A girl got up from the front row, grabbed the hall pass, and slipped out the door. Bang!
This is obviously a losing battle, I thought.
I turned to the class. “Okay, if you finish early, bring your papers up to me. No, wait. Put them … put them in a pile on this table,” I said, walking over to a round table in the front corner of the room. “And then you can read or do homework for another …”
I was practically knocked over by the deluge of seventh graders rushing to the front of the room to drop their work on the table. Instead of the pile I was hoping for, it looked like the table had been turned into some sort of abstract art involving math papers.
“All of you are done?” I asked, looking at the clock in a panic.
“Sure, it was easy,” said a girl with curly hair, tossing her paper toward the table. It fluttered onto the floor as she turned and walked back to her seat.
“Um, I think you missed,” I said. “Come pick your paper up, um, uh …” It was so hard to talk to these kids when I didn’t even know their names. “Um … girl with the curly hair! Come back!”
“That’s Nicole,” another girl said, throwing her own paper down on the abstract art design.
“Thank you,” I said. “Nicole, could you …”
Bam! Someone else returned from the bathroom.
A boy stepped on Nicole’s paper as he walked back to his seat.
“Nicole, could you please come pick up your paper and put it on the table?” I said.
Nicole looked like she didn’t know what I was talking about. Then she yelled, “Hey Tori, can you pick my paper up off the floor?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Tori, scooping up the paper—which was now half-crumpled and marred by a sneaker print—and flinging it on the table.
When the flurry had settled down and the kids were back in their seats I began turning the math paper tablecloth into a neat stack. It gave me something to do, at least.
I still had over fifteen minutes before these kids left and a fresh crop arrived. What was this Mrs. Thompson person thinking? Did she really think that one lousy worksheet was enough to keep these kids busy for nearly an hour?
When I was finished straightening the papers I looked around. One boy had folded up a sheet of paper and was getting ready to fly it across the room. Another was repeatedly kicking the chair in front of him. This caused the occupant of the chair to whip around and yell, “Quit it!”
The noise level seemed to be increasing by the second. There were no less than five different conversations going on, one of which was being had by four boys in the back of the room sitting on top of their desks.
“Everyone needs to find something to do!” I announced over the commotion.
The boy with the paper airplane took careful aim and shot it across the room.
“Don’t you have any homework for another class you can work on?” I pleaded. “Or a book you can read? Or something?”
“Nope,” said one of the boys who was perched on top of his desk.
“Well, then you need to …”
A tall boy in baggy jeans came back in the room. Bam! He hung up the hall pass and went to his seat.
“Would everybody please stop letting the door slam!” I said.
A girl with a pink headband and matching pink lip gloss rolled her eyes and pressed her lips together, trying to mask her laughter. And a boy muttered, “Crazy lady.”
I ignored them and pointed at a boy who’d grabbed the hall pass and was reaching for the door. “No,” I said. “No more. Sit down.”
He looked at me and hesitated.
“Sit!”
He carefully hung up the hall pass and shuffled back to his seat.
“Nobody else is leaving the room till the bell rings!” I barked.
“But I have to …”
“No!” I said. “You can wait fifteen minutes. Now I want everybody to sit in their chairs, not on the desks, and find something quiet to do that doesn’t bother anybody else!”
The boys in the back glared at me before slowly sliding down into their seats. The girl who’d been trying to hide her laughter by pursing her lips had to resort to covering her mouth with her hand.
Everybody sat quietly at their desks for the next ten minutes. Of course, this was probably because I was walking up and down the rows, watching them like a hawk.
Five minutes before class was over, everybody suddenly began packing up—it was as if a silent alarm had gone off. Kids were scooping up books and notebooks from under their chairs and slamming them on the desks. Backpacks being zipped open and shut sounded all over the room. Then, everyone seemed to scoot their rear end to the edge of their seat until they were balancing on about the last quarter inch.
Next thing I knew, about half the class exploded into conversation. Fine, I thought. Let them talk. I give up. As long as no one gets hurt, I guess they can do whatever they want.
The bell rang. Everyone sprang out of their seats and to the door so quickly that there was a traffic jam in the doorway.
As the last few students headed out, I looked around the room. The floor was covered with three wadded balls of paper, two flat sheets of paper, at least four pencils of various sizes, and one battered copy of The Giver. For some unknown reason, two chairs were on their sides.
I was debating whether to straighten everything up or just leave it all when a fresh batch of kids started wandering in. I faced the door, smiled, and tried to look like I knew what I was doing.
A boy stopped and studied me. “Your front tooth is crooked,” he informed me before walking toward his desk.
My smile faded. I ran my tongue over my front teeth as he strode away.
“Hey, Miss, uh … Sub Lady!” someone yelled. “Can I go to the bathroom before class starts?”
It’s going to be a long day, I thought.
By 11:35 a.m. it felt like an eternity had passed. It was finally time to walk fourth period to lunch. After being locked in a room all morning—with various groups of raucous people—the idea of spending thirty minutes in a quiet room by myself while I munched on the ham sandwich and bag of Fritos that were tucked in my purse sounded like heaven.
We walked down two hallways and into the huge cafeteria, trying not to get run over by the students who were rushing in the opposite direction. I waited a minute or two to make sure the whole class arrived safely. Once I was certain that I was no longer needed, I turned and walked toward the cafeteria door as quickly as I could without actually breaking into a sprint like I wanted to.
As I was about to step into the hallway, I heard a voice sharply say, “Where are you going?”
I turned around expecting to see a kid getting in trouble for something. Instead, a thin woman with glasses and a stern face was looking right at me.
“Well,” I said, a little confused, “I was just going to head back to the classroom to have my lunch.” Then I realized that maybe that wasn’t the norm for most teachers. “Oh, is there a teacher’s lounge where all the seventh grade teachers sit together? Thanks so much for the invite, but I think today I’d just prefer to …”
“Aren’t you the sub for Mrs. Thompson?” she interrupted.
“Yes.” I smiled. “I’m Heather Hershey. This is my first day here.”
The woman didn’t return my smile. “Didn’t she tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I was getting the feeling this wasn’t a lunch invitation after all.
She gave an exasperated sigh. “The seventh grade teachers rotate silent lunch duty. Today is Mrs. Thompson’s day, and since you’re her sub, that means it’s you.”
I blinked a couple times. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Silent lunch!” she bellowed at me, gesturing toward a table on a raised platform against the left wall of the cafeteria. About eight kids were sitting at the table. “The students who have silent lunch need an adult to monitor them, and today that adult is you.”
My eyes darted over to the silent lunch table.
“You mean I have to spend my lunch break sitting at a table with all the kids who got in trouble?”
“That’s right,” she said curtly.
I eyed the table again. One of the silent lunch boys laughed loudly and shoved the boy sitting next to him.
“And what do I, uh … do, exactly?”
“You make sure they stay silent,” she said. “Now you’d better hurry up. You’re already late.”
I gulped as she walked away. Then I made my way over to the table of troublemakers.
I stood looking at them for a moment. It felt as though I had to oversee some sort of strange board meeting of sulky twelve-year-olds. “Ahem,” I said to the hoodlums, “I’m Mrs. Hershey, and I’ll be, uh … joining you for silent lunch today.”
They stared at me and continued chewing.
I carefully eyed the kids—as if they were predators possibly about to attack at any minute—as I sat down. Unfortunately, I was watching them instead of looking at what I was doing and I ended up missing my chair. I had to clutch the edge of the table to keep from sliding right down and plopping onto the floor of the delinquent diner.
There was a collective outburst of snickers and snorts as the group of lunch exiles exchanged glances. I pretended nothing had happened and focused on unwrapping my ham sandwich. Of course, I no longer had much of an appetite.
Hopefully I’ll start booking a lot of weddings really soon, I thought.
Chapter Twelve
“Okay, kids,” I announced as I hung up the phone, “everybody go to the bathroom and then put on some shoes. I have to meet with a bride who’s considering hiring me, and you’re coming along.”
I walked down the hall to my bedroom. I yanked open my dresser drawer and grabbed a pair of pantyhose, slipping my hand into one leg to check for runs.
Angela appeared in the doorway. “Does she want to meet us too?” she asked eagerly.
“No.” The pantyhose had a huge run. I flung them across the room and took out another pair. Luckily, they passed the check. “You’re coming because Daddy just called and said he has an emergency at work and has to stay late and I can’t get a babysitter on such short notice.” I slammed the drawer shut and started rooting around the closet for a dress. “Danny! Are you getting ready? We have to go somewhere!” I held up two dresses and showed them to Angela. “Which one is better, the brown or the green?”
“Green,” Angela said. “It matches your eyes.”
“Got it.” I hung the brown dress up and threw the green one across my bed.
“Danny, did you hear me?” I yelled. “We have to go in a couple minutes!”
“I’ll get him.” Angela skipped out of the room.
I took off my jeans and sweatshirt. Then I sat on the bed to pull on my pantyhose.
Dragging my kids along to meet with a prospective client is crazy, I thought. What respectable business owner does that?
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a choice. I’d called Bridget, the bride, as soon as I’d gotten off the phone with Steve. I explained to her that I needed to reschedule, but she insisted that we go ahead and meet this evening. She lived in Indiana—or Illinois, I forget which—and said she would only be in town for a couple days. “It’s no problem to bring them,” she assured me. “I don’t mind. I love kids.”
“Danny!” Angela screamed.
I pulled the green dress over my head and wiggled it into position. I could hear the kids in Danny’s room.
“You’re supposed to be getting ready to go, not sitting there playing,” Angela said. “Now give me those trucks and go put your shoes on.”
I reached into the bathroom drawer for my hairbrush and started running it through my hair.
“Hey!” Danny shouted. “Gimme back my trucks!”
“Not until you’ve put your shoes on,” said Angela.
I tossed my hairbrush back in the drawer and hurried to put on a bit of makeup.
“I said gimme!” Danny screeched.
“No!” Angela yelled. “First put your shoes on.”
Here it comes, any second now, I thought.
“Mahh-meeeee!!!” Angela shrieked. “Danny whacked me!”
And there it was. I scooped up my purse and the Manila folder with the paperwork for Bridget’s wedding and headed down the hall. Angela was standing on her tiptoes, holding two Matchbox trucks above her head. Danny was furiously jumping up, trying to reach them.
“Angela,” I said, “why don’t you just worry about yourself. I’ll take care of Danny.”
“Fine,” said Angela, tossing the trucks at Danny’s feet.
He quickly snatched them up and glared at her.
I glanced at my watch. “Angela, if you’re ready, go ahead and get in the car. Danny, go get your shoes on. You can bring your trucks with you if you want. Just hurry, both of you!”
Danny tugged on his second shoe and both kids stumbled out the door. I grabbed a couple coloring books and a box of crayons off the coffee table and stuffed them in my purse before following the kids toward the car.
I wondered if Bridget would still love children after today.
* * *
As soon as we walked into the coffee shop, a woman with dark curly hair approached me. She was holding a cup of coffee with a lid.
“You must be Heather,” she said. “I recognize you from your photo on the website.”
“That’s me,” I said as I shook her hand. “And you must be Bridget. So nice to meet you. Congratulations on your engagement.”
“Thank you.” Bridget motioned toward an older woman next to her who was wearing designer glasses, a gold and sapphire necklace, and a lavender pantsuit. “This is my mother, Grace Reese.”
“Oh!” I was surprised. I had no idea that I’d also be meeting with a mother of the bride, let alone one who looked like an executive. I extended my hand a second time. “Nice to meet you, Grace.”
“It’s Ms. Reese,” she said coolly as she weakly shook my hand.
I gulped. “Ms. Reese, of course. So nice to meet you.”
“And who are they?” asked Ms. Reese with a sweeping gesture.
I turned around. Angela was having a particularly frizzy hair day, even for her. She was shoving Danny and I suddenly noticed the ketchup stain on his shirt—and that he’d put his shoes on the wrong feet.
“These are my two children.” I took Angela’s offending hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Danny and Angela.”
I thought I saw Grace—I mean, Ms. Reese—recoil ever so slightly.
“Charmed,” she finally said.
“Oh, they are so cute!” Bridget gushed.
“They wouldn’t be coming with me to the wedding, of course,” I said, attempting to make a joke and laughing nervously. The way Ms. Reese was looking at me was making me very uneasy.
“No, I would certainly hope not,” said Ms. Reese, frowning as she stared at Danny.
I shot my eyes in his direction. He was working his right index finger up his nose. I let go of Angela’s hand and quickly tugged Danny’s right arm toward me in what I hoped looked like an affectionate gesture.
“Well,” Bridget chirped, clasping her hands and apparently oblivious to any nose-picking going in her vicinity, “let’s all go have a seat.”
We walked through the coffee shop and stopped at an empty booth with a small table next to it.
“Here,” I said, setting the crayons and coloring books down on the small table, “you kids sit here while we adults talk at the other table.”
“Can I have a muffin?” Danny asked as he sat down.
“Ooh, and can I have one of those milkshake things?” Angela pointed to a woman who was sitting at a table by the window. She had some sort of frozen mocha drink with whipped cream.
Danny jerked his head around to see what Angela was pointing at. “Oh yeah!” he yelled, whipping his finger toward it. “I want one of those too!”
The woman looked up from her book and right at us.
I gave
her a polite smile and turned back to the kids. “First of all, please don’t point,” I said quietly. “Second, that’s not a milkshake. It’s an adult coffee drink that probably costs a fortune. And anyway,” I growled, leaning in closer, “we’re not here to eat. We’re here for me to do business. Remember?”
“But I’m really really thirsty,” Danny whined. “Can’t I just get something to drink?”
“Yeah, me too,” Angela chimed in. “Can’t we please get sodas? Please?”
I took a deep breath. I realized that time and money spent getting two small Cokes would be a worthwhile investment to buy me the peace and quiet I needed to get through this meeting successfully.
I smiled sweetly at Bridget and her mother. “Excuse me just a moment.” I walked up to the counter and placed my order.
“Yay! Thank you Mommy!” Angela squealed as I put two drinks with lids and two straws down on their table.
“You’re welcome,” I said. “Now listen, I need you guys to sit quietly and not pester me or fight, okay? So why don’t you both just color and enjoy your sodas?”
Before the kids could argue with me, I sat down opposite Bridget and her mother. “Thank you for waiting.” I opened my Manila folder. “Now, my notes from our phone call the other day say that you want me to play for the ceremony only, and that it’s an outdoor wedding at Edgewood Gardens so I would need to bring my keyboard. Is that correct?”
“That’s right,” said Bridget, “but we also want music before the ceremony begins.”
“No problem,” I said, finally starting to relax a little. “My ceremony package includes thirty minutes of prelude music while the guests are …”
Danny appeared approximately six inches away from my face. “I’m done.”
“Excuse me,” I said to Bridget and her mother. I flashed them another sweet smile before turning to Danny. “What do you mean, you’re done?” I whispered.
“I’m done coloring,” he said.
I glanced at the small table. Angela was carefully outlining a princess dress in yellow and Danny’s picture of a monster truck had a few scribbles of red across it. “Okay.”
Ms. Reese leaned over and said something to Bridget.
Confessions of a Wedding Musician Mom Page 11