Page 16 of Mistletoe & Mischief
“For the festival!” Another of Brad’s children chimed in.
Rainey cleared the distance between herself and Brad and muttered under her breath. “I don’t suppose you want to join forces? My kids are unruly today. I wanted to do an activity with them, but I haven’t been able to think of anything fun.”
Brad’s mouth was dry with surprise. It was true that the activity area he’d set up for his children was big enough for both his and Rainey’s classrooms, and it was also true that Rainey’s fourth graders would probably be big helps to his second graders, who often got distracted and were apt to spill flour everywhere. Still, agreeing to this meant spending many hours with Rainey— which he didn’t adore.
Then again, saying no might pit him against Rainey. And he needed to keep her on his good side. She was dangerous.
Brad led his kids to the activities room, where they rolled up their sleeves and listened intently to Brad’s instructions. Brad wanted to use today to talk briefly about the science of baking— in a very limited sense, of course. He wanted them to understand that they could thank science for the ultimate joy of eating cookies. But before he could get started, Rainey’s class appeared, tearing through the silence of his students and making them boisterous again.
“Everyone! Grab a second grader,” Rainey announced. “Partner up!”
Brad’s stomach turned with annoyance. He hurried around the long tables to give everyone large mixing bowls and measuring cups. Rainey remained at the front of the activity room, lording over them, refusing to help beyond occasionally yelling at everyone to quiet down.
“This is so much fun, Mr. Turner,” a little girl named Tiffany cried, touching her leg.
This tugged on Brad’s heartstrings just enough to get him excited again. “Remember, Tiffany, it’s a science experiment,” he said. “But one we can eat at the end!”
Brad returned to the front of the classroom, where Rainey sidled up beside him, far too close for comfort.
“Everyone,” Brad began, “you should have a recipe on the table in front of you. Can anyone read me the list of ingredients?”
A sea of hands raised in front of him. Brad decided to ask a fourth grader to read the first half of the ingredients and a second grader to read the second half. The second grader stuttered through his ingredients, still unversed in reading aloud. The fourth graders were graciously respectful. Perhaps they still remembered recently having learned to read.
They got started on the first step, which involved measuring and pouring cups of flour into their mixing bowls. Rainey remained at the front of the classroom; her back was turned so that she could look at her phone. Brad hurried around to monitor the first step, cursing himself for having allowed Rainey into the room in the first place. But wonderfully, her fourth graders were excited and eager to help their second-grade counterparts.
“Hey, Ms. Michaels?” Brad said as he strode toward the front of the classroom. “Could you help with the next step, please?”
But as Rainey turned around, her eyes buggy, one of Brad’s kids called his name.
“Mr. Turner? Do you think Santa will remember I want Legos this year?”
Brad was a sucker for Santa Claus talk. He loved thinking of his children’s hopes and dreams for the Christmas season, as it was such a brief and magical time in a person’s life— one that necessarily darkened the minute they learned Santa wasn’t real. He turned on his heel and smiled at Bobby, whose chin wiggled with nerves. His fourth-grade helper had already poured their flour, and he looked jittery, as though he no longer believed in Santa but wanted to uphold the magic for Bobby a little longer.
“Well, Bobby, Santa remembers everything,” Brad told him. “And I think you’ve been pretty good this year, haven’t you? I seem to remember you helping Maria last week with her spelling homework. And didn’t you clean the hamster cage two weeks ago?”
Bobby nodded so hard that he looked like a bobblehead. “It’s just that my daddy said maybe Santa won’t come.”
Brad’s heart darkened. He’d never met Bobby’s father; he was the sort who kept his distance and forced the mother to do everything that involved their children. Had Brad ever been a father, he would have been there every step of the way. And he certainly never would have suggested Santa wasn’t going to make it this year.
“I think you have to trust Santa,” Brad said, bowing down to look Bobby in the eye. “He always does what he says. Just like you, Bobby. You know what it’s like to trust your friends, don’t you? And you know what it’s like to have those friends trust you?”
Brad made a mental note to buy a small gift “from Santa” for Bobby.
Bobby’s eyes glinted. Suddenly, from off to his right, another of Brad’s students, Natalie, said, “What did you ask Santa for Christmas, Mr. Turner?”
Brad smiled wider. “You know I only ask Santa for one thing,” he explained. “I ask him for safety and happiness for all my students!”
“You should ask him for a girlfriend,” Natalie said matter-of-factly.
Brad’s students and the fourth-grade students nodded earnestly as though they’d all had a meeting about Brad’s love life and come to the same conclusion. It wasn’t lost on Brad that the students thought it odd he didn’t have a wife. They came from a world where people lived in family units, where most children had a mother and a father. Brad was an anomaly. And they were far too young to know what had happened in Brad’s life.
“Or a wife,” another child chimed in.
“You need a girlfriend before you can have a wife,” another explained.
Behind Brad, Rainey chortled. “You’re getting schooled, Brad.”
Brad hated when another teacher called him Brad in front of his students. It was unprofessional. He turned and glared at Rainey, who folded her lips.
