Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
I get along just fine with my students, and based on what my colleagues tell me, the faculty likes my work, too.
There are parts of teaching that I like.
It’s a privilege to have the power to shape impressionable young minds. I can turn these innocent kids into whatever I want, theoretically, if I’m good enough at my job. That’s pretty cool.
On top of that, my parents approve of my profession. They think it’s a good career path for a woman. They tell me it’s good practice for when I have my own kids in the future. It’s supposed to make me more nurturing.
I don’t know about that, though. I like my students, but I treat them more like peers than kids. I’m only twenty-one myself, so they’re not much younger than me.
I mean, I care about them, and I want them to do well. I get excited imagining them growing up and doing things in the world, using the knowledge that I equip them with.
Still, I can’t help but wonder if I would’ve chosen a different path for myself if it weren’t for my parents.
Now that I’m living on my own and only see my parents about once a week, it’s hard to remember why their opinions mattered so much.
But things were really different just a few short years ago when I was a high school kid myself, picking a major out of an overwhelming number of options.
My parents have never been supportive of any decision that veers even slightly from what they consider to be normal.
When I was nine and wanted to pick up skateboarding, they freaked out because I was starting to act like a boy. They made me see a shrink.
When I was fourteen, I cried for days because the popular girls thought my shoes were stupid and made fun of me. My parents had me committed into a mental hospital for a few days, saying I had suicidal thoughts.
So maybe I have to admit that I picked this job because of my parents? That sounds lame, though. It makes me feel so damn weak.
But then again, considering the things my parents have put me through whenever I wanted to do anything out of the ordinary . . . I don’t know.
I can always start over, though. It’s not too late. That’s how I usually console myself.
I’m young enough to get another degree and start on a completely different career path. My parents paid for my education degree, so I don’t even have any student loans to pay off.
On the other hand, I don’t really know what I want.
I’ve lived here in Ashbourne my whole life. Everyone I know is here. I’ve rarely seen the world outside. I want to, but it seems scary to do it on my own.
“Hey, Ava, got any plans tonight?” asks another male voice—an adult, this time. I twist to see Tony at the doorway.
As usual, his blond hair is slicked back with a few stray strands falling over his forehead, threatening to poke him in his bright blue eyes.
He’s wearing a crisp white shirt, a navy-blue knit vest over it, and a black blazer on top of that. Oh, and he’s also wearing a pair of green pants and a blow tie. That outfit shouldn’t work, but somehow he’s pulling it off.
“Dinner with my parents,” I answer honestly. I’m okay with my co-workers thinking I’m uncool.
Tony laughs. “Ditch them.”
“I can’t. They’re not the kind of people I can just ditch. They’re the kind of people who are going to make me pay if I do that.”
“Sorry.” Tony grimaces. “Childhood must’ve been rough, huh?”
“Pretty much.” I shoot Tony a grin.
“I’m meeting Jessica for dinner, and I thought you might want to come.”
“Aww . . . You wanted me to come with you?” I ask.
Nice. I just got an invite from the cool teachers. This second high-school experience is shaping up to be better than my first one. After the way Joseph isolated me from my old friends, I’m in desperate need of new ones.
“Yeah, of course. We’re the only young teachers in the school. We need to stick together against the old farts,” he says.
“I’ll take a rain check.” Quickly, I add, “Please ask me some other time, though. I swear I really do have a plan tonight.”
“Of course,” Tony says. “I’ve been telling my husband all about you and he’s excited to meet you.”
“Oh, he’s coming, too?” I ask.
“Yeah. And Jessica’s boyfriend, too.”
Actually, even though they call it “dinner,” the weekly meal with my parents starts at six and I’m usually home pretty early in the night.
“I was thinking of joining you if you’re going for drinks after dinner, but now I don’t know . . . I don’t want to be the fifth wheel.”
I can’t say this to Tony because it’s potentially offensive . . . but if his husband will be there, it’s going to be tricky for me to tag along with them.