Page 45 of Last Comes Fate

I’d brushed it off as jealousy. Nothing to get worked up about. Certainly not fired over.

Carrie’s expression told me it was a very real issue.

“Look, if it were just some photographers, I wouldn’t get so upset,” she said. “But they’re harassing students now. Yesterday, a few of them asked some of the kids about you and your daughter, wanting to know where you live, where she goes to school. As far as I know, no one was able to tell them anything. But one grabbed a girl’s arm and yanked her against the fence. It left a bruise, and the child was very shook up.” Carrie shook her head in disgust.

I swallowed. I knew about that, but really, what was I supposed to do about it?

“The district is trying to get a temporary police patrol in place,” Carrie said. “One is already coming to clear out the photographers before you leave. But no matter what happens, we can’t keep putting the kids at risk. And since you’re not yet tenured, the union rep agreed severance is the best way to go. Even if we do love you here.”

She reached across her desk and set an envelope in front of me, presumably carrying my discharge papers, or whatever they were called. I stared at it for a moment, unable to move. Was this really happening? First, my brother left, then my relationship fell apart, a surprise pregnancy, and now losing my job?

What was happening to my life?

“You’ll receive salary until the end of the year, after which the district has chosen not to renew your contract,” Carrie said. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to leave at the end of the school day.” Her hand squeezed mine like it was trying to pulse life back into it. “I’m sorry, Frankie. But your time at P.S. 058 is over.”

* * *

I was stillnumb as I gathered my personal knick-knacks and belongings from my classroom and the teacher’s lounge. There was surprisingly little after having taught the third grade for three years now.

Perhaps that should have clued me in on the importance of my job. So many teachers donated a variety of resources to enrich their classrooms, but I’d generally depended on the materials left to me by the prior teachers, subsidizing with parent donations when they could.

In the end, my belongings fit into a small cardboard box with room to spare.

A few books I’d donated to the classroom library.

A coffee cup with “Future Mrs. Darcy” printed on the side.

A box of my favorite English Breakfast tea and a half-empty jar of honey.

A picture of Sofia and a potted fern.

That was it. That was all I had to show for my years as a third-grade teacher at Carroll Elementary.

I’d still barely even registered that I was crossing the empty playground for the last time, ready to cart my box home, when my name was shouted behind me.

“Frankie!”

I turned at the back gate, thankfully out of view of the photographers who had been cleared from the grounds. Adam Klein was jogging after me across the playground.

I sighed and shifted my box onto one hip. This was really the last thing I needed. “Adam, what do you want?”

Since our confrontation in my classroom a few weeks earlier, Adam had wisely done as I asked and generally left me alone. Though I’d still noticed him watching me during staff meetings and covertly following me with his gaze when we passed each other in the hallway, he hadn’t so much as peeped my way beyond the occasional head nod or wave.

“Nice hello,” he said once he caught up. “Good to see you, too.”

I didn’t answer, just gave him Nonna’s patented “get it out, child” glare and waited for him to continue.

“Elaine said she saw you packing up your stuff,” he said. “Did Carrie let you go?”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Looks that way, yeah. They didn’t want a paparazzi target teaching the kids and drawing bad types to the playground. I guess one of the photographers hurt a child.”

Adam looked appropriately disgusted. “That’s horrible. Jesus.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Anyway, it’s effective immediately, so I guess I’ll be seeing you.”

I turned, wondering why I’d even offered that nicety after telling Adam I wanted him to leave me alone.

“It won’t stop, you know,” Adam called as I started walking away again.

---