“I’m sure it’s no big deal. She can’t be surprised that her beautiful mother has a man who can’t keep his hands off her.” Finally the compliment, but Leo’s input is a typical man-with-no-kids answer. Xandra has never seen me with a man other than her father, and ours certainly was not an amorous relationship in the final years. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced it is a big deal. The guilt of putting Xandra through a strained divorce and now the confusion of seeing her mother with another man rouses tears all over again.
The pencil skirt is back in the screen, giving Leo his second warning it’s time to go. “Crap. I have less time than I thought. Can I call you in an hour or two when I’m over my work scramble for the day?”
“Sure, can’t wait,” I say, forcing a smile, hoping to leave on a good note after laying the latest teen trauma on Leo’s sweaty shoulders. I want to believe I’ll be able to stay awake to see if Leo actually calls back, but I know I’ll be fast asleep. I’m left with little comfort coming to Leo with issues about Xandra. It’s not fair for me to expect sage advice from Leo, so from now on I’ll be sure to keep the kid talk between me and someone who actually has them.
EIGHT
Hey, Mimi. Is Jared here yet?” The energy bar I gulped down in three bites between the library and my office hasn’t kicked in. With my adrenaline running high, I’m ravenous all the time. I was hopeful my appetite would shrink by the first of October as I comfortably settled into the role of person in charge who supposedly knows what the fuck she’s doing. So far, no such luck; a few weeks into school and my impostor syndrome continues to flare when I shake hands with students coming through the main gate greeting me with, “Good morning, Ms. Clarke.” I smile back and wish them a beautiful day and think to myself, How did I get here and why do these families trust me with their child’s future?! What awaits in my office is another aspect of my new job: supporting young teachers settling into their first teaching gig.
“He’s been in your office for a handful of minutes. Not sure how he got out of his classroom and up here so fast,” Mimi says, nodding at the clock hanging on the wall. October is the month students start to cross over from enthusiasm for a new school year into the grind of a month straight with no federal holidays. Jared’s request to meet must be important, his lunch break started barely three minutes ago. Before I head into my office, I check my texts and voice mail. No response from Leo after sending him two texts when I woke up this morning asking him to give me a ring before he goes to bed.
I blow out a sigh of disappointment before turning on the charm. “Nice to see you, Jared. I’m glad we were able to find a time to meet so quickly,” I say, seating myself across from Jared Jones, who fills out one of the oversize wingback chairs in the living room environment I’ve set up in my office. Jared has his phone out and his boots kicked up on my coffee table. He looks too comfortable using my office to relax and catch up on social media after teaching back-to-back periods separated from his device.
“Courtney Dunn, Benjamin’s stepmother, sure has great things to say about you. Or I guess it’s Benjamin who has given you the amazing review. He seems to love your history class. And he’s really looking forward to basketball season.” I find it’s always best to start any conversation between administrator and teacher with a compliment, it can help ease the inexplicable tension that can taint the teacher-administrator relationship. I want Jared to know I’m in his corner, though first I’d like him to recognize he’s in my office and get his feet off my coffee table. I don’t know where those Timberlands have been.
Unable to set his phone aside, Jared pushes off with the toes of his boots and leans his chair back on the two hind legs. “Yeah, all parents have a thing for me. Particularly mothers of sons.” I reach my hand over and forcefully push the arm of the chair, full of two hundred pounds of solid muscle and ego, sending it back down onto all fours. Jared looks at me, finally lowering his phone. “What can I say, every mama I know wants their son to turn out like me, a baller and a scholar.” Bam, there it is. The winning smile and attitude that ensure Jared gets what he wants, including this job.
I press my hands together hard. I read in some management journal that at the moment you want to reach out and strangle an employee for lack of professional judgment, you should press your palms together, hard. Apparently, it lowers your blood pressure, cools your nerves, and keeps your employee alive. Jared’s overconfidence with parents and too-casual comfort with me are fueling my residual aggravation over his personal request for three days off for a basketball camp.
“Why is it you wanted to meet with me so urgently?” I ask, deciding it’s best to limit further banter and get right to the point.
“So, here’s the ish. I know I was hired to teach middle school social studies and coach sixth grade basketball, but yesterday I met up with the varsity coach to shoot some hoops in the gym and get to know him.” Okay, I decide, Jared’s making up a little ground by being first to reach out to a fellow colleague. I’m impressed, very mature for a man in his early twenties.
“He’s a nice guy, but a busted ball player. Feel me?” Jared holds his hand up waiting for a fist bump as if we know each other like that. Maturity misdiagnosed.
“And you needed to meet with me because?” I want to keep this conversation on course and continue to believe Jared’s the promising hire I hope he will be.
“I can run circles around that guy, on and off the court. When he jumps you, can barely slip a credit card under his feet. Trust me, I love middle schoolers, my kids are hilarious, but I think I can serve Royal-Hawkins much better as the varsity coach rather than hanging with the younger team.” Jared’s on a roll, getting all worked up, believing his own hype.
“Here’s the ish.” I intentionally pause after throwing Jared’s slang back at him, and then I give a smile that’s meant to strike fear more than warmth. “At Royal-Hawkins we don’t do God, we don’t really do sports, but on March 14 every year we do a blowout Pi Day. It’s our Super Bowl.” I suspect my new humanities teacher is not following my scholastic declaration.
“Jared, Royal-Hawkins is first and foremost an institution that serves kids for whom academics are their ultimate competition. Shakespeare is sport here. This is your first year teaching in a classroom and coaching, do I have that right?”
Jared nods, and I can tell he’s searching that limber brain of his for a witty retort, so I jump right back in to wind this request down quickly. “I suggest you focus on dazzling me with your teaching skills when I come in for your first official evaluation, Jared. I would think doing me and Harvard proud in the classroom would be your first and foremost priority.” I hope to pacify and encourage him to do well by mentioning that I remember he’s an Ivy League product. Stroking the male ego always helps. “In a couple of years, once you’ve nailed teaching and demonstrated some coaching chops, then we may have something further to talk about.” I stand to signal his time’s up. I need to take advantage of this moment to cement roles here, so I pause on my way to the door to tower over this young king.