Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(57)

That could be me if I was just given the chance.

“Go talk to her,” Jonathan nudged.

“I can’t do that! I can’t talk to people like you can,” I protested, watching as all the kids dispersed with their buckets and began collecting shells. I had never seen a group of children so calm and composed. “And besides, she’s busy. I don’t want to bother her.”

“You’ve gotta put yourself out there more, Pheebs. That’s the only way to make things happen.” He stood up. “If you won’t go, then I will.”

“No!” I tried to tug him back down by his arm, but it was no use. He was walking straight toward the class, giving me no choice but to follow.

“Okay, okay.” I grabbed the back of his shirt, bringing him to a halt. “I’ll go if you tell me exactly what to say.”

“You don’t need me to tell you anything,” he said. “Just be yourself. Maybe with a little less chocolate on your face.” He wiped at a spot on the corner of my mouth with his thumb.

“Okay.” I nodded. “Just be myself,” I said.

“Good luck,” he said with a nudge forward. “I’m proud of you!”

My heart was beating in my throat by the time I reached the teacher.

“Hi.” I waved to her, and she looked at me with kind brown eyes that settled my nerves. “My name is Phoebe. I just graduated from my student-teaching program at USC. I wanted to say…this is so amazing.” I gestured toward the group of children scattered along the sand. “We had a whole semester dedicated to outdoor learning and how important it is for child development, but when it came down to it, none of the classrooms I was placed in spent more than fifteen minutes outside for recess. It was nuts. The kids were bouncing off the walls. And none of the teachers could seem to figure out why there were so many behavior problems!” I was impassioned.

The teacher with the kind eyes smiled widely.

“This is just nice to see.” I shrugged, attempting to level out my enthusiasm. “I can tell how happy the kids are.”

“Well, you’ve caught us on a good day.” She huffed a laugh. “I can promise you that they’re not always this well-behaved.”

As if on cue, a little girl picked up a handful of sand and threw it in the direction of one of her classmates. Some got on his T-shirt, and after wiping it off, he began to wail. I looked toward the teacher, curious to see if she would step in, but instead, she looked back at me with her eyebrows raised. I took it as an invitation.

“Oh no!” I walked over to the two children. “What happened here?”

“Katie threw sand at me!” the little boy sobbed.

“I saw that.” I turned to Katie. “Katie, what made you throw that sand?”

“Jeremiah said my seashell was ugly!” She held up a piece of broken plastic.

“I can tell that that hurt your feelings.” I frowned. “But throwing sand isn’t safe. And it made Jeremiah sad. Instead you can say, ‘Jeremiah, it hurt my feelings when you called my seashell ugly.’?”

Katie planted her feet firmly in the sand, pointing them directly at Jeremiah. “Jeremiah, it hurt my feelings when you called my seashell ugly.”

Jeremiah looked off to the side. “Sorry, Katie,” he mumbled.

“It’s okay.” She sniffles.

I stood up. “Katie, Jeremiah still has some sand on his shirt. I wonder how you can help him.” I left them with that and returned to their teacher.

She looked at me with what I’d like to imagine was an expression of approval.

“Where did you say you taught?” she asked. I watched as Katie brushed the rest of the sand off Jeremiah. Thank god that worked, I thought to myself.

“Oh, I didn’t. I’ve been applying for jobs, but all the responses are the same. I don’t have enough experience.”

“Remind me your name again?”

“Phoebe. Phoebe Berman.”

“Phoebe”—she stuck out her hand for me to shake—“I’m Cheryl Groff. Funnily enough, my co-teacher is retiring at the end of the year. We’re over at Brentwood Friends Academy. I think you’d be a great fit, if you have any interest in applying.”

“Believe it or not, I already applied,” I responded with a laugh. “I never heard back.”

“Well, let me see what I can do about that, Phoebe Berman.”

I nodded feverishly and then said goodbye to Cheryl. On my walk back to Jonathan, I felt a tap on my leg.

“This is for you.” Katie handed me her seashell made of plastic.

“That’s very kind, Katie,” I told her. “It’s beautiful.”

I skipped the rest of the way back to Jonathan, throwing myself into his open arms as soon as I reached our spot. “You’re a rock star,” he said. And in that moment, I really did feel like one.

I placed the piece of plastic that Katie had gifted me into Jonathan’s hand, curling his fingers around it. “For you.”

The next day, Brentwood Friends responded to my application. I landed an interview, and subsequently, the job.

Who knows where I’d be today if Jonathan hadn’t pushed me?

I dig my toes into the warm sand, convincing myself that if I dig deep enough, I’ll find a broken piece of shovel like the one Katie gave me all those years ago.