Mrs. Anderson looked at me, a smile still wide on her face. "That's a lot of work, Mr. Wallace."
I shrugged. "It's what I wanted."
"And how has the year progressed for you, academically, up until this point?"
"So far, it's been great. The graduate program started over the summer, so for two terms they really pile on the classes. Then in the fall I was assigned to a classroom and a teacher, and I shadowed. This semester I was supposed to take that class over to get my student teacher practicum completed. It's one of the last steps in the licensure program. I can't get my teaching license without it." I took in a deep breath, knowing we were getting to the point in the conversation where I was going to find out whether or not four years of hard work was getting thrown away. "But, obviously, the high school I was assigned to is two hours from here. And I'm not in a position to leave my mother right now."
"No, I can't imagine you are." Again with the sad voice.
"So, I reached out to my advisor and asked her if there was anything I could do, any way I could finish my practicum here. I believe that's when my university contacted you."
Mrs. Anderson was quiet for a moment, a long moment, but then she spoke, her tone no longer sad. She sounded like a principal. Like someone's boss.
"I called a small meeting with all the social science teachers at the high school. I explained your situation and asked if any of them were in a position to host a student teacher. As you know, since we're so far from the university, we've never hosted any, not since I've been here."
"I know it's a lot to ask, and I wouldn't normally, but-ˮ
"But you've got extenuating circumstances, and we all understand that, and we want to help. Mr. White was planning on starting a new unit this Monday with his senior World History class. The other three teachers are in the middle of units and don't feel like it would be fair to ask you to step in. Mr. White is excited to have you, though."
I felt a rush of tension leave my body as my shoulders slumped forward. She was giving me a chance. There was not one tiny molecule in my body that didn't understand how much I was asking of everyone-of the high school, of my university, of my advisors. They were all bending over backward for me, and I knew it was mostly out of sympathy, but I didn't care. I'd worked so hard to get where I was and I had been so close to the end, just to have it all teetering on the edge of disaster. I couldn't leave my mom. And if there was nothing to be done but postpone my work, then I would have done that, but at least now I can still finish my degree and be there for my mom every night. "Thank you, Mrs. Anderson. You have no idea how much this means to me."
"We're glad to have you. We just wish it were under better circumstances." Sad voice again. "There are just a few things we need to go over still. Then I will let you get back to your Sunday."
"Great. I'm all ears." And I was. I couldn't say I was excited, as that level of emotion was numb to me. But finally, for the first time in two weeks, something good was happening, something that could take away just a little bit of the heaviness I'd been carrying around since the night I got that phone call.
"I should tell you that Cory was enrolled in this particular class." Her words were like a bucket of ice water thrown over me. Any lightness I had felt just moments before was pushed back down by her words. "Unfortunately, this was the only class we could assign you. Obviously, I completely understand if you'd like to pass."
I thought about her offer, thought about what it would mean to turn her down. It would mean not being able to complete my practicum until the fall of the following school year. It would mean missing out on one entire season of hiring. I would be sitting for months with no real hope of finding a job.
"If I can be completely frank with you, Mrs. Anderson," I said, leaning toward her slightly.
"Of course."
"I have to spend every evening in the house I grew up in with him. I walk past his bedroom door at least ten times a day. I see his picture hanging on the wall. I see his car in the driveway. There's no way to escape his memory, and I wouldn't if I could. I'm already dealing with his loss, so this is just another log on the fire."
"I understand. I wish it were different-ˮ
"But it's not."
"No, it isn't." She was quiet for a moment, but then she continued on. "That all being said, your advisor, Mr. White, and I have all decided that if you begin the term, but find it to be too overwhelming, you can choose to end your practicum with no repercussions. We want you to succeed, but we don't want your circumstances to hold you back should you find yourself in a situation where you need time to heal."
She was giving me a safety net. I didn't like special treatment, but I knew I was basically asking for it. Besides, I knew she was just being a decent human being. This was such a fucked-up situation, I couldn't fault her for trying to help me.
"Thank you. I'm going to try my best to be just like any other student teacher, Mrs. Anderson."
"I don't have any doubt you will. Your university advisor wants me to let you know that you're still required to attend the biweekly meetings with your cohorts."
"I am pretty confident I can find someone to be with my mom one night every other week. The Harrises have been very helpful."
"That leads me to my final discussion point." My brows drew together in confusion. I didn't know how the Harris family fit into this conversation at all. "The staff at the high school was not blind to the relationship between Cory and McKenzie Harris. And some of the staff has made me aware of the closeness of your two families, which I am so thankful you have in this difficult time."
"Okay," I said, drawing the word out to emphasize my confusion.
"McKenzie Harris is a student in the class Mr. White has offered to you for your practicum."
Shit.
"Now, normally, it would be unethical for us to allow you to be her teacher, Mr. Wallace. But we're aware, once again, of the extenuating circumstances you find yourself in, and we are compelled to help. I've made your university advisor aware of the conflict of interest, and she has made it clear that she trusts me to make the final determination as to whether or not this particular, uh, conflict, is dire enough to prevent you from finishing your degree at my high school. After looking at your college transcripts, and talking with you today, I think you're determined enough, and levelheaded enough, to not let your connection with McKenzie Harris cloud your ability to teach her."
"Uh, Mrs. Anderson, it never crossed my mind that she might be in my class." Why would it have? Surely the universe didn't hate me this much, right?
"Will it be an issue?" she asked, not unkindly. It was very obvious she was trying to help me in any way she could. And I needed her help. I needed this opportunity. This practicum was one of the few things I had that was keeping me from losing my mind every day.
"No," I answered, hoping she couldn't see past my blatant lie. "It won't be an issue."
"Then it's all settled. We'll see you tomorrow morning at seven thirty." She stood up and I did the same, reaching my hand out to her.
"Thank you again, I really appreciate it." She smiled at me, shook my hand, then turned and left the coffee shop. I collapsed back into my chair, hands coming instantly to run through my hair, breath leaving me in one long and exhausted exhalation.
"Shit," I whispered harshly, my eyes on my shoes, elbows on knees, head in hands. "Shit."
Somehow I was going to have to make it through the next five months as the teacher of my dead brother's girlfriend.
The girl I'd known her whole life.
The girl I'd been in love with, in one way or another, since I understood the word and what it meant.
Chapter Seven
McKenzie
Cory had driven me to school for the last year and half. Even though it was, in the grand scheme of things, not the worst thing to happen, stepping up onto the school bus was a terrible way to start the day.
Everyone's eyes were on me; their sad eyes with concerned expressions. I was so tired of everyone looking at me like I was going to burst into tears at any given moment. It felt so displaced. I hadn't died. I hadn't lost a son, or a brother. But then I remember what everyone thought I'd lost: my boyfriend, the love of my young life, my future, my other half.
Do you know how hard it is to mourn when you're not sure what it is exactly you lost?
I felt Cory's loss profoundly. I missed his laugh, his jokes, his kindness, his friendship. But I hated myself because I didn't miss the other parts of him. In fact, part of me, a part I was so scared to acknowledge or give a voice to, was glad the option of being with him forever was taken from me. I never would have turned him down, would have spent my life hoping to love him in some way I wasn't sure I was capable of, but the man with a gun made that decision for me. And I hated myself for being even remotely grateful for such a fantastically horrible thing.
So all those people who looked at me as though they felt sorry for me, well, it made me sick because I didn't deserve any of it. I was a horrible person.
I found an empty seat, sat down, and curled my body toward the window, hoping it would give off the right message: I didn't want to be bothered.