Pearls and Portfolios

“Mrs. Fry, we are beyond excited to have you join our team.”

“It’s Ms. Fry,” Georgie corrected the small man leading her to her new classroom. No longer would she have to share with another teacher. This space was all her own. She was going to be the best science teacher Oak Hills Preparatory Academy had ever seen.

“Right, Ms. Fry,” Principal Werner responded like the three times before. “Here we are.” He gestured to the open door like an elevator assistant announcing a new floor. He stood to the side, clearing the way to her educational wonderland. She floated in and gawked at her new playground, her boss a distant memory. State-of-the-art lab equipment. Laptops for every student. A room double the size of her old stomping grounds. She had it made.

“This is amazing,” she said and turned back to the man behind her. “Thank you for this opportunity, sir.”

“You’re welcome. Let me know if you need anything.” He bowed.

“I doubt I will,” she joked as he waved goodbye and flew away.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Georgie spun around to see a woman in the doorframe. “Mrs. Fry, may I come in?” The stranger asked but did not wait for a response. She wore the Columbia University emblem in three ways: printed on her shirt, embroidered on her cardigan, and painted on her lapel pin. The new-to-town teacher assumed the woman had nothing but love for her alma mater.

“It's Ms. Fry.” Georgie considered wearing a name tag. “You are?”

“Mrs. Calvin.”

“Mrs. Calvin, it’s nice to meet you.” The newcomer offered her hand. Her guest looked at it and then away. Georgie took a beat to ponder and re-center herself. Having shaken off the introduction, she added, “I’m happy to meet a fellow teacher so soon.”

“Oh, no!” The wife laughed, her smile as white as her pearls. “I’m a mother.”

“I’m so sorry. I misunderstood.” Georgie shook her head.

“Never mind it.” With the spinster’s mistake, the housewife celebrated her upper hand with the most ladylike of smirks. “My son, Blaine Calvin, will be taking your class. I came by to drop this off.” She handed Georgie a leather portfolio embossed with Columbia’s emblem. “Here are some materials and notes I’d like you to review and include in Blaine’s college recommendation letter.”

Georgie scoffed, while flipping through the lamented pages. “But I haven’t even met your son.”

“But you will. He will be your top student. He’s going to be a neurosurgeon.”

“Mom?” A voice called from the door.

The women turned to see a teenage girl.

“Yes, Jessica?”

“May I spend the night at Penelope’s?”

“No, I never liked her. Also, you have cooking lessons tonight.”

“Understood.” She turned to leave.

“Wait! Jessica,” Georgie interrupted.

The girl looked at her, big eyes and hands together.

“I’m Ms. Fry, the new science teacher. Will you be taking one of my classes this year?”

She looked at her mother and then back at Georgie. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Really? Great! It’s nice to meet you, Jessica. What year are you?”

She looked down at the floor. “A junior,” she muttered.

Georgie looked at the portfolio in her hand, the girl with her head down, and the mother looking out the window with her chin high. “Ms. Calvin, do you have a portfolio for Jessica?”

“No, and it’s Mrs. Calvin” She beelined for the door. “Come on, you.” Jessica dragged behind her, pulled by an invisible leash. Georgie traced their steps to the hallway. 

As she watched them leave, she looked up and down the corridor and realized her surroundings. Mothers wearing pearl necklaces and ivy-league spirit wear. From Harvard to Princeton to Yale. Lined up outside each classroom door, tapping their feet with leather portfolios in hand. Behind them, daughters with heads down and hands together. No fathers. No sons. Just their women doing their bidding. As Jessica looked back over her shoulder, Georgie was swarmed by three new mothers.

***

After hours of preparing lesson plans and building her tower of portfolios, Georgie barreled down the hallway, bag held tight at her side and head down. She would not get stopped again.

“Ms. Fry,” a voice calls to her.

She slowed down, sighed, and turned to see a short, rosy-cheeked woman wearing one of the high school’s polos. She got the “Ms.” right.

“I meant to introduce myself earlier, but I was swamped with work,” the new, fresh face started. “I’m Miss Jacobs, an English Literature teacher here at Oak Hills.” She extended her hand which Georgie shook, as if thanking the feminist spirits for a return to normalcy.

“I’m Ms. Fry. It’s great to meet a fellow teacher, but I’m actually on my way out.” She looked down the hall and back at her team member.

“Of course! Don’t let me hold you. It was lovely meeting you,” she said with a smile that favored squinty eyes rather than flashy teeth.

Georgie waved and took three steps toward her exit before turning back. “Ms. Jacobs, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” She didn’t correct her but rather listened.

“Are all our students’ mothers like this?”

“Like what?” She asked, as her eyes scurried and her voice softened.

“You know. The pearl necklaces, the college t-shirts, the portfolios for their sons but not their daughters. For the 20 mothers I met today, not a single father. Will tomorrow be different?”

Miss Jacobs adopted the stature of her girl students, moved her eyes as if skimming a book line by line across the floor. She cleared her throat and said, “No, tomorrow will be the same. Just another day.” She pulled the corners of her lips up, squinted her eyes once more, and shuffled away. “Have a good evening, Ms. Fry.”

“Have a good night,” Georgie responded while turning away. She tucked her hands into her pockets, having forgotten her earlier urgency. Upon opening the door to exit, she looked out to the parking lot to see fifteen more portfolios staked on the hood of her car. “How the fuck do they know what car I drive?”