The previous night’s events left me exhausted. By recess, every ounce of my energy had long been depleted. My students were outside. I should’ve been with them, playing in the schoolyard, but the peace and quiet of the classroom called me and proved healthier. I looked out the window again, checking on the two teachers who agreed to look after my students, and then I laid my head on the desk, my arms folded underneath.

 

I didn’t plan on falling asleep, but I closed my eyes briefly and felt the sweet embrace of slumber whisking me gently away. I wasn’t sure at first if I was asleep or awake. Bits of reality mingled with dreams in a mosaic that kept me out of deep relaxation but didn’t keep me fully awake. It was warm and pleasant, and I gave in easily. It made me feel better about everything, forgetting the ugliness of life and what I had to do.

 

Last night was the hardest, and sleep had eluded me. Ginger’s sleepover had been extended to last through the weekend, and I suspected Dawson had something to do with it. I hadn’t said anything because I knew that, while it was a selfish move, it was for the best. There was too much tension between her father and I.

 

My limbs grew cold, and I frowned. I didn’t like gradually waking up, so I tried to adjust my position and go back to sleep. But a commotion outside interrupted me. Groaning, I lifted my head and looked out.

 

I saw children running around and the two teachers fussing about in the middle of the playground. Still a bit hazy with sleep, I looked closer, and with understanding came shock. It jumpstarted me into a sprint. Knocking back my chair, I ran out the door, almost falling over because my feet were still asleep.

 

But in seconds, I was outside, gauging the situation. The reason for the commotion cleared as I got closer. One of my students was crying, and one of the teachers tried to comfort her, while the other teacher gently reprimanded one of the older children not far away, wisely separating the two.

 

A stocky boy, maybe two years older, seemed upset with the situation. He kept repeating things like, “It’s not my fault,” and “She is a lesbo”

 

I went to my student and crouched down. “What happened?” I mouthed.

 

The teacher nearest me returned a chilling gaze before answering. “The older student verbally attacked this girl. Said something awful about her having two mothers. You should have been here, as her teacher.” The middle aged woman glared at me.

 

I said nothing, my colleague right this time. I hugged the child and tried to brace myself for a tongue lashing from the principal, who approached us with a steady gait. I feared the incident might be the last straw in his eyes with his determination that my behavior had been lacking for the last few months. Would I get fired before taking Ginger for good?

 

I couldn’t think of a defense for myself as Principal Deck stopped a few feet away from the scene. “What happened here?” he asked quietly.

 

I was surprised that none of the other teachers said anything. Grateful for their help, I stood, holding the little girl to my chest and clearing my throat. “Apparently, Mr. Clarkson’s student had another episode. He spoke to Annie and upset her.”

 

“He said bad things about my mommies!” Annie sobbed, shaking in my arms.

 

“Apparently?” Deck asked, staring at me and ignoring the child.

 

“That is what happened,” I mumbled, swallowing hard. I tried to look unassuming, but I suspected I wasn’t very convincing.

 

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We’ll call her mother. Get her to the nurse’s office for now. And Mr. Clarkson? You and your student proceed to my office.” The turned on his heel, hands clasped behind his back, and left.

 

I took a deep breath, relieved this was over. I knew my small victory wouldn’t last long, and the worst was yet to come. Annie’s mother was a wealthy divorced woman and an obnoxious Femi-Nazi. She held strong beliefs and had a habit of shouting them. I heard she had been involved in an altercation a couple years ago. Not the easiest parent to deal with.

 

Dreading it, I excused myself and took Annie to see the nurse. Still regarding me with a hint of disdain, the other teacher stayed behind to gather the rest of my students and send them to the classroom.

 

In the nurse’s office, rumors already circulated about the incident. I kept my mouth shut and focused on Annie. She seemed calmer, and I took that as a good sign. Maybe her mother wouldn’t explode after all. But it was a naïve thought, and she quickly proved me wrong.

 

With her usual attitude, Annie’s mother burst into the room, still shouting at Mr. Deck. “How could you let something like this happen?” She turned her anger on me.

 

“You have my apologies, Mrs…”

 

“I don’t care how sorry you are! I want the other kid expelled! Sexism and homophobia should not be tolerated! Especially when children are involved.”

 

I raised my eyebrows. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration, ma’am. I understand where you come from, and I admit this incident is unfortunate. But to expel the other child is not the best solution.”

 

“What?” she roared. The pitch of her voice stiffened my spine, and I stole a glance at Annie, who started to sob again.

 

Mr. Deck cleared his throat. “I think Miss Bennett means that, indeed, expulsion is a drastic measure. But the incident is, indeed, of significant importance. We as teachers need to enforce the right sort of education.” I nodded, surprised he agreed with me. He continued, “Because this is an example of significantly bad behavior, expelling the student is, as you say, the best course of action.”

 

“Wait, what?” I blurted out.

 

“You’re a Communist and a sexist!” she accused. “I will transfer my child to another school, Miss Bennett, if you continue to set such a negative example for these kids.” Her threats flew while her daughter sat alone on the nurse’s couch, crying again. She didn’t even glance at Annie, too busy launching an unwarranted crusade against me.

 

“No need for defamation,” Deck intervened, eyeing me with a sideling glance.

 

I didn’t back down. “I believe it’s natural for children in this developmental phase to learn from experience. And that shows me that some behaviors are taught at home. It isn’t the boy’s fault that this behavior is what he sees at home. If we dump him like some pariah, we’re not being good teachers. There’s no one else to correct it.”

 

“What qualifies you to argue that?” she challenged.

 

I cleared my throat and supplied, “My degree in Child Psychology and my experience working with children.”

 

She smirked. “Do you have children, Miss Bennett?” I thought of Ginger but shook my head. “Then don’t talk to me about children. Find me when you’re a mother. Until then, I want this delinquent expelled.”

 

I stared in shock, no longer participating in the conversation or the decision. Troubled by the upcoming change in my life, I had to ask myself if I had children. I was choosing to take Ginger from Dawson, choosing to be her guardian. Her mother? The thought left me lightheaded and confused, stirring another struggle inside.

 

What the hell was I doing?