Page 17 of O Goalie Night
“Definitely thriving,” I laugh, unable to wipe the smile off my face.
Just like my brother knew he always wanted to play hockey, I knew at a very young age I wanted to be a teacher.
It’s a challenging, ever-changing profession that demands a lot from you, but honestly, I’ve never been able to picture myself doing anything else.
It was only my first day and already I felt a real connection to several of my students. There’s such a genuine curiosity at this age and I love being a part of their learning journey. Seeing their eyes light up when they grasp a new concept or reading to them and watching them get lost in the story is just so rewarding.
“You’ve got a good group of kids.” She pulls her belted peacoat tighter around her and places her hands in her pockets. “But buckle up; as soon as the snow starts to accumulate, they’ll go from angels to demons in the blink of an eye.”
“Who’s a demon?” The teacher from the classroom next to Tamara asks as he joins us. “Hey, Beth.”
“Hi, Jacob.” I’m pleased that I remembered his name. I’ve been introduced to so many people today and I just know I’m going to forget someone.
“The children are demons, in general,” Tamara answers. “At least they will be when there’s snow to pelt at one another.”
Jacob nods, his blond hair peeking out under his knit toque. “Don’t forget Skate Day.”
“How could I?” She actually shudders.
When neither of them elaborates, I hesitantly ask, “What’s Skate Day?”
“Every grade gets their own field trip before Christmasbreak,” he explains. “For grade four, that's a morning skate at an indoor rink.”
“Oh?” My voice comes out higher than usual and I force myself to remain calm. “That’s a big undertaking.”
“Yup. Annually scheduled chaos,” Tamara adds darkly.
My heart rate increases and I start to sweat despite the cold. “So…do just the kids skate, or…?”
Jacob shakes his head. “Kids, teachers, and some parent volunteers, too.”
Dammit.
“And when does this field trip take place?”
Tamara answers. “It’s always the last Friday before Christmas vacation, so this year that’s the twenty-first of December.”
After some quick mental math, I determine that means it’s forty-seven days from now.
I have forty-seven days to either come up with a reasonable excuse for why I can’t go, or teach myself how to ice skate.
CHAPTER 8
FOSTER
“Are you in or out? Where’s your head at, Fozz?”
Wondering why your sister hasn’t texted me back.
“Sorry,” I say as I throw my pair of kings down. “I fold.”
A chorus of “boos” rise from the small coffee table that four large men are crowded around.
I slide my phone out of my pocket and check my messages for the twentieth time today. There are no new messages from Beth since our brief exchange this morning where I wished her good luck on her first day and she sent me a gif of a very nervous looking kitten.
I’m not sure why I care so much, only that I do.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this anxious about something that wasn’t hockey-related, but Beth’s had such a rough week; I want her to have a win. She deserves a big one.
