Faking Christmas(7)
She looked like she wanted us to clap. It was almost 4 pm on the last day of school before our Christmas break. We just wanted to go home. However, when Miles joined the handful of gracious souls giving a few half-hearted claps, I clapped as well.
“We’ll start with the art department. Come on up here, art department.” Pamela waved her hands excitedly. Millie and her colleagues stood up and made a show of rushing toward the stage in mock excitement.
I slunk down in my seat and began making a mental list of the things I needed to do before leaving for Vermont the next morning. I had to clean my house, do one last load of laundry, pack, buy a new bottle of Tylenol, find a red pen for Kenneth’s thesis, water my plants, wrap my Christmas presents…
“What are you hoping to get?” Miles’s voice infiltrated my thoughts. “Most organized? Friendliest doormat?”
My toes curled, but I forced myself to smile, even as his burn began leaving its mark. “Better than Easiest A, which is what you’ll probably get.”
His brow furrowed. “What?”
“Aren’t you planning to read Harry Potter in class? Nobly teaching the kids everything about a book they already know?”
“I’m using it to study story structure, Celery Stick. Not to read it to them in class.”
My reply (which was actually non-existent) was thankfully interrupted when Pamela called the English department up to the stage. We both stood and slid out of our aisle. When we reached the stairs leading up to the stage, Miles motioned for me to go before him. I did so, putting on the careful mask of pleasantness across my face as I turned toward the crowd.
“The English department, as you all know, had a big change this year,” Pamela said into the microphone as she watched us approach. Her voice was animated and robust as if she were entertaining millions instead of a crowd of tired teachers being kept past their normal school hours. “We welcomed a brand-new teacher into our midst this past March. He stepped in and took over while our dear Mr. Grady completed his cancer treatments, and we loved him so much we decided to keep him. Miles Taylor has been a wonderful addition to our school. The reviews from the students as well as the staff have all been glowing.” Pamela turned and looked at me. “Isn’t that right, Olive?”
The smile on my face dropped for a moment before I rallied again, giving the audience two semi-sarcastic, enthusiastic thumbs up. Millie’s gaze found mine from the audience, and even though she looked like she was very much enjoying herself, I still clung to her like a lifeline. Miles stopped next to me, his shoulder brushing up against mine. He would have definitely appreciated the statement, and I kept waiting for him to nudge my arm, but he never did.
Pamela checked her paper at the podium and bent over, fumbling around in a large box full of trophies, looking for one in particular.
“Any last wagers?” Miles whispered, keeping his gaze forward. “Five bucks yours has something to do with forcing Jane Eyre down the throats of impressionable young high school boys.”
“Five bucks yours is for almost reaching the maturity level of your students. Did I hear that you had a philosophical discussion on The Terminator in one of your classes last week? Was that teaching the structure of story as well?”
His mouth twitched as he leaned toward me ever so slightly. “It was the first Terminator. Arnold Schwarzenegger. Very classy stuff.”
“I’m terrified of the minds you’re corrupting.”
“My guy blows people up. Yours keeps his wife chained in the attic. So far, we are equals.”
For some reason, unbeknownst to me, my lips seemed to want to smile at that. “So far, we are equals,” I repeated slowly. “Did you just quote Pride and Prejudice?”
A spot of color formed on his face, and I could see the sheepish grin beginning to appear when Pamela stood up, a trophy in her hand. “Okay, first up, Miles. From his interactive classes, to the way he scales rocks and jumps out of planes like it’s no big deal, and the fact that he’s a real live published author…the kids just love you, and so do we, which is why we’ve given you the Coolest Teacher Award.” With excited arms flailing, she motioned for him to step forward to take his trophy.
After he accepted his award with over-emphasized smiles and laughter, he scooted back to my side, bumping into me ever so slightly.
“You owe me five bucks,” he whispered.
“I’ll pay you ten to stop talking.” I kept my face benign. Pleasant. So, Miles just won an award for being the coolest teacher. Great. Good for him. But for some reason, my body wanted to sink to the floor and disappear. It was all so stupid. Awards for doing our jobs. I didn’t need a cheesy trophy as validation that I was a good teacher, even though, apparently, kids were now exiting my classes in droves.
“Okay, Olive, your turn. Come on up here!” Pamela looked back, motioning me to join her at the podium. I strode forward, a plastic smile on my face as I waited.
“Now, I can’t count how many times I’ve asked Olive for writing advice over the past year. Every letter I have to send to the school board, I run it by her red pen, that’s for sure. I know she’s helped many of you, as well. Her grasp of language is unmatched, which is why we’ve deemed her the Grammar Queen!” She held the trophy up as if she had just announced the winner of the Super Bowl.
My face felt like a balloon deflating. There was a collective hush in the audience before Millie began giving me a pity clap, the rest of the audience joining in soon after.