Newbie (17 page)

“I ditched the wig. It really itches. Besides, my morning sickness last all day, and the wig seems very likely to land in the trashcan.”

As I begin class, I notice that Sean is absent. Maybe he’s just late. His mom is probably super busy today getting everything ready for our class Halloween party. But remembering what Mr. Chavez told me about Mrs. Gregg wanting Sean moved out of my class and the cold shoulder she gave me at parent/teacher conferences, I start to wonder if she is going to blow off the class party instead.

Lunchtime—still no Sean. As the students settle in from recess, I call Mrs. Gregg’s phone number; and it goes straight to voicemail. “Hello, Mrs. Gregg. This is Sophie Kanakaredes. Sean isn’t at school yet, and I wondered if he’ll be coming later. I also wondered if everything’s okay for your plans for the class Halloween party. Please give me a call to confirm the party and let me know if there’s anything I need to have ready for you. Thanks.”

Lunch recess is almost over, and I still haven’t heard from Mrs. Gregg. What do I do if she doesn’t come through? My next phone call is to Mrs. Milton, the parent organization president who also volunteers in our classroom. This call also goes straight to voicemail. “Hi, Karen. This is Sophie. I’ve been trying to call Mrs. Gregg. Her son is still absent, and I wanted to confirm that she’s doing the party for our class. Have you heard from her? Give me a call when you get this message. Thanks, bye.”

More calls. “Hey Mina. Are you free this afternoon?”

“Yeah. What do you need?”

“I don’t think the mom who volunteered to do the Halloween party for my class is coming, or even planning to tell me she isn’t coming.”

“Are you kidding? Why not?”

“Long story. I’ll fill you in later. I wondered if you could help me pull a party together.”

“Sure. What do you need me to do?”

“Thank you so much. Can you go to the grocery store and get four dozen sugar cookies, five jars of frosting, plastic knives and bags of little candies to decorate the cookies with? Also grab my paints out of storage—the box says ‘tole-painting supplies’ on the box. And I need you to be here by one.”

“Will do. See you soon.” I really hope that plan B won’t be needed. Maybe Mrs. Gregg is just busy getting the kids’ party ready, and we will have more than we need. A thought niggles in the back of my brain that she might be doing this to get back at me. I hope not.

While I’m reading to the class, I hear my phone take a message. I send the kids back to their seats for writing time and listen to the recording. “Hi, it’s Kathy. I got your message. I’m bringing over some party games. Bye.”

A few minutes later, Mrs. Milton comes in, carrying a box. “I tried calling Mrs. Gregg, but she didn’t pick up. Unless there’s been some emergency, I think she’s just going to flake on the party. I brought a Halloween bingo game and some Halloween music so we can play musical chairs.”

“Thank you, thank you.” I give her a grateful hug.

Just before one, Mina comes in carrying grocery bags, wearing her old cheerleader uniform. Wow, it looks great on her. “There’s more in my car.”

“I’ll help you carry it in,” Mrs. Milton says.

Mina and Mrs. Milton make another trip to the car and return with the paint box, gallons of punch, a punch bowl, dry ice, skeleton streamers, and confetti poppers. While Karen and Mina organize areas for the party, I continue meeting with students about the stories they’re writing. Some moms come in and take their students out to finish their costumes or put makeup on.

Mrs. Milton starts the party by inviting the students up to the rug and reading a Halloween story. When she finishes, all the students are back from their costume touchups. She moves the students back to their seats and explains the bingo game. We pause in the middle of the second game to go to the stage for our fashion show.

I keep my class a little back from the stage door and ask them to move into their groups. Liam joins us in the hallway. Mmm, Liam’s dressed as a pirate with a brown band tied around his head. His white gauze shirt is open in the front (did I say “mmm”?) and he has a black vest over the top. His black pants are tucked into tall black boots, and he has a brown sash wrapped around his waist with a sword hanging from it. My heart is definitely feeling swash-buckled.

My attention switches as Mrs. Hays’ class leaving the stage, and I hand our CD to Mr. Chavez. Our song blasts, and the first group jumps the whole way. When they get back to center stage, they fall to their backs and throw their hands and feet into the air. After they wiggle around, they stand and hop off stage. The parents are roaring, and our class applauds and high fives the first group as they walk back to the end of the line.

Each group follows with equal enthusiasm and wackiness. Liam again goes with the Hulk group. I walk with the Egyptians at the end.

Back in class, the kids have to show each other what they did on stage, and it takes a few minutes to get back to the bingo game. After we finish the game, we break out the cookies.

“Wait, Lani, we have icing for you to put on it.”

“Marcus, please keep the icing on your own desk.”

“Yes, JP, it’s okay if Megan eats some of her candy.”

“Megan, only your own candy.”

We have only ten minutes left in the day when all the desks are back in place and we’ve kind of cleaned up. The bell rings, which charges my students like an electric prod, sending them screaming out the door.

I watch them leave and have mixed emotions. The first one is—Yay! The second one is, poor parents. We sink onto the couch…quiet…it’s so quiet. After a long pause and a deep breath, I hug Karen, then Mina. “Thank you so much for coming. You guys really saved us.”

N
ew shower. New makeup. Re-do the hair. Liam is picking me up to go to his place for dinner and help him hand out candy. I have no idea what to expect. He looks like the kind of guy who lives in a loft with soccer memorabilia all over. But who would trick-or-treat a loft? I also thought about him living out of town, open space and comfortable, a casual lifestyle. Again, not many trick-or-treaters.

When he drives us up to his house—well, we don’t, because we have to stop at the gated community entrance. But then we drive up to his house—in a family neighborhood—and park in the garage. Next to a Jaguar. Normally, I wouldn’t know one car from another, but the little kitty on the hood gives it away. It’s probably his mom’s. I start to wonder if I care that he still lives at home. That’s easy—I don’t. He’s great. It doesn’t matter where he lives.

Then I’m way nervous that I might be meeting his parents tonight. I think I do care about that. This poodle skirt easily triples the size of my hips. Who ever thought these skirts flattering or fashionable? Okay, but my waist looks small by comparison, which was probably the purpose. Makeup, hair, both good. Stop. It’s Halloween, they’ll get it—costume. I need to relax, be natural, calm, and friendly. My smile feels forced—it probably looks like it too.

He would have mentioned it if his parents were home, right? Of course. They’ve probably already gone to a party. Another car must have been in the third garage over there. Surely Liam knows that people freak out about meeting parents. How sweet—he wants me to meet his parents. Do I want to meet his parents? Oh, my gosh, we’re not together like that. I’m not even his girlfriend yet. I don’t want to meet his parents.

He opens the garage door and steps aside for me to enter a hallway beside the kitchen, where the warm scent of rich Italian seasonings coming from the oven. So far, all’s clear. Antipasto salads are already on the breakfast bar.

“Is it okay if we eat in the kitchen? I really don’t use the dining room—feels weird to be so formal.”

I’m looking around like there’s going to be an ambush. “Sure. It smells delicious. What is it?” I ask as he seats me on a barstool. There are only two plates. So they’ve already gone, good. Definitely good.

“Rigatoni. I hope you like shrimp.”

“Yes, I do.”
Even more, I like thinking about you cooking for me. This really increases your stock.
“Did you make this?”

Liam nods and smiles.

I smile back.
You are very sexy.
“Thank you.”

“Bon appetito.”

While we eat, I mentally run down a list of what I’ve learned about Liam. He’s gorgeous. He loves children. He’s chiseled. He’s fun. He can cook. None of these qualities were rare, but taken together in the mix that is Liam, they warm me, increasing my interest in getting to know him more. And with a little more time, what else will I add to the list?

After dinner, we move into the living room. There is a large flat screen on the wall and an oversized, overstuffed sofa and love seat facing it. “What’s your choice?” he asks, holding three DVDs. “Corny, funny, or classic?”

“Frankenstein.”

He starts the movie and joins me on the couch. I scoot under his arm and lay my head across his chest and shoulder, our left hands clasped. Every now and again, we hit pause to give out treats. Later, we don’t bother turning it back on—we aren’t watching the movie anyway. Liam’s lips and arms and chest almost make me forget that his parents could walk in any minute. I feel a little like I’m in high school, sneaking around, kissing a boy. It’s kind of awkward, but not enough to stop. We sink into the couch and I close my eyes, kissing Liam again.

When I open my eyes and look at the television, the news is on. “Did I fall asleep?” I’m lying next to Liam with my head resting on a pillow at the end of the couch.

“Yes. I’m a little offended,” he says, kissing me. “Shall I take you home now? It’s a school night, you know.”

“I’m not looking forward to school. I hear the real zombies show up tomorrow, results of the sugar crash. Well, and me along with them. I’m dead. It’s going to be a long week. Are your parents home?”

“Probably.” he says, looking confused.

“Should I meet them before I go?”

“That would be kind of hard. They live in California.”

“They don’t live here?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand.” My real estate brain kicks in and I quickly tally the property: east side of town, gated neighborhood, formal entry and dining, third-car garage, kitchen a chef would kill for, about 4000 square feet on a large lot—easily over $500,000. “You work at a school. How can you live here?”

“Do you remember me telling you I had worked for the family business?”

I nod, but I’m not sure I remember.
If it gets you a home like this why would you quit?

“Well, I was kind of born into it.”

Now I’m shaking my head. Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.

“There are trust funds involved. I need investments, and my home is one of them.”

“The Jaguar?”

“It’s not something I drive much, except it’s wicked fast. It was a college graduation present from my grandparents, so you can see why I can’t get rid of it.”

I nod again, but the thought passes through my brain this is probably still a dream because this isn’t fitting together yet. That’s confirmed as I stand and realize I don’t have balance. Liam steadies me in a tight hug.

“You thought I lived with my parents?”

“Yes.”

“And you still came in?” Liam’s voice sounds like he’s restraining a chuckle.

I tiptoe up to kiss him. “Yes.”

My head is still a little groggy on the ride home. I’m sure there’s something I don’t understand here.

I lie in my bed and try to unravel the snippets of conversation at Liam’s house. Start with the facts. Gated community. Beautiful home. Trust funds. Family business. Born into it. He avoids the conversation because he doesn’t want to say it. He can work at a school for next to nothing because he’s independently wealthy.

More facts. Lost my career. Spent my savings. Car repossessed. Basically dead-beat broke. We aren’t in the same league. What could Liam see in me? Does he know all this about me? Maybe some of it. Embarrassment tickles the edges of my thoughts. Probably the car. Well, we can still be friends. Kissing friends. My heart doesn’t know if it should flip or be crushed.

After school the next day, Liam steps through my door. “Can I give you a ride home?”