Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
My fingertips run along the well-used, and in some places grooved, surface. Years of dedicated use by my grandmother from faint scratches to a few ink stains still show in the wood. To me, they’re a perfect reminder of hard work and dedication to her craft. The drawers still smell like cedar and the velvet lining is still in place. Despite the signs of wear, the craftsmanship my grandfather put into this piece remains evident. He carved our family crest in the front center. It’s what everyone sees when they walk into my office.
The pile of papers and stack of folders give me heart palpitations. I took the month of July off to sightsee around England, France, and Rome, giving myself a much-needed vacation. At times, while sitting in a vineyard in Tuscany, I wondered what it is I’m doing with my life. I’m thirty, with zero romantic prospects, and contemplating whether I should use a sperm bank or not while I’m unsure if I even want children after being a principal. Kids are tough. Parents are tougher.
The stack of folders on my desk are for new students who are transferring here. At first glance, I count twenty. This is a good thing aside from the daunting task of reading through each file. I like to know who is coming and ascertain how this school can help them become better students and prepare my staff for any potential issues.
After my ninth or tenth file, I open the next and read the name, and then read it again because I’m certain my eyes are deceiving me: Marigold “Goldie” Jenkins.
I close the flap and sit back in my fabric chair, which doesn’t go with my ornate desk at all. But there’s something about leather, heat, and constant humidity I don’t like. Having my legs stick to my seat is uncomfortable and slightly embarrassing when you stand to greet or see someone out of your office.
My eyes close and I inhale. There are a few things in this world that send me into a tailspin and each one of them revolves around the name Jenkins. I lean forward and open the folder again. Sure enough, the name Marigold Jenkins shines as brightly as her father’s name in the school board minutes.
I press the button to summon my assistant. “Jean, can you come in here for a moment?”
Jean Belville has been the school secretary since I was in the first grade, which was a hell of a long time ago or so it seems when I start adding up the numbers. She’s efficient and good at her job, but behind in the times of computer technology, and well past retirement. I don’t have the heart to push her out, and neither does the school board. Mostly because we’d be up shit creek without a paddle. The woman can remember just about anything from her years at this school. I swear, when she does retire, we’re going to have to keep her on staff so we can pick her brain on a daily basis.
“You rang, dear,” Jean says when she steps into my office. During the summer, she dresses in tailored shorts with matching polo shirts in colors like salmon or sunshine. Nothing is pink or yellow with her. Jean adds flourishes to everything. I love that about her. Her fingernails and toenails match her outfits, which I know she gets done at Nail Spa. Every time I go in there, it’s gossip city and I have no choice but to put on my headphones. I don’t need to hear about who’s doing what to whom. Most of the people in there are parents of a child or two in my school, and the less I know about their extracurriculars, the better.
Today, Jean’s outfit is white and blue, which is probably closer to teal. For all I know, the color combo is something like cloud and seafoam. Maybe I’m color blind.
I hold up the Jenkins file, and without even knowing whose file it is, Jean grimaces.
“How long have you known?”
“About a week,” she says sheepishly.
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“You were recovering from jet lag, and . . .”
She’s not wrong, but still, this is something I should’ve been made aware of. Although, there isn’t anything I can do about Marigold enrolling in the school I oversee, unless she’s a threat to school safety or I quit. The latter is the only option. Everything I’ve heard about Marigold is how she’s the perfect child.
I drop the folder on my desk, followed by my head. “Jean,” I say her name in a whiny tone. “How am I going to survive the year?”
“From what Linda tells me, she’s a good child. I doubt you’ll have to deal with her.”
I lift my head slightly and then put it back down. “He got the landscaping job. Again!”