Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
“Like what?” she snapped. “No thank you, I’m not in the mood for buffalo sauce and pickles.” With that said, she spun on her heel and stalked outside.
My eyebrows went up. “I have ranch too!” I hollered after her.
Here I was, thinking I’d gone overboard when I’d bought a total of four spices, not counting salt and pepper. An all-around barbecue rub and garlic powder were necessary for marinades, but I’d splurged and added oregano and chili powder.
On my way outside, I decided she should come over during the day at some point. I’d make her my pizza toast. Simple and delicious. All you did was take a few slices of bread, spread butter, marinara from a jar, add shredded cheese on top, then sprinkle some oregano and set the microwave to thirty seconds.
A perfectly good meal in under two minutes.
I took a seat on the patio, and Pipsqueak asked me why I even had peanut butter at home if I didn’t use it with jelly.
“I prefer it without.” I shrugged and tasted my coffee.
“Ugh.” Pipsqueak folded her arms over her chest and glanced out over the dark playground past my backyard.
I studied her and wondered if she was actively looking for something to be upset about. She’d mentioned this being the one thing that bothered her more than starting school on Friday. Someone was nervous.
“How can I help you prepare for school?” I asked.
She flicked me a brief look. “You were going to explain—”
“This takes precedence.” I cut her off patiently but firmly. “I know you don’t like hearing empty promises, such as, things are going to be okay. So lay it on me. Tell me what would help settle your nerves.”
She bit her lip, thinking, and fidgeted with her hands in her lap. “Every summer, I come back to school and find that my classmates have evolved during the break.”
Valid worry. These days, I only taught seniors, but back when I had different grades, the changes had been clear as day. Summer was a time many grew up. I could wish a class of juniors a happy summer, only to greet them as seniors a few months later and wonder if they were the same people.
“You’ve spent time with your friends during the break, haven’t you?” I wondered.
She nodded. “Some of them. Sammie helped me do this. It’s popular right now.” She extended her hand, and…I didn’t know what I was looking at. She had dark blue nail polish, which wasn’t new. Nor was it very pretty, but all girls her age did it.
“Uh…”
“The rhinestone!” She pointed at her index finger.
Ah. Okay. There was a rhinestone affixed to her nail. All right.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She smiled.
I cleared my throat and took a swig of my coffee.
She narrowed her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” I became slightly defensive; I couldn’t help it. “I don’t care about fashion trends, but if jumping on the bandwagon helps keep your worries at bay, by all means. I know it’s important to fit in, Pipsqueak, but—”
“No buts, please.” Her eyes flashed with uncertainty and a plea for me to understand. “It does help. I’m already so different from everyone.”
I sighed and looked at her. Really looked at her. And maybe I wasn’t the right person for her to talk to about this, because I was torn. At work, I faced these teenagers every single day. I knew how ruthless they could be, and Elise was already going to struggle a lot as she got older. She was starting high school next year, where every problem suddenly became magnified. In the meantime, adults would constantly minimize their problems and go on a rant about, “Just wait till you get older, dear.”
Teenage drama was bullshit and nothing in comparison to what she’d face as an adult, but it didn’t make the teenage drama any less real. Plus, throw in buckets of hormones, and it was a virtual Nagasaki for these kids.
In Pipsqueak’s case, factor in autism too.
“I don’t have anything worthwhile to contribute about trends, but I understand why you’re trying to be part of them,” I settled for saying.
“Thank you.” She sent me a quick smile. “But this one is beautiful.”
“Okay,” I chuckled into my mug.
Seven
I tried.
I honestly fucking tried, but in the end, it took my two classes of seniors less than a month to make me hate them.
They were so goddamn spoiled and indifferent that I wanted to wring their necks.
The eight students in my AP class in economics were the exception. Those kids showed up every Friday and were there to learn, to get ahead, and most of them already knew what college they wanted to go to.
But today was a regular Monday after Thanksgiving, and I had my regular students, my regular schedule.
“Welcome back, guys.” I went behind my desk as the last students trickled in, and I started writing on the whiteboard. “How many of you kept up with the news over the holiday? I’m willing to bet some of you have fathers in banking who’re losing a lot of sleep at the moment.”