Newbie (37 page)

When I think about the next few weeks, I get this little tickling in my stomach. The end of the school year means the end of my employment. I’ve had a one-year reprieve from financial disaster, but it seems to be sitting just around the block, waiting for me again this summer. I pull out my budget and quickly tick off the changes. Rent is the same, utilities—same, food, hair, entertainment—same, credit cards paid off—yay! Oh, the phone. I won’t use as many minutes without the real estate calls, so I can switch plans and reduce the payment. I guess everything else stays the same.

This all means I’ll have an extra $550 per month through the summer, then I have to clear at least $1400 a month with a new job. Yes, I have to get a new roommate. I have a few more real estate closings as possibilities from my work with What’s-his-creep coming up, and I have almost $10,000 back in my savings account. If I watch my budget, I could live for at least seven months without having to think about moving home with Mom. I’ll get some type of job before then.

On Tuesday, there’s a note sitting in my box from Mr. Chavez asking me to meet with him tonight after school. I hate getting called to the office. I know I’m an adult, but every time, I feel like I’m in trouble.

The last bell rings, kicking the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy. I send my students out and make the long walk. Mrs. Hays is going the same way, just a few steps behind me. If I’m in trouble, I hope she doesn’t find out, but shortly after I take a seat in the outer office, she enters. She takes one look at me and drags a chair across the room before sitting.

Mr. Chavez catches the end of her seat selection and probably my eyes rolling at her. “Mrs. Hays, Miss Kanakaredes, please, come in.”

He hands us both a paper and we sit at his desk. The title at the top of the page says Mentoring Report. After skimming the questions, I look first at Mrs. Hays—she’s concentrating on her own paperwork. Then at Mr. Chavez—he just smiles. This should be interesting. The butterflies magically disappear, and I begin filling out the page.

I had no idea Mrs. Hays was getting a stipend for being my mentor this year. I read each question slowly. Really? She was supposed to help me create a curriculum map, units of study, and lessons along with gathering the needed classroom materials. That’s just the start. She also should have helped me learn to discipline, assess, and grade. The list goes on. None of it. She helped me with none of it, and I suspect she enjoyed watching me flounder. Many days, I thought she secretly wanted me to fail.

Bending over the page, I fill it in and even give a few details. Satisfied with my answers, I look back up. Apparently she has a lot to say and is writing lengthy notes under each question and into the margins. I want to lean closer and see what she has so much to write about. When she notices me watching, she pulls her purse from the floor and sets it on the table to block my view.

A couple of minutes later, we both hand our pages to the principal. His head begins swinging between our papers, comparing our answers and reading the extra notes. For a moment, his brows wrinkle with confusion. When he finishes, he leans toward us, resting his elbows on the desk and pressing his lips to his steepled fingers. It’s completely silent. At one point, he opens his mouth but closes it without a word, shaking his head. After another silent minute, he hands my page to Mrs. Hays and hers to me. “Read. Then we’ll talk.”

Mrs. Hays has claimed to have been a superior mentor. What? I look toward her to see her reaction and notice that her neck is turning very red. She’s either mad, which I suspect is true, or she’s embarrassed, which she should be.

“Ladies, you seem to have very different opinions about the mentoring process. Please explain.”

I’m not jumping in there first. Let her explain herself. But she doesn’t, and Mr. Chavez has to prod us again. “Mrs. Hayes, as you can see, Miss Kanakaredes wrote Beth’s name beside most of the mentoring standards, with the only exception being that she went into your class to watch you teach. The note, however, says that you didn’t teach during that visit, so I guess that’s still a no. Do you have anything to say about this report?”

Mrs. Hays shakes her head and pushes the paper back to the principal.

“Thank you, Sophie. You’re welcome to go.” We all stand and he continues, “Mrs. Hays, may I speak with you for a moment?” She reseats herself at his desk as I leave.

I should be sorry that she probably going to be reamed for the fraud of pretending to mentor me, but I can’t help feeling a little vindicated. At least he knows now.

May 3, 2008

Newbie Blog:

Launching Seven-Year-Olds

I had to send home the room assignments for next year, when my students won’t be my students anymore (sniff, sniff). They’ll be second graders. Part of me wanted to tuck them in my pocket as if I could pause time by holding back their next assignment.

Did I prepare my students for what’s coming next? Are they independent learners? Do they have the skills they’ll need to succeed? Do they recognize their own success? Did they develop a sense of who they are as learners and people? Have they increased their capacity to friend each other? Do they know I have loved them as learners and dear friends?

There are forty weeks in a typical school year, and I only have four left. Sad.

P.S. I’ve started applying for jobs. Nothing yet.

T
he princess party is tonight. All the girls in the school are invited to come and bring their parents. Costumes are requested. Girls and moms can dress as a fairy, a princess, or a queen. Dads received special invitations and are asked to dress in ties—we didn’t know if we’d get any dads to come if we said they had to wear crowns. Miss Torris is going to be a fairy godmother randomly sprinkling guests with fairy dust, i.e. glitter.

After school, we set up everything and we’re all ready. One of the moms from my class, without daughters at our school, has agreed to help me with the refreshments table. Miss Torris has volunteered to help there as well. Mina and Stev are setting up a sparkly castle backdrop for the photo booth. They’re putting glitter around the clouds, the castle, the flowers and on the unicorns’ horns.

The carriage rides are confirmed and Lyndi has roped off the area they will depart from, right next to the sidewalk by the front entrance. After Liam set up the speakers for the dance portion, he set up chairs for Mrs. Hays to use in the cupcake walk. She has also recruited two moms to help her tonight. One will do the music and another will give out the cupcake prizes. I’m not sure what is left for Mrs. Hays to do. Hmmm …

I have a table set up between the photo booth and the craft tables to use for the fingernail-painting station. There are chairs for me and Lyndi, and extras for Mina and Liam to hang out with us when they aren’t doing something else.

All the tables are draped in pink skirts with white tulle swags and bows. Pink swags and bows also hang above the doors. Although the decorations are simple, it will be enough since all the participants will be in costume and the floor will be a glittering carpet by the end of the night. I’ve stocked up on Cherry Twizzlers for Mr. Samson—this is going to be a wreck. I’ve warned him, though, and he tells me he’s on it, as are the three high school guys he’s hired to help with clean up. Bless him.

I am definitely going as a princess, which is secretly every girl’s dream. I’ve renovated an old bridesmaid’s dress for the party. Look at that! It turns out I
am
wearing it again. It has a prima ballerina look—a light-blue bodice with fine layers of floor-length white bridal tulle edged in a delicate lace. It’s like sitting in a swirl of meringue. Mina and I glued crystal accents to the skirt for most of the afternoon on Saturday. Now, the entire skirt looks touched with dew. I’ve added a wide, dark-blue sash, which I trimmed in silver beaded lace, to flow across my left shoulder and fasten over my right hip with a gigantic crystal-and-silver broach I found at the thrift store.

My dark hair is pulled up with small blue and white flowers to accent it, but tendrils hang in soft curls down my neck and shoulders. The final touch is my beautiful only-been-worn-once birthday present from my mom. She knows my weakness for shoes, nice shoes, beautiful works-of-art shoes, which I can no longer afford. They are “Stay,” silver open toe sandals with “Jimmy Choo” written on the insole. The strap over the toe is echoed in three more narrow straps, buckling over my arch, one around my ankle and the third near the bottom of the calf. Each petite buckle blings with crystal designs circling it. My favorite feature, however, is the diamond-crystal tiled spike heel. You can only feel beautiful wearing these shoes, now I feel like a princess.

Although Liam’s not late, I’m anxious—not for the party. It’s going to be a great night. I’m anxious for him to come. Finally, he parks, but I can’t wait behind the door and rush out to meet him on the porch. The air seems charged with magical energy. He stops the moment he sees me, looking stunned. His eyes study my face, then all of me. His eyes gleam, and a small white box he was carrying drops from his grip.

“Sophie.” In one step, he crosses the distance between us and pulls me into his arms. “You’re gorgeous.” His lips slant across mine. The passion of his kisses awakens my every nerve, tight as violin strings that sing with the slightest rub. My whole body tingles at his touch. When he breaks off the kiss, I feel weak but crave more.

“I want to give you a complete fairy tale tonight. That’s the plan, but I got a little off just now.” He releases me and retrieves his box. When he returns to the porch, he takes my hand in his and kisses me on the soft skin between my thumb and wrist, then presents me with the box. “For you.” Inside is a corsage of white lily of the valley and a blue orchid, which he slides onto my wrist.

When we walk into the school gym, I remember today is Beth’s due date, yet here she sits. I hope the party makes her forget she’s going overdue.

It looks like everyone is enjoying the evening. Girls join in the different activities while parents and neighbors visit casually. Liam asked to have the dance portion broken into two parts, one early in the evening and one at the end so no matter when students come, they can catch one of them. It was a great idea. Everyone did the “Hokey Pokey”, danced to “YMCA”, tried to do the “Boot Scootin’ Boogie”, joined lines for follow-the-leader”, and a couple of songs for regular dancing as well. Sometimes it looked a little like a mini mosh pit of jumping craziness.

Miss Torris stands beside me. “This is the best party we’ve had for the girls—ever. You’ve done a great job on this, but you look a little tired.” She takes my arm and pats my shoulder. “Why don’t you sit down for just a minute, slip your shoes off, and rest. I’ll come get you if we have a rush on the treats.”

“Oh, you
are
my fairy godmother.”

I sit and begin unstrapping my heels one sweet little buckle at a time. The blood returns to my toes as I pull out one foot, then the other. I wiggle and then point and flex my toes—Oh so good. I’m out of shape, well, my toes are. I need a regimen to increase my strength and endurance for wearing heels—toe-ups or toe-crunches or something. I’m not willing to give up Jimmy Choo, Stuart Weitzam, or Miu Miu. I could slip them on after work and maybe wear them over the weekend. There’s nothing like high, high heels to shape your legs with a beautiful ballerina curve to the foot and stretch the calf muscles. Truly, they work miracles, all the way up to holding your shoulders back and head high, all from a little four-inch heel.