Page 22 of For Your Own Good
“It’s fine. It’s all fine,” Sonia says, patting her on the arm.
“But it’s long bya lot.”
“Let’s go see where we can cut it, shall we?”
She and Courtney manage to squeeze in a quick editing session before first period begins. When the bell rings, Sonia is happy to get away from her and feels a tiny bit guilty about it.
That’s the part no one had told her about being a teacher. The guilt. So much guilt.
Sonia feels guilty about what she’s done, what she hasn’t done, whom she has helped, and whom she hasn’t. She feels guilty about the hours she works and the hours she doesn’t. She feels guilty when her students don’t achieve what they want to achieve or get into the college of their choice.
That kind of guilt is enough to drive anyone to drink. Not Sonia—she doesn’t touch alcohol. But she knows a lot of teachers who overindulge. Parents, too.
And then there are parents who really should have a drink. Courtney’s mother, for instance. If anyone needs to relax, it’s Ingrid Ross.
Not that it’s any of her business, except as it relates to Courtney. It’s amazing the girl’s head hasn’t exploded from all the pressure.
During the morning break, Sonia gets her usual cup of coffee from the teachers’ lounge—with sweetener, no sugar—and checks in with Courtney. A flood of messages came in after class, when Courtney was able to use her phone again. One by one, Sonia answers them. She is patient. She is kind. Today is going to be a good day.
And it is, until about an hour later, when she starts to feel a bit nauseous.
Please not today.
Any other day but deadline day. Sonia tries to will herself back to good health, convince her body that it’s fine, it’s all fine. Perhaps she’s just nervous about deadline day.
Between classes, she goes to the vending machine and gets a Diet Sprite to soothe her stomach. Coffee doesn’t even sound good anymore. The thought of all that bitterness makes her feel worse.
Sonia takes a few small sips of Sprite before her next class begins. It doesn’t help.
During class, the nausea gets worse. She starts to feel a bit feverish, almost like she’s coming down with the flu. Or food poisoning.It’s okay,she tells herself.I’ll be fine, just fine.Sonia assigns everyone to read a few pages of their current book,Fahrenheit 451, so they can discuss it for the remainder of the class.
She takes another sip of her Sprite and draws in her breath, steadying herself against her desk. With the back of a hand, she wipes her forehead, hoping the students don’t see her perspire.
The one thing she won’t do is walk out in the middle of class, no matter how bad she feels. A lot of teachers would, but not her. She is here to do her job, and do it to the best of her ability.
A few minutes later, she’s unable to control it. Sonia tries to make it to the wastebasket but doesn’t. She vomits all over her desk.
14
BY THE TIMEZach gets out of third period, his phone is exploding with messages about Mrs.B. They range from concern to graphic descriptions of projectile vomiting all over the classroom. Someone even posts a picture of the aftermath.
Could be the ’rona,Lucas says.Or she’s pregnant.
You’re an idiot. It’s probably the stomach flu,Zach texts back.
He also makes a note to get Mrs.B a get-well-soon card. It’s one of the reasons the teachers love him so much—he always remembers their birthdays, he gives them all Christmas gifts, and if they get sick, he sends a card. So easy, so simple, and so many benefits.
Well, except with Crutcher. Zach emailed hisBleak Housepaper first thing this morning, earlier than necessary, and hasn’t heard a word back. Certainly not a thank-you. Not that Zach had expected one.
From the first day, Crutcher had it out for him. Zach had no idea why,or what he had done, but he knew. All he did was walk into class, shelve his phone, and sit down. That was it.
“Excuse me,” Mr.Crutcher had said. “What’s your name?”
“Zach Ward, sir.”
“Well, Zach Ward, before you get too comfortable, perhaps you would like to check the seating chart. I’ve left copies of it at the front of the room, but it seems you’ve ignored them, because the person who is supposed to be in that seat is Siobhan Drexler.”
Zach glanced up at the front, where a stack of papers sat on top of a chair. “I’m sorry,” he said, standing up.
