by Jamie Knight
I looked at this adorable interpretation, and quite frankly I was in awe.
“Oh, that’s beautiful, Sookie. Look at my long blonde hair. You made me so pretty. You are such a little artist. Thank you, sweetie. May I keep it?”
Shyly, she commented with a big grin, “Yes, Ms. Olivia.”
Then she walked it over and gave me a big hug, slamming the wet paint from the picture up against my pants. I was covered in red and blue paint, but it didn’t matter much. Not only was I used to it, but I also lived for these moments.
For a second, I focused on the picture, on how detailed she saw everything. And then it hit me, that in the picture I was standing utterly alone in the center of a white background.
This aloneness, this search for love, was beginning to weigh on me and apparently it was obvious even to my students – at least subconsciously in Sookie’s painting, anyway.
Would I myself ever have a first grader who I dressed every morning and handed off to the trusted bus driver?
Would I ever have those after school moments when my little one runs up to me with the picture she painted of me, her mommy, and the nearby blob in the background of the picture representing her daddy?
Where was my happily ever after?
Fear was beginning to creep in, when suddenly a scuffle broke out. Little Kylie, a unique and magical but often difficult child to manage, smacked Sookie on her shoulder. Then she walked over to Michaela and smeared paint all over her with a paintbrush.
Sookie had already fallen over onto the floor, so she was deep in tears. Michaela was looking at me, just about ready to howl herself, when Kylie yelled to Michaela.
“It’s not fair that you get to live with your mommy and I don’t; I want to go live with my mommy.”
Michaela went in for a hug to comfort Kylie, but instead she got a brush on her hair and that was all it took. The polite little hard-working blonde girl Michaela was now covered in red paint, and she’d had about enough. She shoved Kylie and started screaming.
“Ms. Olivia! Ms. Olivia, Kylie is mean, and I don’t want to be nice to her anymore.”
And with that, Michaela did begin to howl. Sookie was in a fetal position in the corner. She looked up at the apparent protest by Michaela and for my reaction.
I walked over to the girls and stood in front of Kylie to block her from doing any more damage. Some of the boys were laughing at what they thought was silliness. I would have to talk to them later and let them know it wasn’t nice to laugh at other peoples’ pain.
But, one thing at a time, was my thought. I had to handle this scenario before it turned into chaos. Lately, Kylie was causing more turmoil than was appropriate for a first-grader.
“Kylie, we don’t paint on our friends, do we? That’s not nice. And we don’t poke or shove, right?” I asked her, trying to coax her to talk it out.
She simply stared at me as if the lack of admission would help her somehow.
“Right?”
Still, nothing.
“Tell Michaela you are sorry, right now.”
Kylie reached over and grabbed Michaela a little more aggressively than I would have liked. But then she sputtered out the apology, so I let it go.
“Sorry, Michaela. Sookie, sorry,” she said. “I’m really sorry, Ms. Olivia. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to be mean.”
Kylie started crying and I felt so bad for this confused little girl. It was not the first time that she had had these behavior problems.
Obviously, something was causing her to be aggressive, but nine times out of ten, she would shrink into a withering, innocent little orphan once I chastised her for her behavior. She clearly didn’t mean to act out and it was just something impulsive or instinctual.
I wanted to help her in a more in-depth way, as I had many times in the past, but maintaining order in the class had to be my first priority. It was hard to focus on just one student’s problems when I was responsible for so many at once.
It was clear that Kylie’s problems required the one on one attention that only a guidance counselor, to say the least, could give. Perhaps she should be in more intensive individual or family counseling as well, I thought.
As she wiped her tears on her sleeve, Sookie came running over and gave Kylie a big hug.
“Oh, it’s okay, Kylie. You miss your mommy. When my mommy goes to work I cry sometimes. It’s okay,” she said. “Mommies make us cry sometimes because we love them so much and we want them to play with us. My mom told me that once when I was sad because she was leaving to go on a trip. Okay? Okay, Kylie? Don’t be sad.”
Kylie hugged Sookie and wouldn’t let go.
Michaela was having none of it. She went back to her picture and ignored the belligerent girl. Not that I blamed her at all, but this most touching, most affectionate display by Sookie was so moving.
It had me all worked up. Composure was nearly illusive when I forced myself into chief-mode.
“Okay, good apology, Kylie,” I said. “And thank you for being so kind, Sookie.”
Then I turned to the rest of the class.
“Okay, boys and girls. I need you all to line up. One behind another. Come on.”
One thing at a time, I reminded myself. In my classroom, as in life itself.
At least these outbursts between the children meant I had very little time to focus on my own problems, because I was too busy putting out fires in the classroom. If nothing else, at least I had a job I loved.
I knew I should stop feeling sorry for myself and focus on the positive. I still had time to figure out my depressing personal life, but at least my professional life was going well, and nothing could mess that up.
At least, I hoped not. That would be a cruel joke for fate to play on me, since it was the one thing going well.
Chapter 2
Olivia
The paint-splattered children all complied with my request to line up. Of course, Kylie was last. She was staring down at her shoes, which she was moving back and forth in an antsy motion.
This little girl was clearly troubled. I decided that when I could delve a little more into the issue, I needed to address it, away from the rest of the students in the class, and the messy painting and potential fights.
“Okay, follow me and we’ll be quiet in the halls, yes?” I asked the class.
Lots of pairs of little eyeballs nodded up at me.
“It’s time to wash our hands and then we can have milk and cookies.”
One of the boys cheered as the line of miniature soldiers followed me to the wash room. Something in me was still being pulled to Kylie.
As I glanced over at her gorgeous face and that mane of unkempt, raven hair, I couldn’t help but notice she looked down, so sullen, it seemed.
Why was this sweet, innocent girl so sad? I had to make it a priority to find out. But for now, little painted fingers needed cleaning.
All in all, it was a beautiful day, except for that one outburst. The kids and I had milk and cookies before the final bell and everyone was happy.
Sookie did not let go of Kylie for the rest of the day. They had become close friends as Sookie saw the need to mother the little girl.
It was the beginning of a new school year and I was just getting to know this adorable class of rascals, but I was pretty sure that by year’s end, I would love them almost as much as if they were actually my own.
Each of them played a in helping the class room run , whether it be helper or giver or best friend to another student, and all of them were just perfect in my opinion, even Kylie.
I wondered what her parents might be like. I hadn’t noticed any real neglect except for her constant yearning for her mom.
For that reason, I discerned she must live in a one-parent household. Perhaps her parents were divorced, and she went back and forth between houses.
Besides the knotted mane, which quite frankly, with a giant head of hair like hers, could have easily been explained away by the wind or her own h
ands tousling it, her clothes were clean. Lunch was always packed. So, I didn’t sense that this was a CPS kind of call.
More than likely, a meeting with the parents would get us all on the same page. I could suggest counseling and I could also refer her to the school counselor as a start until they explored outside options.
While all the kids were in the coat room, I looked at the parent roster. Up until now, a nanny who had school permission was the only contact I had had with anyone who could be deemed any kind of “parental figure” involved with Kylie – not that a nanny is a parent, but it was all I had had to work with.
The nanny was sometimes late and often looked like she had just rolled out of bed. She was pretty and young and skinny, and always acted like she would rather be acting on the set of a movie than taking care of a kid. But Kylie always seemed at least mostly happy to see her.
Of course, it was only the second week of school, so that could change. And I had to talk to the parents, not the nanny.
Later, I scurried over to my desk in the brief moments I had to myself while the kids looked for their belongings. I scanned down the parent contact sheet to Kylie Ward and slid my fingers horizontally across the page to see who the parental contact was.
Marvin Ward.
My mouth dropped.
I thought I might faint, but then I told myself to stop being melodramatic.
Still, this was crazy.
I thought, No way.
Not that Marvin Ward.
Not my ex Marvin Ward.
It can’t be him.
But suddenly, I knew it was. There couldn’t be that many Marvin Wards out there, especially not here in our hometown in Westchester County, New York.
I had known that Kylie’s last name was Ward, of course, but since it was such a common name, I had never suspected she could be an offspring of my ex. But now that I thought about it, her dark brown curly hair looked just like his.
Oh, God.
My high school ex was my troubled and trouble-making student’s father.
This was about to get uncomfortable!
Click here to read Super Over You!
“This is your ex. I’m calling because I have to, not because I want to.”
Olivia was my high school sweetheart.
But then things between us eventually turned sour.
Now fate has brought her curvy body back into my life.
She still hates me for being a cocky football player.
I tell myself I hate her too, for being opinionated and stubborn.
And that there’s no time for an instant replay of our hot and cold relationship.
I have a comeback to make in my career, and a Superbowl to win.
But I can’t resist those soulful eyes and that feisty laugh I fell in love with long ago.
Now I want to re-claim what’s been mine all along.
Even though she’s adamant that she’s super over me.
This is a full-length standalone romance novel. Jamie Knight promises to always bring you a happy ever after filled with plenty of heat. And never any cheating or cliffhangers!
Click here to read Super Over You!
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