10. Georgia

TEN

Georgia

Finally recovered from the food poisoning from hell (I should probably learn the internal temperature of cooked chicken), I find myself sitting with my grade team in Tamika’s classroom, the five of us silently disassociating together after a particularly long day.

The silence is punctuated with the occasional sigh from Chaya, who is slouched in a beanbag chair, bursts of music from TikTok from Emmanuel’s phone, and the violent sounds of a red pen scratching on student work from Tamika. I am fully horizontal on the floor, staring at the ceiling and stretching out my back.

“I hate teaching,” I say aloud, to no one in particular.

“I quit,” Emmanuel agrees.

“We don’t get paid enough for this shit,” says Tamika, slashing her red pen.

Principal Flores and Lina walk by our classroom and lean in the doorway when they see us all together. I roll my eyes internally. I’m pissed at him after our last meeting. If there’s anything that I hate, especially after Jake, it’s being controlled. The level of micromanagement he is leveling my way really grates on my soul. That wellness check he left on my phone didn’t help either—he won the award for the most condescending way to make it known what an inconvenience it was for me to be absent. It’s hitting a breaking point, but I need to suck it up, which is the most irritating fucking thing about the entire situation.

“One of my kids tried to stab me with a thumb tack today,” Mia says. “When I took it away, he shook his head and said, ‘Millennials. So sensitive.’”

“One of our students got his hands on a lighter and lit some toilet paper on fire in the bathroom,” Chaya said.

“Oof, so that fire drill today wasn’t a drill?” I ask.

Lina sighs and shakes her head.

“Nope,” Mr. Flores answers. “An actual fire. Causing one thousand students to evacuate the building and the fire department being called.”

“Didn’t you see the firefighters?” Emmanuel breathes, a dreamy look on his face.

Mr. Flores’s face is a big, handsome, frowning emoji.

I sit up from my horizontal position on the floor. “I was too busy getting Max down from the top of a car. Because he climbed on top of a car. During the fire drill. The car alarm went off when he started jumping,” I tell him. “Speaking of Max, guess what he asked me during our culture lesson today?”

“What did he say this time?” Tamika asks.

I take a large, dramatic breath. “Ms. Baker. Are you a Dominican? Or are you a Republican?”

Everyone stops what they are doing and looks at me. A moment passes.

“Grim,” Mia finally says.

The elevens between Mr. Flores’s eyebrows somehow get even deeper. “You know, that could be a pretty powerful indicator of the way your lessons are going for that unit, Ms. Baker. I thought I asked you to fix it.”

Outraged now, I can’t help what flies out of my mouth. “Pull that stick out gently, Mr. Flores.”

A tiny “oop” leaves Emmanuel’s mouth. Mia and Chaya look at one another, eyes wide. Lina tilts her head.

Not bothering to clock Mr. Flores’s reaction, I continue, like a train barreling down the tracks. “This is how teachers decompress, Mr. Flores—trading war stories about our shitty day and our shittier kids. We’re only half serious, and we still love them. But they’re still shitty. So, spare us the unsolicited coaching advice. At least for right now. Just let us live and stop micromanaging our conversations.” I notice my foot is shaking.

When I finally look up, Mr. Flores’s eyes have gone the color of molten magma, and I think I see steam coming out of his ears.

Too far, Georgia.

“Girl,” Tamika mutters.

Emmanuel pulls a bag of Takis (Fuego) out of seemingly nowhere and begins to eat them, grinning, eyes bouncing between the two of us.

I find myself shrinking under my principal’s impending fury. Shit .

“Ms. Baker,” he begins.

Emmanuel crunches loudly.

“Ms. Baker, my ‘unsolicited coaching advice’ has improved the ratings and the test scores of every teacher in this room.” He points at every single person in the room, including Lina. “Isn’t that right, third grade team?”

“I guess,” Emmanuel mutters.

“You have undoubtedly helped us all of us, Oliver, but—” Lina starts.

“So, Ms. Baker, it would do you well to remember that the advice I give, solicited or not, benefits you as well as the school.” His eyes burn as he moves closer. “Remember that the next time you feel like being rude or generally out of line with your direct supervisor. The one who is in charge of both your ratings and the success of every child and adult in this school.” He looms over me, forcing me to crane my neck up to meet his anger. “I understand the need to decompress with your team, but even if you refuse to treat me with respect, you will, and I repeat, you will treat every child in my building with respect. That includes when you are speaking about how shitty they are during your decompression time .”

Fuck, fuck, fuck . Mr. Flores turns to tell the team something, dismissing me. I can’t hear what he is saying over the ringing in my ears. I was speaking the truth; I mean, really, all teachers think the same thing. Our kids can be shitty, but we love them anyway. But I hadn’t meant to take it that far, at least in front of my fucking admin of my new school . Big mistake, Georgia, are you serious?! After self-wallowing a bit, I tune back in to the conversation going on around me.

“Sorry, can’t do it,” Chaya is saying, pointing at her belly.

“Me either,” Emmanuel says. “Nick is making me hold ‘boundaries’,” he says in finger quotes. “My workday is over at 4 p.m., no matter what.”

“Sorry, I can’t do it either,” Mia announces.

Tamika agrees.

“What is this for?” I whisper-ask her.

“As I’ve already explained to the team, Ms. Baker, although I’m not surprised you weren’t listening,” Mr. Flores cuts in, “I am recruiting staff members to help plan the fall fundraiser. I will pay overtime, of course, for the time put in after school, and on Saturdays?—”

“I’ll do it,” I tell him.

He cuts his eyes to me, surprised. I find myself feeling disappointed that shock would be his immediate response to my offering of help. More determined now to change his attitude towards me, I say more firmly, “I want to help. Whatever it entails. Whatever you need.”

He narrows his eyes at me, as if he doesn’t believe I’ll make it. Or maybe he knows I won’t be making it because he’ll be firing me before then. He turns to the team. “Our first planning meeting is next Wednesday, after school in the staff lounge. I hope to see some of you there.”

With that, he nods to the rest of the third grade team and walks out the door, Lina following behind him and waving.

“Bye, Lina. Bye, Ollie,” Emmanuel tells their retreating backs, fluttering his eyelashes.

Mr. Flores shakes his head, and the door shuts behind them.

The team all turns to look at me.

“Girl,” Tamika says.

“I KNOW,” I moan, chastened. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I swear I’m not normally like this. I feel like I turn into a different person whenever he’s around.”

“While it is hot when I get into a back and forth with him, it took me, like, four years to get to that point,” Emmanuel tells me, polishing off the last of his Takis. “You’ve known him for exactly two seconds.”

Mia agrees. “You two are weird together. It’s like watching a powder keg. I saw you two arguing in the hallway the other day. He’s normally so cool with the other staff here.”

“And the whole Mr. Flores, Ms. Baker thing?” Chaya adds on.

Emmanuel fans himself.

“But really, what’s with the formal titles? He calls everyone by their first name except for you,” Tamika says.

“And no one calls him Mr. Flores,” Emmanuel tacks on. “But I may start,” he says, shivering.

“I don’t know what’s going on with me. I really don’t. But he drives me insane. He’s so condescending towards me. It’s like a weird, subconscious part of me wants to… unbutton all of his buttoned-up buttons.” I manage.

“It seems like he wants to unbutton you, too,” Emmanuel says.

“Are we still talking about teaching here?” Tamika asks, the consummate leader. She turns to me. “One piece of advice, Georgia, and it’s remember your place. He is your boss. He is all our bosses. This is not the person you should play these games with. There are rules around these things. Keep it professional.” She’s right. Especially considering those fucking letters burning a hole in my file.

“Don’t listen to her,” Emmanuel winks at me.

“Sorry, Georgia, but I agree with Tamika,” Mia says. “You’re his subordinate. It’s weird. I think you should take it down a notch. I’m sure Lina is telling him the same thing.”

If I’m not fired by this weekend, I’ll mull this over.