Barefoot

Barefoot

Miss Dowles tapped aimlessly on her desk, watching the clock on the opposite wall. 4:25. Nearly an hour after the final bell, and 45 minutes after Mrs. Young was supposed to arrive.

Mia sat on the opposite side of the desk, looking around the classroom thoughtfully. Her legs didn’t quite reach the floor, allowing her white Converse covered in stickers to swing gently below her, a patient, cheerful look on her face. Her eyes met Miss Dowles’, offering a polite smile. Miss Dowles cleared her throat.

“Your mother hasn’t texted you saying when she would arrive, has she?”

“I don’t have a phone yet,” Mia replied matter-of-factly.

“Oh, of course.” Miss Dowles blushed, momentarily forgetting she was speaking to a ten-year-old. She coughed and straightened her posture. “Well, we may have to reschedule this chat, the sooner the better. I can give your house a call and arrange another time.”

Mia shrugged, preparing to stand. “You can try. Sometimes my mom gets busy with my sister and forgets the time. Isabelle’s sick right now.”

“Actually, stop,” Miss Dowles said, more forcibly than she intended. She tried to soften her face and reapply her teacherly expression - inviting yet stern, not quite a friend, but not quite a parent. “Maybe you and I can discuss this first.”

Mia paused mid-stance and resumed her seat.

“Is something wrong? Am I in trouble?” she asked, her bright face betraying no emotion other than an innocent query.

“Well, to be honest, that remains to be seen.” Miss Dowles cautioned, trying to calculate the best approach to the subject. “I figured I’d talk to you first to get your side of the story.”

“Is it about Charlotte’s science project?” Mia offered in an annoyed tone, “She said I was copying her, but I said I was going to do a forest biome a week before she picked it. Now she’s being a bab-”

“No, no,” Miss Dowles cut her off with a wave. “This has nothing to do with Charlotte.”

“Then what?” Mia asked with an expression of equal parts curiosity and stubbornness.

“It’s about the socks.”

Miss Dowles watched Mia’s entire body language change, her confident expression frozen on her face, as if she was trying to suppress any amount of surprise. This told Miss Dowles all she needed to know.

“Socks?” Mia finally responded, with no change in emotion in her voice.

“Yes, the socks,” Miss Dowles reiterated, pointing to a poster hanging beside the chalkboard behind her.

The Great Canadian Clothing Drive! The poster declared proudly in a bright red font, images of a rodeo and lassos decorating the page.

We’re collecting up clothes across the country! Shirts, socks, underwear, we’ll take 'em all, new and gently-used! Think your class can donate the most? In celebration of the contest's 20th anniversary, the winning class across the Country gets an all-expense-paid trip to Disney World for them and their families!

This was the 9th year that St. Jacob Elementary School had participated in the contest, and the third year Miss Dowles had her grade four students collaborate on their donations. The class always did well, a proud moment each year for Miss Dowles, but they never came close to winning. That honour always seemed to go to one of the private schools in Eastern Ontario, with some fortunate student’s parents coming in with a donation of thousands of dollars worth of clothes in the last hours.

Miss Dowles' kids always tried their best, but winning was never going to be in the cards. No one’s parents at St. Jacob’s had the expendable income to come in and save the day. No local store was going to hop in with a last-minute collaboration. The class at St. Jacob’s was destined for respectable participation; that was all.

All of that changed with her current cohort of students.

Mia’s cohort.

At first, Miss Dowles was shocked by Mia’s exuberance. Mia had always been bright, a top performer in her class, but withdrawn. Tired, almost. She socialized well enough, but keeping her head down had always been the child’s MO.

This all changed once the contest was announced. The past prizes were always extravagant, but a trip to Disney for the class and their families was the shiniest reward yet. As soon as the contest start date began, Mia jumped into action. Miss Dowles knew well the struggle of trying to corral a group of fourth graders to do ANYTHING coordinated, but Mia found a way. She led the class like a 10-year-old drill sergeant, and the donations flooded in. Door-to-door campaigns were held, signs were put up, and one student even got their mother to put an ad in the local paper.

But after a couple of weeks, the momentum slowed. The class had still far surpassed the number of items they had donated in the previous years, and Miss Dowles had already counted the year as a massive success. The donations were substantial, not within reach of the numbers the winning schools had obtained in years past, but still an incredible accomplishment.

Miss Dowles had tried explaining this to Mia when the momentum slowed, but the 10-year-old didn’t seem interested in simply a pat on the back for a job well done. She continued to rally, but despite her continuous efforts, the donations started to trickle, and the last avenue of potential sources in town dwindled.

That was until Mia started to arrive at school with socks. Many, many socks.

“We already checked the rules,” Mia started, motioning to the donation bin to the right of Miss Dowles. The bin was almost overflowing with the most recent batch of donations, a mountain of socks peaking over the edge of the container. “A pair of socks is worth just as much as any other clothing.”

Miss Dowles stared back at Mia, trying to get a read on her emotions. But the small girl's face remained still, ready to argue. She was prepared to make this difficult.

“I know. We already talked about this. The socks count. But I want to talk about where these socks came from.”

“And we already talked about this, too,” Mia stated flatly. “I rode my bike to Barry’s Bay. It was only a forty-five-minute ride, but none of the schools there are doing the contest. I made the trip every day last week going door-to-door in different neighbourhoods. I only asked for socks because I needed to fit them in my wagon.”

Miss Dowles waited for Mia to continue, but that was where her explanation stopped, her large eyes staring back at Miss Dowles in defiance.

“Is that what happened?” Miss Dowles offered. She wanted to give Mia the chance to explain herself. Dragging the truth out was just going to make this conversation all the less pleasant. “Are you sure you do not want to have this conversation with your mother is present?”

“That’s what happened. And what I’m going to keep doing until the contest is over.” Mia said firmly. “And no, I don’t know when she’s going to be free. She’s with my sister right now. I told you, she’s sick.”

Miss Dowles sighed a tired breath and took out her phone.

“I havn’t been to Barry’s Bay in a couple of months.” she started, opening the photos app on her phone. “But I did have to vist to Drivers Hill over the weekend.”

Miss Dowles watched Mia’s face for any change in expression. None followed.

“I needed to pick up some craft supplies from my sister there. And while I was visitng, I made at stop at Macromart. Figured I’d shop by one of the larger grocery stores for the week. And do you know what I found there?”

Mia gave no response, but her eyes were no longer locked on Miss Dowles; instead, they had shifted down to her feet. Miss Dowles sighed and slid her phone across the desk toward the young girl.

Have you seen this person? The sign stuck to the sliding glass door read. Below it, a security camera image of a figure in a baggy trench coat and thick sunglasses. They wore a surgical mask to hide their face, but their short stature betrayed their age. While the trench coat draped down to the floor, every one of the many pockets was visibly stuffed, giving the individual a lumpy silhouette.

And on her feet, white Converse covered in stickers.

Wanted for theft, the bottom of the poster read. Repeat offender. Please see guest services with any information.

“This is you, correct, Mia?” Miss Dowles said, attempting to mask the accusation in concern.

Mia continued to stare down at her feet, not even bothering to look at the phone.

“Did you bike all the way to Driver’s Hill to steal socks?” Miss Dowles asked the child. “Did you do this at other stores? Are all the socks you’ve donated stolen prope-”

“Fail me.”

Miss Dowles stopped mid-sentence. The young girl in front of her was now looking directly into her eyes, a newly emerged look of concern on her face.

“Excuse me?” Miss Dowle asked, taken aback.

“Fail me.” Mia repeated in a suddenly frantic tone. “Hold me back a year. Say I cheated on a test. Take away my recess. Make me stay after class. Give me detention for the next two grades.”

Miss Dowle could only stare back as Mia leaned forward, her expression growing more distressed by the moment.

“Take away my bike. Tell the other kids something horrible about me,” Mia spewed, her breath growing exasperated, her eyes dyed red with suppressed tears. “Punish me anyway you want. Hit me. Spit on me. I don’t care.”

Mia breathed heavily as Miss Dowles stared back, shocked.

“Just…don’t take away the socks.” Mia finally said, deflating back into her chair. “And don’t tell my mom. Please.”

Miss Dowles could only watch as the girl in front of her breathed deeply in her chair. She had seen guilty students before; the look of shame mixed with regret was a staple in the class when she was disciplining a child. But the expression Mia wore was different. There was no embarrassment to be seen. Only tired panic.

“Mia, I need you to help me understand this,” Miss Dowles started pulling out a folder with loose stacks of papers from her desk drawer. The pages contained all of Mia’s work from the year; spelling bees mixed with art projects stuck out of the folder. “Your grades are good. You’re well-behaved. This all seems so…out of character.”

Mia remained silent in her chair as Miss Dowles rifled through the child’s assignments.

“Honestly, you are one of my model students. I don’t think you’ve missed a due date, you havn’t failed any quizzes, so I’m struggling to figure ou-”

Her words were cut short as she landed on one of Mia’s assignments, a simple, neatly illustrated document. It was an art project Miss Dowle assigned every year, a mini family tree where students drew their immediate family, and as many grandparents as the sheet would allow. The image displayed in front of her showed three smiling figures - Mia in the center of the three, a tall woman with long hair to her left labeled mom, and to her right, a shorter figure. The drawing depicted a person with no hair, their head simply a circle with dotted eyes and a smile, the top of their head just reaching Mia’s shoulder. On the figure’s shirt, three circles intersected, depicting a basic yet identifiable Mickey Mouse logo. Above the figure, the name Isabelle was printed.

Miss Dowles had never made the connection before, but the resemblance was clear. She remembered Isabelle, the small girl a few years younger than Mia. Miss Dowles never had her in her class, and didn’t know any specific details, only that Isabelle was ill. The kind of ill that you don’t bring up unless in private. She recalled one of the junior teachers talking about the day Isabelle came to school with a shaved head, and how courageous she was amidst the questions from her classmates. Thinking back, Miss Dowles couldn’t remember the last day she saw Isabelle at the school, but it must have been going on months now. She almost felt embarrassed that she hadn’t realized the young girl’s absence.

Miss Dowles looked up and saw Mia staring at the same photo, her face washed in a tired expression.

“Isabelle has always wanted to meet Elsa.”

The two sat in silence for what could have been minutes - Miss Dowles had frankly lost track of the time. She didn’t even remember dismissing Mia from the class, but as she walked out of the room, Miss Dowles could not help but notice that the young girl was barefoot in her sneakers.

Miss Dowles watched through the window as the child wheeled her bike to the curb, looked back for only a moment, then set off down the road.

The teacher stared out the window longer, watching as Mia slowly disappeared out of view into the horizon. Without giving it much thought, Miss Dowles removed her shoes, slid off both of her socks, folded them neatly, and placed them at the top of the donation bin.