“Excuse me?”
“Maybe I’m just being paranoid,” she says, turning away from the door to face me fully. “I get the impression you don’t like me very much.”
“I like you fine, Zoey,” I say, wishing I wasn’t such a shitty liar. “You’re a very bright student.”
“It hasn’t been easy, you know,” she says, sounding more immature than I’ve ever heard her sound before. “I’ve been the new kid a lot, but it’s especially hard coming to a place like this.”
“I know what you mean,” I say, and I do. I was also once new in Victory Hills. And while the town looks like it was designed by Norman Rockwell, that cliquey exterior can be hard to crack. I still feel like an outsider, and Danny does, too. “But it does seem like you’ve made friends quickly.”
“Why? Because I can run a straight line?” She sounds defeated. Even though she’s winning popularity contests, she feels like a loser. That’s another teenage thing. Constantly feeling like you’re never enough.
“That’s not the only reason,” I encourage her. “But I’m sure it helps. I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about your performance on the track.”
“You know my own mom won’t even come watch me?” she asks, a new sadness in her voice. “It’s bad enough we move all the time because of her. I come to a new place and I’m actually good at something, and she’s too self-involved to care.”
A pang of sorrow enters my gut and I try to swallow it down. I’ve not considered Zoey’s predicament. Her role as the new kid. Coming from a chaotic home life. Maybe I’m only seeing what I want to see, ignoring the full picture.
“I’m sorry, Zoey.” It’s all I can say. My feelings about her are still conflicted. “You better get to class.”
She nods, opens the door and leaves. My second block students fill the classroom, annoyed my impromptu meeting with Zoey disrupted their routine.
Eighteen
Now
Rarely do I feel I abuse my position as an authority figure, which is why I find it difficult to stop thinking about Zoey and our conversation yesterday. I’ve spent so much time viewing her as a threat, I didn’t consider her unsettling behavior might have reasonable explanations. I suppose that’s what Pam was insisting all along. In the past, I’d projected my own fears about Brian onto others. Is that what I’d done with Zoey? Was this my way of bringing a dose of excitement into my life? Bringing back the flutter of the new?
“I’m ready for the weekend,” Marge says, walking up behind me in the employee lounge. I’m shakily pouring a cup of coffee, still not feeling fully awake. “Any plans?”
“Yes, actually. Danny rented a cabin in the mountains,” I say, smiling. “We leave tomorrow morning.”
“A cabin in the mountains,” Marge says, arching her eyebrows. “Sounds romantic.”
“I need to get away,” I say, although Marge has no idea how much my mind has been longing for an escape.
“You going to the track meet tonight?” she asks, as if I’m no different from one of the students. Because that’s how Marge is, forever winning the award for Most School Spirit.
“I don’t think so,” I say, failing to come up with a speedy excuse as to why.
“Well, that’s where I’ll be,” she says, pushing open the employee room door with her backside. “That Zoey Peterson is one helluva runner.”
Zoey Peterson. Oh, this kid won’t stay out of my head. She displayed a different side of herself yesterday. I remember that gleam of desperation in her eyes when she admitted, through shame, that her mom wouldn’t even come to her meets. It’s bad enough she’s made Zoey change zip codes three times in the past year. I can’t imagine having a child, but if I did, I’d support their activities.
When Zoey walks into my classroom, I feel the dynamic between us has changed. Her posture is straighter, and she seems attentive during my lecture.
“Good luck at the meet today,” I tell her, at the end of the block.
She flips her ponytail to the opposite shoulder. “Thank you, Mrs. Mayfair.”
Darcy, who barely spoke today, follows her out. And Adam follows Darcy. I feel sorry for my students. Still, they trudge through their days with summer on the horizon. I suppose you can put up with anything for a few weeks.
My planning period is interrupted by the buzz of my room intercom.
“Della?” asks the secretary’s voice from overhead.
“Yes?” I respond to the ceiling.
“Pam would like to see you in her office.”
“Thanks.” I pause the Europe itinerary that I’ve (finally) taken the time to plan. I’m six days in, having us fly into Paris and then take a train further south. Once I finalize our course and book hotels, I can put more detail into the daily excursions. The museums and parks and tours. Danny did give me a budget, but it’s so large it’s almost insulting to call it that. At least now when he asks how planning is going, I won’t be completely lying.
“You rang?” I ask, standing in the doorway of Pam’s office.
“Sorry to make you walk down here,” she says, waving for me to come inside.
“No problem,” I say, taking a seat. “I wasn’t very busy.”
“Good,” she says, clearing a stack of papers and placing both forearms on her desk. “I was out yesterday, this time because Daniel broke his arm.”
“Oh goodness,” I say, a rowdy image of her twin boys entering my mind. “Is he all right?”
“Yes,” she says, sighing. “They were roughing around outside with the neighbors and Daniel fell off the trampoline. We always tell them one at time, but what can you do?” She raises her hands and shakes her head. I’m not even sure Pam was aware, all those years ago when she conceived, how chaotic her life would become.
“Don’t you have one of those safety nets?” I ask, immediately regretting the question. I don’t want to come off as one of those childless people who thinks they know everything about raising children.
“Yes,
