Wake Up Call

“What do you want from me!?” I angrily shouted to myself in the bathroom that was nestled between the two most dramatic teachers I have ever assisted in my life. I just couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening. And, this was all over a spilled coffee mug! A very steaming, hot one, apparently! The damn fall pumpkin spice whatever coffee released the most obnoxious scent, and I wanted to hurl all over my students, whom I was also assisting! Between these two women, who were never able to stand each other, and my sister’s job as the Assistant Principal of our lovely little elementary school, which was full of dysfunction, I never knew how it was still functioning! The constant bickering between these two women was just ridiculous! What about teaching? I wanted to shout at them! What about instilling information in these little kids’ minds?! But no, apparently, these two women, one mature and experienced, the other fiercely young and energetic, had the biggest blue eyes that could have fooled anyone into thinking she was friendly and sweet. But not Mrs. Spade. Nothing and no one ever fooled Mrs. Spade, the most experienced teacher in this school.

I yelled that way too loudly and feared somebody would have heard me. I poked my head out of the bathroom stall and made sure nobody was in sight. Crap! I saw my student Claire, who looked scared at my overreaction. I needed to get a grip on myself.

Her four-year-old, big brown eyes locked with mine, and she looked beyond frightened. And caused by her assistant. Ugh. How could I have let this happen? I don’t know how to fix this! I just messed this up big time for my favorite student of all time. Claire, her brown ponytail bouncing as she tilted her head, waited for more instruction. She was the smartest in the class of ten little kindergartners. Claire was the most receptive to instruction, learned quickly from new tasks given by Mrs. Spade, and I was convinced that Ms. Junelin wanted Claire in her class. However, that was not my problem at the moment. That was between them. I needed to clean up the mess I just made.

She needed me! She needed me to be calm, not stressed from those two nutjobs!

“Miss. Kensie, why were you shouting?” She said, in the most innocent voice I have ever heard, and I felt as if I failed her. This was just awful! I was supposed to instill calmness in my students—not fear.

“Oh, sweety, it’s okay, I was just upset with something- no biggie, really,” I said and assured her that I was not the one to fear. I feared those two women, but I couldn’t ever let her know that. Not now. Not ever. Not on my watch.

“Oh, okay, I guess I’ll go back to finger painting.” She said, as her tiny, messy hands tugged on mine to bring me back to the room.

As we both walked into Mrs. Spade’s classroom, hand in hand, the giant, round, white table in the back had multiple paint cans on top, and underneath, it was scattered with mini multicolored handprints. There was not a single speck of white visible.

“All set?!” Mrs. Spade spoke out clearly, giving that call out to the little ones every ten minutes. Who looked so happy being messy. I just enjoyed the fact that each little face had a smile on it from ear to ear.

“You bet!” the ten of them shouted back. They giggled and sat down; that was their only cue from Mrs. Spade.

“Miss. Kensie, would you be a dear and get the lights for me?” She said to me and showed off her whimsical, very toothy smile.

“Of course, “Mrs. Spade, you got it.” I walked over to the light switch, located on the opposite side of the classroom, dodging baskets, bins, and a cluster of book bags to get there.

I flipped off the lights, and the endless amount of kaleidoscopic handprints glowed in the dark.

“Woooahh,” “Ohhhh,” “COOOL!!” all the little ones shouted at their masterpiece.

“Wow, kids! Look at that!” Mrs. Spade shouted.

“Now that is art!” I shouted happily. Mrs. Spade grinned. I clapped excitedly. Claire, my favorite, upbeat, smart girl, was back. Not an ounce of fear in her innocent, brown eyes.

“Okay, class, clean up time!” Mrs. Spade shouted. All ten children rushed to clean up their spaces.

Mrs. Spade had the most control over her class, more than any other teacher in this elementary school.

And then all of a sudden, Ms. Junelin was at the door. Dripping in red and yellow paint. The school’s colors. Her lanky, thin body crunched in anger, and she flicked her hands as hard as she could to get rid of the globs of paint she was doused in. Ha. Kinda well deserved. But I couldn’t applaud this in front of the kids. I had to stay professional. I had to be the best role model for the kids. These two women were never great role models.

“Who DID THIS!” Ms. Junelin yelled in the doorway. She stomped her foot like one of these kids did when they didn’t get their way.

I wanted to laugh so hard, but I managed to hold myself together.

“What do you mean, Ms. Junelin?” Mrs. Spade asked, with a snarky tone in her voice.

“I am drenched in paint, and who did this to me?! That is what I mean, Mrs. Spade!”

“Oh, I have no idea, we were all here, darling, I never left the room. Only Miss. Kensie left the room to use the restroom and to assist Claire.” Mrs. Spade said and smiled, and I hoped and prayed that she would never ever use me to get to Ms. Junelin in the most sneaky, underhanded way. However, I was only the assistant, after all.

“Miss. Kensie?” She asked, and looked dumbstruck, shocked, thrown, rattled.

“I don’t, I really don’t understand what’s happening. How did this happen?” I asked.

Then all of a sudden, Claire, our favorite student, stood up. The rest of the students were listening, waiting patiently for directions from Mrs. Spade.

“Uh, excuse me, I put the paint cans on top of the door so that it would spill on her!” Claire shouted, and the class clapped and applauded, and howled excited sound effects.

“What! How? Claire, how did you possibly reach the top of the door to put paint cans on top of the ledge?” Mrs. Spade asked.

“I used the class’s stepstool and was able to reach! She has been so mean to you, Mrs. Spade, I had to do something to get her back! She was the one who knocked over your coffee mug on purpose!” Claire shouted in distress.

“Claire, honey, how would you even know about that?!” Mrs. Spade asked, as I stood there, feeling a deep sense of shame. Embarrassment and humiliation stemmed from my shouting in the bathroom earlier.

“Um, well, I don’t want to get her into trouble,” Claire stated innocently.

“Okay, well, Claire, and class, this was not acceptable behavior.” Mrs. Spade said politely and more calmly than Ms. Junelin acted throughout the entire year.

“Claire, do you have something you want to say to Ms. Junelin?” Mrs. Spade asked our favorite student. Who now looked menacingly frightening.

“Okay, fine, I’m sorry, but not sorry that it happened to her!” Claire shouted and pointed her little finger right at Ms. Junelin, who was covered in paint. It was even in her blond hair.

“Okay, class, settle down, settle down, now it’s your job to clean up. And Claire, you will need a visit to the Principal’s office.” Mrs. Spade directed. She cleaned her glasses out of frustration, it looked like.

Honestly thought, Claire had it right! The crazy wacko next door needed a wake-up call.

Mrs. Spade came up to me and whispered, “Miss. Kensie, do you have any idea how that stepstool got placed in the classroom, after we stored it in the locked janitor’s closet?” Mrs. Spade asked me.

I replied with, “Like I always say, Mrs. Spade, don’t make a mess if you’re not willing to get your hands a little dirty yourself.” I said, and smiled brightly. Mrs. Spade smiled in return.