"Of course," she replied. Then, she patted a folder in front of her. "Okay, now I'd like to talk about something that might seem overwhelming but—"
The hammer had never come down with such a breathtakingly positive introduction. First time for everything.
"—I know it's more work, more time. There's a stipend, of course, though it isn't enormous. I hope you'll consider it."
I snapped my head up. "Wait, what?"
Lauren waved her hands in front of her, saying, "Sorry, I got ahead of myself. I'd like you to officially take on the role of science chairperson."
"Science…chairperson," I repeated.
"Yes. As I'm sure you know, Audrey chairs English language arts, Juliana is responsible for math, Shay and Clark co-chair social studies, civics, and history, and Linling covers humanities. You'll meet with them once a month as well as working with Tara and Drew to coordinate campus-wide collaborative planning and development. Sound good?"
"Um, yeah," I said, frantically trying to catch up with this conversation. "Sounds great."
"Fantastic. Now, there's one more thing I'd like to discuss with you." She gestured to the open folder in front of her and pushed it between us, angling it for us to read the information. "Backed by a major philanthropic organization, a number of universities, school districts, and education think tanks have developed a collaborative body for innovation in STEAM. They are looking to fill a seat in their upcoming cohort with an elementary science teacher, particularly one experienced with inquiry instruction across multiple grade bands. Naturally, I thought of you."
I shifted the folder to get a better look at the information. A year spent learning about the best—and newest—practices in science, technology, engineering, art, and math? And putting it into practice here at Bayside while I learned? Hell yes. I didn't care if I only slept two hours a night next year, I wanted this. I wanted to be an integral part of this school and I wanted to belong here.
Lauren pointed at a few bullet points. "As you'll see, the work is a blend of online, independent study, and in-person. You'll go to ten day-long weekend seminars in Cambridge over the course of the year plus several school observation visits around the city. We'll take care of getting your classes covered on the days you're off-site. Selfishly, I get the benefit of you coming back from these seminars and visits and training us on everything you learn but I also think this would be super fun for you. I think it's right up your alley."
"I'm honored you thought of me," I replied. "I'd love to go forward."
"Then you'll return? Next year?"
"Was that a question?" I asked on a surprised laugh.
Lauren leaned back, crossed her arms over her torso. "Honestly? Yes. I wasn't sure you would want to stay here or move back to New Hampshire. You wouldn't be the first person to relocate from far less urban areas and immediately want to leave. We've seen a bunch of staff move from western Massachusetts or out in Connecticut and feel like the city was too much, too expensive, too loud, too cramped. I get that, by the way." She motioned to the purple Williams College pennant hanging behind her desk. "It was some epic culture shock coming here after being out in the woods. Aside from the change of scenery, I wasn't sure this setup worked for you. This isn't a traditional district setting like you're used to and it's completely valid to prefer that type of environment."
"I don't want that," I replied, though it wasn't clear what I was rejecting with that statement. This was obvious from my boss's alarmed expression. "Sorry. That came out wrong. Sometimes, I get anxious or overwhelmed, and don't say what I mean."
"I know, Jory. And I know you've modeled real-time coping strategies to our students this year, whether intentionally or not. That's important. That's meaningful. Teachers are humans too and their social-emotional experiences are as relevant as those of our students. Showing them how to name their feelings and work through them is one of the most lasting lessons you've taught this year. I hope you recognize this as an accomplishment."
I nodded several times because I knew my voice would crack if I spoke right now. I'd always known—even when freaking out over this meeting—that Lauren was fair and deliberate in her leadership, and always concerned with doing right by kids and staff. But now I knew it.
"I've never had the same teaching assignment twice," I confessed.
"I know. I hired you, remember? I know where you've been." She grinned. "I bet it put a tremendous strain on you. I can't imagine bouncing around for years. But all that bouncing turned you into a highly competent teacher. One I'd fight to keep."
"Thank you," I said because nothing else seemed right. "I'd like to stay…and chair the science department. And the STEAM collaborative too. I want to do that."
Lauren closed the folder and pushed it toward me. "That's a relief because I've already submitted your registration forms." She reached for another folder and handed me some stapled papers—a copy of my evaluation. "Now that we have all of that business out of the way, let's talk about the lesson I observed. As you'll see, I found it to be effective and engaging. There's a fabulously long list of things that were very strong, but I bet you're itching to hear everything else. Right?"
I nodded. I wasn't a masochist but my anxious brain struggled to accept positive feedback. Something was always wrong, always in need of improvement. It wasn't that I assumed the worst. No, my brain just believed something bad was always coming my way and I couldn't allow department chair roles and amazing professional learning opportunities to seduce me away from the kind of vigilance required to stay mentally safe.
"That's what I thought," she said. "I have a few questions and some simple spots where you could push students to use more content-specific vocabulary and integrate some of the summarization strategies they've
