“We always react to things that some take for granted, things we wanted when we were little.” She shrugged. “That’s been me my whole life—with normal people, I mean. I’m always seeing how easy everyday stuff is to most people, and then I’m here, freaking clueless.” She snorted softly. “I was at the store with Mom yesterday, and she asked me to grab a few bags of chips. Normal, right? But I froze. I didn’t know if she expected three or four bags, because technically everything between three and eight can be a few, depending on how you define several and many—and also, depending on how many you’re feeding. A ‘few’ in my family is a crapload to others. So, I just stood there and stared at her until I started crying.”
I let out a breath and nodded slowly. “The grass is always greener.”
“Where?” She became the picture of a question mark.
It was endearing.
“The grass is always greener on the other side,” I elaborated. “It’s a saying. We tend to want what we don’t have.”
“Ah. Yes. It makes sense.” She dipped her chin and began drumming her fingers on her knees. “I have to go home, but you should make your students see what they have. Make them see they’re fortunate, rather than disliking them for having a fortune.”
There wasn’t much I could say in response. The kid had a valid point.
“I’ve reached my social interaction limit for the day,” she informed me and stood up. “The bottle, please? I’ll be back in a couple days with a new one. Aunt Britt and I are gonna do a new batch tomorrow. Now I’m just rambling, but I’m excited to try watermelon.”
I stifled a smile and extended the bottle. “Until next time, Pipsqueak.”
“Next time, Mister.” She offered a quick smile before she left.
Six
It turned out to be a good summer for me after all.
I spent my days working on my house, making plans for next semester, talking to Pipsqueak, working out with Ethan, and every now and then stopping by the Quinns’ house to check in with them.
At the end of July, our old house sold for $5,000 under the asking price, which was a good deal, considering the economy. We still made a decent profit.
Being on my own was slowly stitching up some of the wounds that’d been ripped open over the last couple of years. I didn’t pursue anyone new, even for anything casual, and, for the first time in ages, I felt comfortable. My past stayed in the past, and it helped that I was closing myself in and only spending time with people I already knew well.
When August rolled around, I experienced something I hadn’t felt since I’d first become a teacher, and it was the itch to go back to work. For which I could thank Pipsqueak. She made me want to return to a classroom full of students.
I was fully prepared to be disappointed when they once again proved how ungrateful they were, but I was going to give it an honest try. Even more than one. I wanted them to learn, and I wanted them to want it too. Whether I succeeded was partly up to me, so I couldn’t half-ass it.
We taught in blocks at my school, something I’d always preferred. It allowed me to delve deeper into the subjects, and we didn’t get interrupted by the bell every forty minutes.
This semester, I had history and economics, and the latter currently had me foaming at the mouth. Every morning, I studied the news closely, and I was waiting for this already massive problem to grow even bigger. I couldn’t believe some idiot politicians thought they could save the economy with impressive bailouts. The housing market collapsing was only the beginning—I was sure.
I woke up at four one morning because I had a strange abundance of energy. I was meeting with the substitute teacher who would be covering my classes while I rode out my administrative leave, and I had a feeling she wouldn’t enjoy my inability to give up control. She’d have no leeway. I had big plans for this semester, so she’d basically spend the first month of the new semester ensuring my students read what I wanted them to read.
Then I’d be back in September, fingers crossed. Everything was going accordingly to what my attorney had predicted; we were just waiting for the paperwork to go through. My record would be clean again afterward.
Once my coffee was done, I brought a mug, my phone, and my laptop with me to the patio. I was no longer settling for yesterday’s paper. I’d already devoured every word, and I’d be at it again as soon as today’s paper was delivered in a few hours.
It was going to be a hot day. I didn’t even need a hoodie.
Since I’d started reading the news on my laptop, I’d bought a matching, cheap plastic table to go with the two chairs I had. They sufficed for now.
I took a slow sip of my coffee while I waited for my laptop to power up.
The first light of the day was touching the horizon over the mountains to the east.
The seagulls would meet up with the fishermen returning to the marina soon.
My phone buzzed with a message from Pipsqueak.
Tell me when you’re up.
I responded.
I’m up. Come over if you want.
She was following the recent events in Iraq closely, and I enjoyed getting reports from her.
“Let’s see.” I rubbed my hands together and nodded to myself as the first headlines flashed on the screen. There wasn’t a chance in hell this wouldn’t be a global crash. How could some people stay positive—and naïve—in these times?
The Asian markets were failing, and the Footsie on the London Stock Exchange had dropped below 6,000 points in their morning session.
“Morning, Mister!”
“Morning, hon.” I sipped my coffee and scanned the article. “Any update from your brothers?”
She was too funny. She hadn’t changed out of her pajamas, instead opting for throwing a blanket around her shoulders.
She set two lemonade bottles on the table. “Yes, Ryan is okay.”
That was a relief. Other than being a highly skilled sniper in the Marines, stationed in one of the most hostile countries in the world, Ryan, along with his battalion, was part of some operation that was currently going on the offensive against a rise of insurgents outside of Fallujah.
“Did you email him yet?” Pipsqueak wondered.
I inclined my head and moved on to the WSJ website. “You insisted, and I obeyed. I emailed Jake too.”
“Because you’re their friend! They wanna hear from you too,” she defended. “Did you tell them you miss them?”
Eh. That wasn’t quite how I communicated with my friends. “Guys look out for one another,” I said. “I told them to sell their stocks. It’s our version of expressing care.”
Pipsqueak made a strangled noise. “How?”
“Because I’m essentially protecting their assets. I’m letting them know that the economy is about to tank, and my warning will allow them to evacuate a burning building before it collapses.” I eyed a headline and frowned, then clicked on it and rubbed a hand over my mouth. Yeah, fuck all the politicians and bankers who said everything was fine.
“Is this about the house bubble thing on the news?” she asked curiously. “Dad talks about it a lot.”
I hummed and nodded as I read.