The Kindergarten Teacher

A short story.

Aren't kids just the cutest things in the world?

My name is Emma Harris. I am a kindergarten teacher and it's my first year teaching at this new school! I teach at a primary school; kindergarten through third grade. I absolutely adore my class.

Today is June 1st, and the children are ecstatic at the promise of summertime fun. As the children file into the school, one by one, I note their flushed round faces bright with an eagerness to learn that you don't see as often in older grades. A child come skipping into my class – Simon.

"Hi Miss Emma!" he says in his lisp.

"Hello dear Simon. How was your long weekend? What did you do?"

He begins a wild tale as the rest of his classmates come bursting into the classroom. A few children are miffed at the idea of having to be inside while the weather is so beautiful, but they soon become excited when they see the pictures on the board. Our next subject to learn about –dinosaurs!

After a wonderful lesson about dinosaurs, I've instructed the students to draw their own. As the children draw their very best dinosaurs, I look outside. A murder of crows is on the blacktop. Seven to be exact, all fighting over a forgotten snack left from one of the children at recess. I vaguely remember an old rhyme: Seven for a secret never to be told.

I smile to myself, deep in thought about secrets of my own.

"Miss Emma?" A quiet girl's voice demands my attention.

I look away from the window, back to my classroom. "Yes, Amy?"

"I'm done my drawing! Is it story-time yet?"

Grinning wider and nodding, I tack her drawing up on the wall and grab today's story from the shelf while she runs to announce story-time.

"Bye now kids! See you tomorrow!" I wave at the students getting picked up by parents and stay out on the blacktop until every student has gone.

The drive home is long, but never quiet. Why would you drive in utter silence when instead you could cruise to showtunes? I sing along to Hamilton, my newest musical love.

I burst in through the door of my house, still singing. Ridiculous, I know, but hey, good music is good music!

The smaller bedroom door is ajar. Has Sammy been up? Or did I leave it open when I left this morning? "Hello dear! Are you awake?" I ask, fully pushing open the door to my 6-year-old son's bedroom.

Now, I know that leaving my young son home alone isn't the greatest idea, but I'm new to the town, and my only friend is Miss Martin, another teacher. A nanny is far too expensive, and I couldn't possibly bring my sick son to school, lest he infect the other children. Though it saddens me to do so, I am completely out of options.

The figure in the bed is still. The bowl of chicken noodle soup, the best get-better-when-you're-sick meal, is untouched, as is the large mug of tea.

"Sammy, dear, you haven't eaten anything today! And this room is so dark!" Coming closer to the bed, an awful, unidentifiable stench hits me.

"Dear lord Sammy, this rooms smells awful!" I nearly gag, and rush to open a window. Sammy says nothing, only stares with a blank expression. I'm beginning to get cross. Not a single word of apology! Not even an acknowledgement of my presence!

"Fine, if that's how you want to act! I'll see you at supper time you awful child." Nose in the air, I collect his untouched dishes and stalk to the kitchen to begin making dinner. I decide to make spaghetti and meatballs- Sammy's favorite meal despite being still angry with him. Maybe that will make him feel better.