Graded in Red

Chapter Five

Victoria rang me up just after I'd hopped out of the shower and got dressed, asking for a ride to the high school that evening. Her car was doing its best impression of a stubborn mule, refusing to start. Until payday, she was stuck, planning to haul it to Doc's Auto Repair.

"Hey there! How's the morning treating you after last night?" Victoria grinned, tossing her enormous bag into the backseat of my Jeep Compass.

"I'm hanging in there. Dehydrated, with a slight morning headache. You?" I responded, glancing at her flawless, no-bags-under-her-eyes look. She was all red hippie skirts and black tank tops; meanwhile, I was rocking my trusty green capris, white v-neck, and those oh-so-versatile black Converse shoes.

"I'm surprisingly spry! A bit of Advil and green tea worked its magic. And yoga—seriously, you should join me in the park for an early session one day! I promise it'll turn your world around!" Victoria's enthusiasm for yoga was relentless. She preached its virtues, its peace-bringing superpowers. Yet, my inner monologue never seemed to hush up enough for me to feel any calmness during a session. I'd told Vic this countless times, but she was adamant that now that I was back home, away from the urban chaos, it'd make a difference. Let's see about that.

"Good god, that is so much to do in the morning. I'd rather drink some coffee and read, which is exactly what I did. "So, spill the beans! What's the lowdown on this school fiesta? What kind of small talk am I forced to engage in? And can I sneak in a peek at my soon-to-be class kingdom?" I asked Victoria, trying to sound more composed than a squirrel trapped in a walnut factory.

I needed a timeline, a roadmap, something more solid than a politician's promise. I wasn't one for spur-of-the-moment stuff; small talk was like my kryptonite. I tended to chat-sneeze whenever I faced unfamiliar faces.

"Imagine a summit of parents from across the education realm – Board of Education, Superintendents, the works. Mingle like you're at a royal ball, oh gracious one," Victoria chimed in, dishing out advice like a high school gossip columnist.

For the next ten minutes, it was a crash course on everyone in the district: who's who, what's what, and heaven forbid, which parents were the real-life micromanagers—the helicopter kind. I swear, it's like dealing with alien species sometimes.

"You might get a quick peek-a-boo around the school, but your classroom will have to stay a mystery for now. Patience, grasshopper, your time will come a week before school chaos commences," Victoria ended as we rolled into the school parking lot. The place was buzzing louder than a beehive on a hot summer day.

Carnival rides for the tots, games for the daring souls, a dance floor with moves from the '80s to today's pop hits, and a stage prepping for a grand school facelift reveal – the town was throwing a party that could rival a Vegas extravaganza.

I squinted as we approached the entrance, where Jake stood, playing detective and scanning bags like a TSA agent. Ah, Oklahoma, where everyone's got their sidekick – a gun, that is. They embraced the 2nd amendment like it was their golden ticket to a county fair.

"Maggie, what do you have in that bag of tricks? Not smuggling any surprises, are you?" Jake flashed a smirk and peeked into my bag.

"Just some heavy-duty literature. But hey, unless you've turned into a firefighter, this isn't Fahrenheit 451, is it?" I quipped back with a smirk.

Jake shot me a look that probably aimed for playful but landed closer to exasperation as he moved on to check Victoria's bag. Then came the unexpected moment.

"You know, Maggie, it's ancient history. Can't we bury the hatchet?" Jake's voice softened, hoping for some reconciliation.

"Forgive and forget? Like the Stephen King "Carrie" moment at prom? When you and Bridgett pulled that stunt and left me high and dry while you cozied up in the bleachers, making out? That kind of forget?" I snapped back, snatching my bag off the table.