Bad for You by Weston Parker
18
BRITTANY
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Ms. Cleaver,” a voice came from my classroom door. “There was a delivery for you at the front office.”
I paused my lesson midsentence, frowning as I turned toward the door. As soon as I saw that whoever had brought my delivery to the classroom was completely hidden behind a massive bouquet and a teddy bear in a bikini, I blushed so hard it felt like my face was about to melt off.
“Thank you so much for bringing it to me,” I said as I rushed over, wondering where on earth I was supposed to go with all those flowers. “I’m sorry you had to carry an entire flower shop.”
The bouquet weighed a ton, and I caught one of the ladies from the front office winking at me when I lifted it out of her arms. “It’s no problem. I’m curious about that teddy bear, though. Any idea why it’s in a bikini?”
“None,” I said honestly, even though I had a very good idea who had sent it. I didn’t want to open the card right away, just in case my face really did melt off if he’d written something scandalous inside.
The kids made a huge fuss of the flowers, jumping up and clamoring around me to get a good look at them. They squealed with laughter over the scantily clad teddy bear and fired off so many questions that I lost track of who asked what.
“Ms. Cleaver, who are those from?”
“Do you have a boyfriend, Ms. Cleaver?”
“Do you kiss him?” That question was met with a chorus of “eww’s” and comments that left me in hysterics.
“Of course she doesn’t kiss him. People only kiss when they’re married” was one of them.
Another was from one of my more boisterous students. He was one of six kids, older than three of his siblings, and considered himself something of an expert on just about every topic.
“That’s not true. My sister says anyone can kiss anyone,” he interjected. “She says it’s not gross. It doesn’t feel like there’s a dead fish in your mouth if it’s the right someone’s tongue in there.”
I was assuming there was context behind that statement that he wasn’t giving, but I didn’t ask for it. The admin lady mouthed “good luck” at me and then sprinted back to the safe space of her office, far away from kids shouting about kisses and dead fish.
“That’s disgusting,” one of the little girls shrieked. “No one’s ever putting their tongue in my mouth.”
Just you wait a few years, Margie. You’ll change your tune. I found a spot on the cabinet running along the length of my classroom that was big enough for the bouquet and set it down.
Recess was coming up next. I’d go scour around the staff room during the break to see if I could find a vase in there that would take the monstrous bouquet. The teddy bear got wedged in behind the flowers. Hopefully, it would be an out of sight, out of mind situation.
“Calm down, everyone,” I called once I went back to the front of my classroom and clapped my hands. “I know that was exciting, but let’s get back to work.”
Time seemed to slow to a crawl, the minutes ticking by at an agonizing pace while I wrapped up the lesson I’d been busy with. All I could think about was Tristin and what he might’ve written in that card.
When the bell finally rang, I waited impatiently for the last of the kids to leave the classroom and then tore the envelope open. I recognized Tristin’s handwriting immediately, smiling as I touched the soft indentations in the paper with my fingertips.
Come to the coast with me this weekend?it read in his elegant yet blocky writing. Wrightsville Beach.It’s beautiful this time of year. Everything will be taken care of. Just bring your bikini.
My tongue slid out between my lips, my heart beating a mile a minute. He wanted me to go away with him this weekend? For a whole weekend?
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. It wouldn’t be the first time we’d be going away together, but it would be the first time as adults. Without chaperones.
I can always come home if —
My thoughts were interrupted by Beckett marching into my classroom, dragging a red-faced Lou behind him. He glared at me, then cut his gaze back to the boy and jabbed a thumb at him.
“This one has been acting up again. Get him under control, Brittany. We can’t have him causing a scene every day.”
My blood immediately started simmering. “Can we talk about this outside, please?” I glanced at Lou. “Do you want to sit down, honey? I’ll just have a quick word with Principal James, and then I’ll be back.”
Lou looked like he was about to burst into tears, nodding as he headed toward his desk. He sagged down into his chair like his legs had given out underneath him, and my heart ached for the little boy. He was only eight. No one should’ve been talking about him like that, but especially not his principal.
Beckett’s lips pressed into a hard line, but he jerked his head toward the door. “Fine. I’ll give you exactly two minutes, but only so you can tell me what you’re going to do about him.”
As he turned to leave, he saw the flowers sitting on the cabinet and spun back to me with fire spitting from his eyes. “Who are those from?”
“We can talk about that later.” Hiding my hand in front of my body where Lou wouldn’t be able to see it, I pointed discreetly at him. “In private.”
His expression hardened, a vein popping out in his neck. “Forget it. I have nothing to say to you. Keep that child in here. He’s becoming a danger to the rest of them.”
The door slammed behind him as he left, shaking so hard in the frame that the windows rattled. I sighed, closing my eyes and letting my head drop back to face the ceiling as I tried to rein in my frustration with him. Beckett should’ve known better than to act that way in front of one of our students, and now I was going to have to clean up his mess.
“Mr. James didn’t mean that,” I said to Lou, moving over to my desk but watching him closely. “He’s just worried about you. We all are.”
“That’s not true.” His voice quivered, and he ducked his head just as moisture started filling his eyes. “No one is worried about me. They’re just worried about what I’m going to do next.”
“Okay, let me rephrase that. I’m worried about you, Lou,” I said. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He swiped angrily at his tears, then took out his homework book and started scribbling furiously in it while I tried to grade some papers.
A little while later, he started talking. Even though I knew that I should technically stop him, I didn’t and let him speak instead.
“Those flowers are really pretty,” he said. “My mom got flowers from someone once. My dad got mad and hit her, then he went away and never came back.”
My heart cracked open in my chest, bleeding pain into every nook and cranny of my soul. He wasn’t done, though. With Lou, there was always another, more tragic part of the story to come.
“The flowers were from her work,” he said. “For her birthday. My dad forgot it was her birthday. I should’ve told him. I didn’t know he’d forgotten.”
“That sucks,” I said. “All of it, but it’s not your fault, Lou. Sometimes grown-ups do bad things, and it’s up to us to take responsibility for those things.”
His lower lip trembled, and then he banged his fist on the table and shut down again. I didn’t push him to open up or to say anything else. If that was where our heart-to-heart ended, that was okay. He didn’t always react well when he’d opened up even just a little bit. It seemed like today was one of those days.
All I could do now was to stay with him, to lend my silent support and hope that the powers that be sorted something out for him soon. We had all these processes in place for our students, but every last one of them was failing Lou.
The trip to the coast with Tristin all but forgotten, I picked up my pen and went back to grading papers. I hated it when my kids were going through something and I was powerless to help them. There had to be something I could do for him. I just didn’t know what that something was.
It was devastating to sit there with him, to watch him fight to get his emotions under control, and to know that tomorrow and the next day would just be more of the same for him. He had his chin resting in his palm, his eyes unfocused as he stared out the window.
Sounds of laughter and talking, shrieks of joy, and the occasional piercing blow of a whistle filtered into the classroom from the playground outside. He should’ve been out there with the others, playing and enjoying his break. Instead, he was being ostracized even further by having been dumped in here with me.
I didn’t mind him being here, but it felt unfair to him. We should’ve been helping him, trying to get the others to include him at the very least. That feeling of failure threatened to overwhelm me, tears burning the backs of my eyes.
How was it possible that we had folders upon folders filled with policies and procedures, and none of them were of any use to us in this situation? It didn’t feel like it could be possible. It shouldn’t have been possible.
Silently vowing to take another look over it all later, I pressed my hand to my aching chest and sent up a quiet plea. If there’s anyone out there listening right now, anyone at all, please help me come up with a way to help him. I’m not even asking for you to do it by yourself. Just show me the way, put me on the right track, and I’ll do whatever it takes to follow through. Anything.
