“We’ll tell my parents about the twins.”
“Twins,” she murmurs fondly. “That still sounds like a punchline.”
I reach over and gently touch her knee.
“No punchline. No joking around, sweetheart. I want to do this right.”
She studies me for another moment, then lays her hand over mine.
CHAPTER 30
LIGAYA
It’s mid-January and I am officially rocking the second trimester. No nausea. No whipped cream withdrawals. No brain fog.
The babies are the size of limes, according to my new favorite podcast called “Bump and Beyond.”
Only my bladder refuses to cooperate because it wants to be emptied out every hour. Things are getting crowded in there. Sort of like my classroom at the moment.
It’s a circus. Auditions for the spring drama,Alice in Wonderland, are underway with enough wannabe British accents to make English royalty weep. This year we’re emphasizing physical comedy, student-led costume design, and maybe puppets if Mrs. Kinzer can get funds for the materials. She’s Centerstone High School’s art teacher and willing to integrate puppet design into her course. A more energetic teacher is hard to find.
Speaking of energy, it’s brimming in here. Before a play is fully cast, the air is thick—and a bit smelly, because these are teenagers—with possibility. Some kids wear their enthusiasm on their sleeves, but others are more hesitant. Yet they’ve showed up, laying hopes on the line and putting skills to the test. Plus, there’s always the hidden gem that shines unexpectedly. I’m on the lookout.
“Julian, you’re up.”
A mop-haired sophomore slowly rises from the back row, clutching his script like it’s a shield. He’s new and barely talks above a whisper when he states he’s auditioning for the Mad Hatter.
“Take your time,” I tell him gently as he steps onto the taped X at center stage. “You’ve got this.”
Julian’s ears flush pink. He starts to read, but his voice is muffled by the whir of my portable heater. When he trips over the third line, a couple of kids in the back snicker.
I hold up a hand. “Pause.”
He freezes. “I can start over.”
“You will,” I say, stepping toward him. “But first, I want you to picture the Mad Hatter as a full-blown chaos goblin. Pretend you drank four Red Bulls and made a hat out of . . . out of pens! Or kitchen utensils!”
I move around in a clumsy imitation of Chris Farley inTommy Boy.Although my students won’t get the reference, that movie is a masterclass in physical comedy. My somewhat unhinged impression earns some giggles, this time at my expense.
Julian’s eyes widen and his shoulders lower. Nothing staves off insecurity more than knowing someone else is willing to be weirder than you.
“You’ve got something to say, Hatter,” I holler jovially. “Make the walls shake! Let’s go!”
He swallows with difficulty but expands his chest before beginning. When he reads again, his voice is louder. Still trembling, yet raw in its manic edge. As the energy builds, his posture transforms from stiff to fluid. He drops the script, delivering the lines off-book. When he’s done, other students offer appreciative claps. I shoot him a quick thumbs up. Julian beams like he performed on Broadway.
This is why I do it. For moments of bravery that few notice, but that I get to witness up close.
After the final read through and a brief mop-up of red glitter because someone wanted to show design ideas for the Queen of Hearts, I head to the main office. Principal Reinbacher, with his wrinkled cargo pants and untucked button-down, shepherds me in.
“You said you wanted to talk after the auditions,” my boss says, inviting me into his office while sipping from his eternal mug of coffee.
“Thanks for making time for me.”
We sit across from each other, his desk the epitome of mayhem.
“I’m pregnant.” I’ve practiced different versions of this speech, but nothing is more important than clarity. “My due date is late June, so it won’t interrupt the school year. However, because I’m carrying twins, it’s categorized as a risky pregnancy. In the unlikely chance I need a day or two off, I’ll be sure to prepare extensive notes for the substitute.”
He is expressionless when he asks, “Who’s the lucky guy?”
