Page 17 of The One I Need
When people findout that I teach first grade, the first question they ask is how I do it. More specifically, how I have the patience to do what I do. And most of the time I laugh it off. I love my job. I love working with kids. To me, there’s no better grade to teach. They’re old enough to start really putting together their own ideas, while still having the innocence you only get once in life.
I love each of these kids as if they were my own. I’d jump in front of a moving vehicle for them. But, and I say this with all the love in my heart, fuck these kids. ’Cause they have been on their bullshit this week, and I can’t take much more.
“Mr. Price?”
I do my best to suppress a groan. We have five minutes left in the school week, and I just can’t take another question. I usually love their curious minds, but not when I can smell forty-eight hours of freedom.
“Yeah, Bailey?”
“I made you something!”
I mentally hit myself for assuming the worst. “Really? Well, let me see.”
She nods her head so hard I think her pigtails are going to come loose. “Here!”
She hands me the piece of paper, and like most projects my kids give me, I have no idea what it is. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love it all the same.
“What do we have here?”
“It’s fun socks!” she says. And as I look closely, itisin the shape of a pair of socks. Kind of. “I know your favorite candy is Skittles, so these are socks with Skittles on them!”
I now regret everything I thought bad earlier about these kids. I love them so much.
“Thank you, Bailey. This is awesome.” I hold out my knuckles for her to bump them. “Maybe this weekend I can find real socks like this.”
Her face goes from excited to shocked. “Really?”
“Of course. These look like the best socks ever.”
The bell rings, and Bailey gives me a quick hug as she runs out the door. This is my week off pickup duty, which I’ve never been more thankful for.
I stand up and stretch, which untucks my pink pastel polo shirt from my khaki pants. I don’t bother tucking it back in since I’m now alone. Which is exactly how I plan to spend the weekend.
When I get out of a relationship, I’m usually in the dumps for a few days. But I’m normally able to pick myself up quickly, give myself a pep talk that she just wasn’t the one and that I’m not going to find love on my couch bingingGame of Thrones. And yes, I did get dumped the day of the wedding, but that’s not why I’ve been depressed all week.
It’s been because I can’t get Izzy out of my head.
I know we only spent one night together. I know she made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t looking for anything serious. My head knows this. My heart just hasn’t caught up yet.
“So you are alive?”
I turn back toward the door where Wes is standing. “Yes, I’m alive. Why would you ask that?”
He walks into my class and sits in the chair I normally use for story time. “Probably because you haven’t talked to me, or Shane, or Simon for that matter, all week. Amelia said you left her on read. So I had to come in here and make sure nothing happened to you.”
I want to roll my eyes at his assumption, but I can’t. I’d be doing the same thing if it were any of them. “Sorry. It’s just been a weird week.” I finish cleaning up the toys at my feet before taking on one of the desks near Wes—who’s looking at me like he’s waiting for me to say more.
“What?”
“You’re not going to elaborate?”
“Elaborate on what?”
He shakes his head as if he’s confused. “Okay. I know you look like Oliver. You’re dressing like him, and that’s his voice. But not elaborating? Not telling your friends every single thought and feeling going through your head? I’m sorry, but you, sir, are not Oliver Price, and I’m going to need whatever alien is in there to leave now.”
Now I roll my eyes. “You’re hilarious.”
“Seriously. You okay? I really am worried.”
