Page 7 of The Boyfriend Swap

My cheeks ached from smiling and my hands were red and sore from clapping so hard. Nothing gave me as much satisfaction as standing in the wings as my little protégés brought their parents, grandparents, and siblings to their feet with their well-practiced song and dance routines. Tonight was the school’s winter concert, and the first graders’ rendition of “All I Want for Christmas Is You” was flawless. When I first came up with the dance moves, I feared they might require a bit more coordination than many of the students possessed, but as if by magic, even my youngest pupils managed to memorize the lyrics and belt them out—albeit not 100 percent in tune—while simultaneously shaking their little hips to the music. I felt a burst of emotion as the performance came to an end and braced myself for impact as the little ones bowed to the audience before running off the stage and into my arms.

“You were all so great,” I exclaimed, hugging one after the other as their faces beamed up at me with pride. I loved so many aspects of my job, but my absolute favorite was organizing and directing the spring and winter concerts and the fifth-grade graduation ceremony. Coming up with new routines was challenging, but seeing them play out in front of me after all the hard work left me with a sense of satisfaction I didn’t know existed outside of performing until I first took on the task two years ago.

While the first-grade students followed their teachers back to the audience where they would sit as a class until the final performance of the evening, I lined up the second graders.

Standing in front of them, I asked, “You guys ready?”

Three rows of heads bobbed up and down in answer, along with a few fist pumps. Considering they’d forgotten all the words during the final rehearsal earlier that day, I didn’t share their confidence, but I hoped for the best.

I faced the audience as my heart beat rapidly in vicarious stage fright. Speaking into the microphone, I said, “I’m excited to present to you the second grade’s performance of ‘Snowflake Lake.’ This piece is extremely special because the students wrote the lyrics themselves with the help of their teachers, Ms. Eisenberg and Ms. Malfetta. Let’s give them a round of applause.” While the crowd clapped, I whispered, “Break a leg” and walked to the piano on the side of the stage. I clasped the fingers of my hands together and stretched them out in front of me. With one more nod of encouragement at the kids, whose heads were turned toward me for my cue, I played the introductory notes and waited for them to start singing. I tapped the piano keys with shaky fingers, and it wasn’t until they belted out the chorus one last time without any bumbles that I let myself breathe.

“Take me down to Snowflake Lake because winter’s here and it’s too cold to bike. Take me down to Snowflake Lake. Fall from the sky with no two alike.”

The second the music stopped, the crowd broke into rambunctious applause. As a tear of joy peppered with relief dropped down my cheek, I jumped up from the piano bench and joined the standing ovation until the kids happily waved at their fans as they skipped off the stage.

During the brief intermission, I basked in the success of the concert so far. I didn’t have much time before I’d need to mentally prepare myself for the third, fourth, and fifth grade performances still to come, but was enjoying a rare moment without the kids jumping on top of me when I heard my name being called. I turned around and smiled wide. “Lynn.” I rushed into Lynn Berryman’s waiting arms and squeezed tightly. I had replaced Lynn as the school’s music teacher when she retired after forty years of service. The school had taken a chance hiring me right out of graduate school, but the one year of training as her aide while getting my Masters in music education had proven invaluable. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Lynn grabbed hold of both of my arms and shined her brown eyes on me. “Wouldn’t miss it. You look beautiful. Your eyes pop in that dress.”

I glanced down at my dark blue and turquoise silk dress and did a little twirl. “Thank you. You look wonderful too.” And she did. At almost seventy, Lynn maintained the muscle tone of someone twenty years younger, not a strand of gray hair poked out of her brunette bob, and she hadn’t lost an inch of height, towering over my five-foot-three frame by at least four inches. “Enjoying the show so far?”

She nodded. “It’s wonderful. And the original song? Impressive. Your idea I’m guessing?”

“It was an experiment.” I held my breath.

Lynn gave me a soft smile. “It paid off.”

“Thank you.” I exhaled as heat crept across my cheeks. Lynn was very protective of the traditions she’d introduced to the school’s music program, and I hoped she wouldn’t be offended by my introduction of new customs, like original music.

Lynn hugged me again, as if reading my mind. “I always knew I was leaving my babies in good hands,” she whispered.

I grinned. “I learned from the best. Seeing you singing along from the front row at every concert is one of my favorite parts of the entire night.”

“Thanks to you, I’ve got the best seat in the house after yours, which I need more than ever these days. Aging is not fun, but I guess it’s better than the alternative, right?” She winked at me.

I nodded. “There will be a reserved seat in the front row with your name on it for as long as I’m the music teacher.”

Surprised by the sadness that crossed Lynn’s eyes at my words, I frowned. “Did I say something wrong?” After Lynn retired, I hesitated to talk about the job too much during our periodic meetings for lunch for fear she’d resent me for taking her place. But she’d expressed her love of retirement—spending time with her grandchildren, organizing shows at an assisted-living community, and simply catching up on her soap operas—on so many occasions since then, I stopped worrying.

Lynn covered her mouth with her hand for a moment but quickly dropped it. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said with a forced smile.

I tilted my head to the side and studied her. Something was up.

Glancing at her watch, she said, “You need to get going. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m fine.”

“I’m worried now. Please tell me,” I pleaded. What if she was sick? She was my mentor, but I loved her like a grandmother.

“I’m not ill,” she said, once again reading my mind.

“Thank God. I can handle anything else.”

She smiled softly. “Okay, here goes. A rumor is going around about the future of the music program at the school.”

I pressed my lips together. “What sort of rumor?”

Lynn sighed. “You didn’t hear it from me, but there’s been pressure to up the foreign language curriculum at the elementary level and the budget is strained. My sources told me they’re considering cutting down on electives like music to generate more funds.” Patting me on the shoulder, she added, “It’s only a rumor, so please don’t let it upset you.” She shook her head and mumbled, “Me and my stupid mouth.”

Despite Lynn’s plea to keep my worries at bay, I couldn’t unhear her words. I feared the uncertainty would be permanently nestled in my gut until I got to the bottom of it. Staring down at my sparkly silver heels, I asked, “Who are your sources?” even though there was no way she’d tell me. I could probably figure it out on my own, but it didn’t matter. My heart was shattered, not only for me—I could get a job at another school—but for the kids. How were children supposed to nurture their creative sides if schools focused entirely on academics?

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