Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
“Not so fast,” I remind them. “Come put your supplies away and hang up your projects to dry.”
“Miss Marsh?” One of the girls taps me on the arm. “I can’t find my shoe.”
She stands forlorn in one purple waterproof boot and one cartoon character sock.
“When’s the last time you had your shoe, Katy?”
She shrugs.
“Did you and Tamara trade shoes again?”
Another shrug. This one with some bottom lip protruding and eyes cast down at her mismatched feet.
I swallow a sigh. “Go find Tamara and see where she left your shoe.”
Katy scurries off. I watch her progress while picking up scraps of paper and pushing desks back into their proper arrangement. With Tamara’s guidance, who herself isn’t wearing any shoes, they find the missing footwear in the reading corner with the costumes Mrs. Gardner uses to have the kids act out characters while they read aloud.
The thing about first graders, they lie as easy as breathing. They’re just not very good at it yet. That, and it’s damn near impossible to keep all their clothes on them. Half my job is just making sure we send them home wearing only what they arrived in. Yup. It is a thankless and unending battle against the Lost & Found box.
“If there was such a thing as foot lice,” Mrs. Gardner says as we see the last stragglers off, “this classroom would be quarantined by the CDC.”
I grin. “At least it’s still cold enough outside that they’re wearing socks. I hate to see what happens when it gets warmer.”
She heaves a defeated breath. “That’s why I keep anti-fungal spray in my desk.”
There’s a lovely thought.
Hastings Elementary is just a ten-minute walk from my three-story apartment building. There aren’t any high-rises in Hastings, only little buildings and shops, and residential streets lined with townhouses or rambling old Victorians. It’s a cute town and everything is in walking distance, which I appreciate because I don’t own a car.
I let myself into my tiny studio and grab a granola bar from the cupboard. As I munch on it, I text Sasha with my free hand.
ME: I don’t need to dress up for dinner or anything, right??
I’ve never actually gone out with Lisa and those girls, so I have no idea what to expect. But we’re only meeting at the diner, so, really, how fancy can it be?
SASHA: Dress up?? I’m not. Jeans + tank + leather jacket + boots = me.
ME: Ok, good. I’m keeping it cas too.
HER: You bringing C? :P
ME: Why would I be bringing C??
HER: Lisa said bf’s were welcome…
ME: Haha.
Sasha knows damn well that Conor isn’t really my boyfriend, but she’s getting a kick out of teasing me about it. Or maybe she thinks if she refers to him as my boyfriend enough times, then it’ll magically transform from pretend to real. Poor, naïve Sasha. I have no doubt Conor will get bored soon, which means the charade can’t last much longer. A shame, really, because our supposed love affair continues to piss the hell out of Abigail.
Last night at a mandatory house dinner, Abigail’s boyfriend wouldn’t let up on all the “jock cock” I was gobbling while blatantly staring at my tits. During dessert he remarked that I looked like Marilyn Monroe only “extra curvy,” at which point Sasha asked him what it’s like living life with a micropenis. Abigail, meanwhile, kept scratching at the side of her neck every time Conor’s name came up, until her skin was red and raw and flaking off her. Is it possible to contract jealousy hives?
Of course, such pettiness would be entirely beneath me.
Entirely.
ME: You don’t think Lisa invited Abigail, do you?
SASHA: God I hope not. I don’t have the patience for 2 dinners in a row with that witch. If she’s there, we turn around and walk right out, deal?
ME: Deal.
Luckily, when Sasha and I walk into the diner later that night, Abigail and her douchebag boyfriend Kevin are nowhere to be seen. Lisa brought her boyfriend Cory, though, and Robin’s sitting with some guy who introduces himself as “Shep.” Olivia came solo, and I end up seated next to her, with Sasha on my other side.
I get barely a bite into my BLT before the girls start in on me.
“Okay, but, like, how is he in the sack?” Lisa asks, thoroughly ignoring her boyfriend’s uneasy squirm. Clearly he’d rather be anywhere else than smack in the middle of Conor Edwards’ exploits.
You and me both, brother.
“How big is he?” Olivia demands.
“Is he circumcised?”
“Grower or shower?”
“Could we not?” Sasha says, dangling a chicken finger in the air. “I don’t want to hear about dicks while I’m eating.”
“Thank you,” mumbles Cory.
“Fine, but is he a good kisser?” Olivia has her phone out, openly salivating at Conor’s Instagram. The boyfriends have at this point been reduced to chewing their burgers in emasculated silence. “He looks like he’d be a good kisser. Not too much mouth.”