After undergrad, Marisol and I shared an apartment together in a Harlem four-story walk-up with a hot plate, while I went to Columbia’s Teachers College and then returned to Spence to teach high school science. My love of teenagers had solidified tutoring young women in math and science while I was at Wellesley, and Marisol hopped around hawking nail polish to New York’s high-end nail salons. Edging up on twenty-five, we were both antsy for adventure, neither of us having ever traveled west of the Mississippi. Problem was, Marisol had no money. So, the little savings I had, I offered to split with her if she promised to come with me. Between the two of us we packed three duffel bags and swore to my parents we would take care of each other no matter what. All these years later, Marisol’s nickname stuck, and on campus, at the Clean Slate, really anywhere, I still have to make a conscious effort not to howl “CHACO TACO!” at the top of my lungs like my ten-year-old self when I see her. And we’ve kept our promise to take care of one another.
“Hank Chambers’s third wife dumped him over the summer, and it looked to me like Cynthia Wright is laying down some groundwork for the coveted spot of spouse number four. Also, I’m sure I spied freshly planted hair plugs on Anders Nilsson. And when the topic of our pilot year of robotics and coding curriculum came up, all eyes swiveled to the Pacific Rim contingent. Lots of eager parents wanting to know if there are multiple AP offerings with this new curriculum and how it will read on school transcripts.” I think about what other juicy tidbits I may have for Marisol. I come up empty minded. “Other than that, it was a pretty tame meeting.”
“Did Winn show up for the meeting, or was he MWR like last year?”
“MWR?” There are an insane number of acronyms in education: CWP （crazy while parenting）， DMW （dead man walking, aka any child being sent to my office）， and my personal favorite that applies to anything and everything unexplainable—WTF.
“Missing While Rich. It’s when you forget all about your responsibilities because you decide to jet off to the Seychelles last minute.”
“What’s got your thong in a twist this early in the school year?” I call out. Marisol’s not usually the skeptical one when it comes to families at Royal-Hawkins.
“Thong? Please, I prefer to let my flower breathe. A thong is for when there’s a chill in the air and I need to cover up.” It’s true, while Marisol dresses business chic on the outside, underneath is a nudist wanting to break free. “Did you hear that mother sitting next to me getting her nails switched out? She was screaming into her phone organizing her kid’s teacher, speech therapist, friendship coach, and violin instructor to meet, and it’s the very beginning of the school year. I don’t know how you deal with these people. It took all my effort not to grab her phone and dunk it in the foot basin.”
“Speaking of those people, Winn asked me to get a drink with him after the meeting last night. I promised him one drink and suggested we walk the few blocks to Bottle Shoppe. He was reserved at the meeting, other than calling for a few votes, but when we were walking together, he started talking all about our new sixth grade teacher, Jared Jones. How they share a love of basketball, how lucky we are to have him on faculty, how he could make a real difference in the school. Noise like that.”
“Do they know each other?”
“I don’t think so, unless Winn follows Ivy League basketball. Harvard, not Yale. Besides, Jared’s twenty-four. Winn’s obviously not, so I don’t even know where their paths may have crossed.” Influenced by an afternoon spent with Roan, Marisol raises her eyebrows. I know what she’s thinking, and I shake my head no, I’m fairly certain Jared has an exclusively all-female five-star dating rating. “I had to remind Winn I only had one drink in me, so he’d better get down to business. I can only fake interest for so long after a fifteen-hour day. He told me he’d talk fast if I promised to keep the conversation between the two of us.”
“You mean the three of us.”
I throw Marisol an obviously glance.
“I was ready to hear something big, but the next twenty minutes were spent talking at me about the school and diversity hiring and our athletic teams and how we can’t do anything to lose Jared Jones because he’s such a necessary addition to the school.”
“Who’s this guy, the second coming?”
“To schools? Yes. He’s a Black, double Harvard degree, hoops playin’， six-foot-four, stylin’ package of cougar meat. He was out front the first day of school introducing himself to all the kids and their families. Hand to God, the receiving line to meet him was a hundred mothers deep.”
“Wow, you really landed yourself a diamond. I bet there’s more than a few school leaders in Southern California who are none too happy with you getting your hooks in Jared on your first cast into the hiring waters.”
“No doubt. Once again, they have to explain to their parent body why they couldn’t hire outside the White female teaching pool.” Marisol nods. Schools are flooded with White women, particularly in Pasadena. Every spring when job openings are announced, schools practically throw down and wrestle over applications from men and people of color. If you are Black or Brown, have a college degree, and pass a background check, you’re going to get an interview.
“Anyway, by the end of my cranberry juice to his two craft beers, Winn’s monologue had nothing important to do with the day-to-day, or even the future of Royal-Hawkins as far as I could tell. Seems this year Winn’s looking for a new buddy to go with him to Lakers games.”
“Doesn’t he have enough clout chasers to fill his courtside seats?” Marisol asks with a look of annoyance for ultrarich people’s inconveniences. I hold back from reminding her that her pocketbook is plenty padded these days.
“Yeah, but the street cred he gets with the players by bringing a young king who looks like Nineties Air Jordan is tough to pass up. Winn and Jared would make one fine-looking salt-and-pepper set on the jumbotron.” I may be his boss, but I’m not blind. If teaching doesn’t work out for Jared, I may have to do a little digging and find an alumnus of Royal-Hawkins who is a successful Hollywood agent.
“Get the Gen Z balls on this guy,” I whisper, leaning in. Marisol’s eyes grow huge. Once it was out of my mouth, I knew she had taken me literally. “After his new teacher orientation to Royal-Hawkins, Jared swaggered into my office and asked for three days off in November to attend a basketball camp. The first day of his first year of teaching, and he has the balls—I mean, guts—to ask for time off!”
“And?”
“And HELL NO! Spend a handful of years putting in the time and killing it teaching in my school and then maybe, MAYBE you can have a few days to go to man camp.”
“I hear about employee friction 24-7 in my own company, I don’t need to hear about it in yours. But I’ll tell you this, I’m raising men right now. Not one of them turns out that perfect, not even in the best of circumstances. I bet Jared’s got a pile of unpaid bills and empty Chinese takeout cartons under his bed stinkin’ up the joint like he’s buried General Tso’s body under the sheets,” Marisol says, growing bored. “So, come on, I’m barely keeping my eyes open here. At next month’s spa date, you better bring me something juicy. This stuff is sorry. I’m going to have to start binge-watching a dark Hulu series if your life becomes as dull as mine.”