreplaceable gold standard for everything lovable.

New Duncan? Was just kind of a dickish boss.

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