Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(15)

The earthy smell of the garden feels like home. The garden stays in bloom all year thanks to Mike the groundskeeper, but the flowers smell especially ripe today, almost as if they’re welcoming everyone back from summer break. We usually wait until the second week of school to bring the kids out to the garden to sketch the flowers, but the poppies look so vibrant, I wonder if it might be worth it to get a head start on that lesson today.

There are two buildings on either side of the garden, one made of brick and the other made of stone. The Brick Building, as we so astutely call it, houses the school’s preschool through kindergarten classrooms. That’s where I spend all my time—teaching pre-K. Because our school is known mostly for its early childhood program, not many kids continue here after graduating from kindergarten. Those who do move over to the Stone Building, where grades one through eight live. Each grade has so few students that they require only one teacher each. Also tucked away in the Stone Building is the teachers’ lounge, which is where I’m headed for a quick visit to the laminator.

I practically crash into Teacher Rob as I’m walking through the front door.

“There she is.” He gives me a slow once-over and smiles wide with a mouth full of coffee-stained teeth.

“Here I am!” I grab the edges of my skort and curtsy. “Hi, Teacher Rob.”

Theoretically, I could drop the Teacher and call him Rob, like every other adult on campus does, but thanks to his heightened interest in me, I’ve always felt more comfortable with there being a slight air of formality between us. The Teacher serves as a buffer.

“Ready for the kids?” he asks. “I hear you and Cheryl have your hands full this year.”

I nod. “We have eighteen kids this year…. I barely survived last year, and we only had fifteen. We’ll need all the help we can get!”

“Durango and I will stop by whenever we can,” he offers. I set myself up for that one. Teacher Rob is our music teacher, and Durango is the name of his guitar. I’m just glad he didn’t mention Maverick. His harmonica.

“Oh, don’t worry about us.” I shrug him off.

“Nonsense! You know how much I love to visit you.” He winks. “And I’ll bring Maverick; I know you get a kick out of that.”

“Of course.” I plaster a smile on my face and nod placatingly. Usually I try to keep these interactions as short as possible, but not today.

Practice flirting with Teacher Rob, the list demands.

I bat my eyelashes, something I’ve seen Nora do over and over again that usually seems to do the trick.

“Oh, Teacher Rob.” I giggle at nothing in particular.

I scan him from top to bottom, trying to find something about his appearance to compliment. He’s almost completely bald, in that shiny, waxy sort of way that only some bald men can accomplish. I say almost because of the long rat tail of gray hair cascading down the nape of his neck.

I survey his outfit, though it’s not necessary. He’s been wearing the exact same khakis and white T-shirts with yellow stains in the armpits since I’ve known him. I try to remember the Cosmo article I read on flirting and ways to do it that don’t involve giving an appearance-based compliment. Teasing is the only other strategy that I can remember.

I reach out and tickle Teacher Rob under his ribs.

He flinches, his rat tail bouncing with the sudden movement. He cocks his head to the side and looks at me with furrowed bushy eyebrows as I jerk my hands back. His mouth hangs open, and then shuts. For the first time, he has nothing to say to me.

I seize the opportunity to quickly make my exit, forgoing the lamination station. That will have to wait.

“Well, I’ll see you at ten sharp for music. Can’t wait!”

I shuffle past him, feeling slightly disgusted by my actions and the fact that I thought flirting with a sixty-year-old man with permanent pit stains would get me any closer to having sex. I guess not all my tasks are bound to be winners. It’s all about trial and error.

I cringe as I make my way out of the Stone Building and over to the pre-K classroom, thanking my lucky stars that we don’t have an HR department.



* * *



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It’s common knowledge that Cheryl, my co-teacher, and I have the best classroom in the school, partly because of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the garden, but mostly because of the way that we set it up. Most of the kids are playing at the lunch tables with blocks and paints. Cheryl is with them, going over how to use the materials safely. The reading nook to the left is overflowing with books, pillows, and blankets so the kids can get comfy and relax while they read. I’ve spent hours of my life branding all our books with Property of Pre-K labels. Jane, one of the kindergarten teachers from next door, loves to borrow them, then claim they were hers all along. Cheryl mutters profanities under her breath every time Jane knocks on our door, but I’m secretly indebted to her for giving me a reason to use my label maker.

Next to the reading nook is the science station, which is stocked with writing utensils and microscopes so the kids can bring in nature from outside to observe. To the left is a stack of scientific notebooks, one for each kid, organized in alphabetical order and labeled accordingly. But the real highlight of our classroom is the pretend play area, which we stock with different materials every day depending on what the kids are interested in. Currently, they’re headed to Disney World, using a row of chairs as an airplane. I make a note to grab some pilot gear from the storage closet for them to play with tomorrow.