Read Online Fatty Patty (A James Bay Novel) by Kathleen Irene Paterka - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathleen Irene Paterka
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Better not to go there or think that. Things are great between us and I don’t want to mess it up. Nick is totally out of my league.
Still, there’s nothing wrong with a girl dreaming.
“You can count on me, Ruth. I’m glad to help.”
She pats my arm. “I was hoping you’d say that. Now, there’s one more thing you can do.”
“What’s that?”
“Ring the bell.” She nods at the brass bell in my hand. “We’re five minutes late coming in from recess.”
# # #
“Does everyone understand the assignment?” The chalk squeaks in my hand as I list the page numbers. When will this school modernize and buy some whiteboards with the dry erase?
Loud titters erupt behind me. I whirl around and scan a sea of way-too-innocent faces. “Is there a problem? Did I miss something?”
“Eric called you Mom ,” Joseph shouts from the back row.
“What a dork,” Lauren sniggers. Four other little girls scattered around the room quickly follow suit and the class laughs even louder.
“All right, that’s enough,” I say. “Everybody settle down.”
It’s hard to keep my temper in check. Lauren is proving to be even nastier than her reputation. First rule of teaching: let them know who’s in charge. Better they learn up front that I mean business, rather than me making the mistake of starting out soft.
Then again, it is the first day of school.
I glance at Eric, seated near my desk. Suddenly I’m glad I put him there. Something about the little boy brings out my protective instincts. Kids can be cruel and sooner or later he’ll have to learn to speak up for himself. An adult stepping in often makes things worse and that’s the last thing I want to do. I went into teaching to make a difference. To make things better.
I glance around the classroom with my dreaded-teacher look, as Priscilla likes to call it. My eyes settle first on Joseph, then Lauren, then the rest of the class. One after another until they get the message. “I’m sure Eric didn’t mean to call me Mom , did you, Eric?”
His eyes fill with silent gratitude. “No, Miss P.”
“Okay. And as long as none of you call me Grandma , we’ll get along just fine.”
I wait till the laughter dies down. “Let’s take out our science books. Who wants to read?”
Four hands shoot up, but I ignore the wiggling fingers and waving arms. I’ve got plenty of instruction manuals lining my desk, but how do I teach these little ones what they need to learn most—life lessons on reading the language of the heart.
Lesson One: Patience, tolerance and kindness to your fellow man. And fellow students.
One student in particular has a big lesson to learn.
“Lauren, you’ve got a nice clear voice. Why don’t you start us off?” I suffer through her eye-rolling and indifferent shrug. She’s got a nice little attitude going but finally she picks up her book.
“All right, everyone,” I say, “turn to page three. Let’s listen as Lauren begins.”
# # #
“You’re quiet tonight.”
“I guess I don’t have much to say.” I wiggle around on the couch, toss a pillow over my head, try to find a comfortable spot. How low can I sink? Not much lower, especially now I’m reduced to lying to Priscilla.
“Patty, I know there’s something wrong. You hardly ate anything at dinner and you’ve barely said a word since you got home. That’s not like you. Usually you’re full of stories about your kids… especially on the first day of school.”
“No more stories,” I mumble. “Privacy laws.”
“But we always talk about your kids. Why should privacy laws suddenly stop you?”
I hold back the sigh gathering momentum at the back of my throat. Tonight, of all nights, why does she want to chat? She always goes to bed after the credits roll on that silly cable TV wedding show she watches every week. I peek around the pillow but she’s still there, knitting needles in hand.
“You’re not getting sick?” she asks.
“I’m
Still, there’s nothing wrong with a girl dreaming.
“You can count on me, Ruth. I’m glad to help.”
She pats my arm. “I was hoping you’d say that. Now, there’s one more thing you can do.”
“What’s that?”
“Ring the bell.” She nods at the brass bell in my hand. “We’re five minutes late coming in from recess.”
# # #
“Does everyone understand the assignment?” The chalk squeaks in my hand as I list the page numbers. When will this school modernize and buy some whiteboards with the dry erase?
Loud titters erupt behind me. I whirl around and scan a sea of way-too-innocent faces. “Is there a problem? Did I miss something?”
“Eric called you Mom ,” Joseph shouts from the back row.
“What a dork,” Lauren sniggers. Four other little girls scattered around the room quickly follow suit and the class laughs even louder.
“All right, that’s enough,” I say. “Everybody settle down.”
It’s hard to keep my temper in check. Lauren is proving to be even nastier than her reputation. First rule of teaching: let them know who’s in charge. Better they learn up front that I mean business, rather than me making the mistake of starting out soft.
Then again, it is the first day of school.
I glance at Eric, seated near my desk. Suddenly I’m glad I put him there. Something about the little boy brings out my protective instincts. Kids can be cruel and sooner or later he’ll have to learn to speak up for himself. An adult stepping in often makes things worse and that’s the last thing I want to do. I went into teaching to make a difference. To make things better.
I glance around the classroom with my dreaded-teacher look, as Priscilla likes to call it. My eyes settle first on Joseph, then Lauren, then the rest of the class. One after another until they get the message. “I’m sure Eric didn’t mean to call me Mom , did you, Eric?”
His eyes fill with silent gratitude. “No, Miss P.”
“Okay. And as long as none of you call me Grandma , we’ll get along just fine.”
I wait till the laughter dies down. “Let’s take out our science books. Who wants to read?”
Four hands shoot up, but I ignore the wiggling fingers and waving arms. I’ve got plenty of instruction manuals lining my desk, but how do I teach these little ones what they need to learn most—life lessons on reading the language of the heart.
Lesson One: Patience, tolerance and kindness to your fellow man. And fellow students.
One student in particular has a big lesson to learn.
“Lauren, you’ve got a nice clear voice. Why don’t you start us off?” I suffer through her eye-rolling and indifferent shrug. She’s got a nice little attitude going but finally she picks up her book.
“All right, everyone,” I say, “turn to page three. Let’s listen as Lauren begins.”
# # #
“You’re quiet tonight.”
“I guess I don’t have much to say.” I wiggle around on the couch, toss a pillow over my head, try to find a comfortable spot. How low can I sink? Not much lower, especially now I’m reduced to lying to Priscilla.
“Patty, I know there’s something wrong. You hardly ate anything at dinner and you’ve barely said a word since you got home. That’s not like you. Usually you’re full of stories about your kids… especially on the first day of school.”
“No more stories,” I mumble. “Privacy laws.”
“But we always talk about your kids. Why should privacy laws suddenly stop you?”
I hold back the sigh gathering momentum at the back of my throat. Tonight, of all nights, why does she want to chat? She always goes to bed after the credits roll on that silly cable TV wedding show she watches every week. I peek around the pillow but she’s still there, knitting needles in hand.
“You’re not getting sick?” she asks.
“I’m
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