𝑭𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 - 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒑
𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠, 𝑠𝑜 𝑤𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡
𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑑𝑜
𝑊ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠
𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑢𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢
"Where is Mr. Bilson." I sweetly ask Helen. She jumped from my voice. Flicking her dirty blonde hair from over her eyes, she did a few swipes on her phone before acknowledging my question. Her dazed green eyes found me as she slipped off the stool, clutching the phone to her chest, hiding the screen of her phone from my view. I couldn't stop myself from hiding my frustration.
"You can't trust these dating apps, Helen. Do you know how many predators are behind these fake profile pictures." I speak gently, touching her shoulder so she doesn't feel like I'm patronizing her. I don't want to make her feel bad, but she is forcing my hand into this. We have discussed her desperation over getting a date before. And now she is hiding things, so I don't end up lecturing her. Perhaps I had been a little too overwhelming, but... I was right. And that balances everything.
"Don't you have a class to teach, Zara." Helen said sharply, fidgeting with her phone not meeting my eyes.
I gasp, dropping my hand from her shoulder, hurt by the coldness in her voice. The coldness I didn't deserve. So this is how it's gonna be. Fine.
"I do. But I can't teach when the other classroom has been running like a carnival." I remark, shaking my head at her. Helen gasped, now coming back to the reality that she had tuned out. She lifted her head to look at the classroom Mr. Bilson was supposed to be in. He obviously hadn't shown up.
"I saw him this morning." Helen implored, looking at me with her wide-eyed. She always looks out for him. Even though he is 12 years older than her at 34. He is handsome in her eyes with his ink-black hair and sparkling blue eyes. Not to me, I don't like his attitude. He doesn't have the personality to pull off the kind of tantrums he throws every now and then. The slightest bit of appreciation I could have for his looks couldn't be registered as he had walked past me shoving my shoulder, making me lose balance and fall during my initial days at this kindergarten.
I want to call her out on this blatant lie. But I can't, it's not physically possible for me. I grow this connection with people after knowing them personally. I was 18 when I shifted here from Canada. I pursue online classes for a bachelor's degree in early childhood education. One day, I saw a brochure for an unpaid internship here at the pumpkin patch and I applied to get the experience to deal with kids. That was a year ago. After summer vacation, I got a call that I have gotten a job as a teacher, with pay and benefits, that was three months ago. That's when Helen and I began talking.
"It's okay, Helen. Go now..." I say in defeat. It is her job to ensure the kids go to class in time, don't push over each other after the final bell, usher them to the bathroom and sometimes stay in the class when the teacher has to leave for an emergency. But today, she was busy with her phone, tuning out the hullabaloo.
"50!" I hear my students holler in unison. I've taken a promise from them not to shout before they count to 50 and If any of them makes a mistake then they have to go back and count again. They completed sooner than I had expected, I am a good teacher.
Helen's gaze moved to her phone again. It won't be a good idea to leave her alone with kids, especially from Mr. Bilson's class. They are lawless and rowdy just like him. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves before I speak.
"Okay now. How about this, I convince both classes to study together and we sit outside. Weather is nice today."
Her face brightens as she leaves to arrange the chairs for them. Meanwhile, I convince both classes to be harmonious. It was going to be a good day, the weather is with us. But I can't fake a smile when something is bothering me. So, I decide to go release the pressure and head for the principal's office.
I knocked on the door thrice, as Mrs. Garcia never answers quickly. I always hear a shuffle of things like she is hiding her four-course meal in her drawers.
"Come in" Mrs. Garcia answers like she is bored.
"Mr. Bilson didn't show up again." I say without any emotion, hoping it sounds official. I am not snitching, I am merely stating the facts.
Her eyes lazily found me, "So?" She drawled, cupping her cheeks in her palms, propping her elbows on the desk.
Why am I not surprised by this attitude. I draw another deep breath and clear my throat. "So... he didn't inform anyone. This is wrong, he shou-" I couldn't complete my sentence as I was rudely interrupted by her.
"Did I blame you when you didn't show up, Miss Sinclair?" She raised her brows, removing her reading glasses so I could properly see her glaring at me.
I gasp in shock, then quickly recovered pursing my lips as I quietly say. "You should have."
I had bad flu and passed out on my bed. I vaguely remember calling 911 for assistance. I had missed the entire week, but she didn't say anything. And I still stick to my statement as she should have. That would have been the right thing to do. At least I don't think she is biased. Her devil may care attitude is for everyone.
"So now you're gonna teach me how to do my job?" She asked smugly, drumming her fingers over her cheek. She knows I would never do that. She just hates me. I know that. But can't she just do the right thing, for once.
Before I could answer, we heard the commotion outside. She smirked at me as I left her office after thanking her for absolutely nothing and join my class in the garden.
*****
Classes were going smoothly, as usual. Isabella had complimented my dress as she does with most of them. I blush at her compliment. Maybe in 15 years, if she still remembers me and comes to meet me. I will tell her how much her compliments had meant to me.
My darling students sat quietly with their hands on their lap, like the good kids they are, as I read them a story, The Boy Who Cried, Wolf.
"He wanted to run and play not watch the boring sheep graze in the field. So, he decided to have some fun. He cried..."
"Fuck!!!" A shudder zapped through me as I heard the word from Blake's innocent voice, he had just came back from his bathroom break. Then I heard it again, and again from the fruity voice of my students, no more than 6 years old.
"Fuck" Isabella repeated in the same tone, followed by Sam, Christina...
"Oh my God!!!" I begin to hyperventilate. I am dreaming... NO. I am not dreaming. I am nightmaring. I balled my fists, drawing another deep breath, choking on the air. Get a grip, Zara. You can do this, Zara. I shake my head vehemently to snap out of it.
"Please, honeybees. Please don't say that word." I plead with them, trading carefully. My gaze flitted over all of them. Their lips curl down but they agreed with a sly nod.
"Fuck!" Blake said it again, lulling his body back and forth, grinning at me. He always repeats things one last time. After I have told him not to.
I gave him a smile then focused on class "Now now, honey bees. We must not use this word again. Because it makes me sad." I curl my lips down to make a point. They gasped in alarm.
"What word, Miss Honey?" Blake asked innocently betting his eyelashes, pushing his lower lip out. He is an angel, all kids are. But his smile right now is a little too far from that.
I place my hands on my hips and narrow my eyes at him playfully. The kids began to giggle, covering their mouths with their palms. "Now, I want Blake to take my place and count to 100 with other honeybees." I cooed.
I stepped back and Blake confidently took my place. He has no stage fear. I wish I were also this confident when I was in school.
His belly bumped with my legs as he stepped towards me. He peered at me and gave me a puppy dog look.
"I am sorry, Miss Honey. I heard it in school. You said we should repeat what we learn in school." he said quietly, batting his eyes. Those blue eyes twinkled with meddling. It's the second time he had dropped the 'F' bomb. He had heard it from his father's mouth the first time. Fortunately, no other had heard it at that time. And I had told him not to say it again. But apart from being confident, he is also a bit crafty.
"Who said this word, Blake?" I simper, leaning down.
"Man in suit." He shrugged, then turned around to count. Wheels in my brain began to churn, thinking of all the suspects. No one here wears suits. If he had heard one of the parents say it, he will waste no time snitching them.
My eyes flickered towards Helen, who was leaning to the door frame with a smile plastered on her face. One I had to wipe off. I don't understand why people think it's cute when kids curse.
"Were you with him, when this happened." I whisper yell at her. Going closer to her ear, positioning my body so my honeybees don't see the monster inside me rear its head.
"I didn't know he heard it." She insisted. Fidgeting with her hair.
"Who was it." I query icily.
"Some guy. He was talking on the phone. Blake was in the bathroom and then that guy looked at me, Zara." She whispered, hope filling in her eyes. I waited for her to answer but that was all she had to answer, that he looked at her. Unbelievable.
"Then what?" I demand.
"Then his phone rang and he dropped the f-bomb. And then he kept on going..." I gasp in shock, giving a sideways glance at my honeybees.
"He said more than just the f-word?" I growl. She nodded meekly, biting the inside of her cheek. I smile, looking over my shoulder at my honeybees. True to the promise, they were back to one as someone made a mistake.
"I'll be back in a minute." I say hurriedly, marching towards the corridor. She called after me. But I didn't stop. I am not going to go through the hassle of making a complaint with Mrs. Garcia, only to be disappointed by her nonchalant behavior.
In the corridors, I saw 4 men leaving. They were positioned in a way where the one in the center looked like he was the lead singer of a band.
"Excuse me." I called after them, but to no avail. Initially, I just wanted to have a talk with them, but Mrs. Garcia's negligence and Helen's stupidity had festered my frustration. I broke into a run, calling after them like a dog running behind cars. The one at the centre was wearing a grey suit that looked a lot like the one I had seen in the Fashion magazine, so I shout. "Hey, Armani!"
They stopped at once and turned around. Sweet Mary Joseph!!! That's the most handsome man I have ever seen in this close proximity. My stomach did a happy flip. I felt so tongue-tied.
When I swayed out of my hazy stupor. I felt so nervous. Out of nowhere, the anxiety and nervousness I used to struggle with during school time came back. It was too much to take, the two other men and the giant towering over me. Armani's spicy perfume. And the change in his voice. I needed another deep breath if I remembered how to breathe in the first place.
Finally, when the other three left. I could speak my mind. It was an out-of-body experience for me. Perhaps I shouldn't have said it. But I will get to it later. It was disappointing to see a handsome man behave like a jerk.
Whirling around, I broke into a run. Afraid he will call me back and say something rude. My palms were clammy with sweat and there was an ache in my fingers as well from the blood finally rushing back.
"98...99...100!!!" I reached the garden as my honeybees hollered, completing the count. All the tension drained off my body as I heard my honeybees buzz. I wipe my sweaty hands clean and take a large gulp of water to soothe my dried out throat.
I lean to the door-frame where Helen had been standing before and smile at them. They are my responsibility, my honeybees. Their safety and positive surroundings are my biggest priority. I'll do anything for them. Even if it means bickering with a foul mouth with the sexiest name, Gian Armani.
*****
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