5
Landon
The classroom silencedissolves into chair scraping and chatter, along with squeals and laughter, as pint-sized beings tumble in through the door from the hallway.
“Where’s Mrs. B?” one little girl asks, her long red hair in two pigtails. She’s wearing a purple sweat shirt with a sparkly pink elephant on the front.
“She’s on maternity leave, and I’m taking her place until she returns.” Or until Chloe is no longer in danger and the FBI has her cousin in custody—both of which I’m hoping happens long before Zoe’s maternity leave ends.
“What’s ma-tur-me-key leave?” a blond-haired boy with black-rimmed glasses asks.
“Ma-ter-ni-ty. It’s when the mother-to-be stops working for a few months, so she can take care of the baby.”
The two kids and several others stare at me with blank expressions. Another kid comes running into the room, his arms held out like he’s an airplane, and he’s making loud engine noises.
“You’re big,” Pigtails announces, looking up at me as though I’m a skyscraper. “You’re bigger than my daddy.”
“He’s bigger than a mountain,” someone else says. I don’t know which one because I’m too busy watching the kid pretending to be an airplane climb onto the table.
“Mister.”
I feel someone tug on my shirt sleeve. I look down to find a kid attached to it.
“Mister.” Tug. Tug. “He’s not supposed to be on the table, and I need to go to the bathroom.”Tug.
“Okay, take your bathroom buddy with you, but come right back once you’ve finished.”
He doesn’t wait for me to say anything else. He goes charging from the room, buddy in tow.
“What’s his name?” I ask Pigtails and point to the kid on the table.
“Trevor. Has Mrs. B had her baby yet?”
“No.” I walk to the table. “Trevor, we don’t climb on the table. Both feet on the floor, please.” I help him down.
A loud shriek rips through the air from the other side of the room. I turn to witness water spraying from the sink, soaking the two kids standing there.
“Is everything okay?” Chloe asks, her head poking through the adjoining doorway.
“Hi, Miss R,” the boy with glasses says. “Did you know that Mrs. B is on ma-tur-me-key?” He looks pretty proud of himself even though he mangled the word again.
“Yes, I did, Tommy.” Chloe walks over to the two shrieking kids and turns the water off. Neither had bothered to move out of its range of fire. Water drips from their clothes, forming a puddle on the floor.
“I’m wet,” the little girl whines.
Chloe smiles sweetly at them. “You certainly are. But I’m sure we can find something in my forgotten-clothes box for you to wear while your clothes dry.”
To me, she says, “There’s a mop around the corner. You can use it to dry the floor.” She points to the corner she’s referring to.
“All right, everyone,” she says to the class, her voice loud enough to be heard over the noise. “Time to take out your writing practice book and sit in your assigned seat. What letter did you learn to write on Friday?”
Most of the kids answer “H”—with a few other letters called out.
“That’s right,” she says. “For the next few minutes, I want you to practice writing the letter H.” And like magic, the rowdy bunch of kids hustle to the small, colorful plastic drawers, pull out their writing books and pencils, and march themselves to their seats and sit.
Chloe winks at me and escorts the two soaked kids into her classroom.
“I’m going to clean up the mess,” I announce to the class, “and then we’ll get started. I don’t want to hear any talking while you practice.Capisce?”
