Page 6 of The Orc's Protection
He looks genuinely alarmed at the suggestion. “I would not survive it.”
“It was a joke, Mr. Vraag.” I smile up at him. “Though you handled that better than some teachers I know.”
He looks at me for a moment, just looks, and something in his expression goes quiet.
The transition bell saves me from whatever I might have said next.
As the children line up for the next activity, I watch Vraag pause beside Theo, saying something too quiet for me to hear. He waits, a beat of stillness, until Theo nods, then reaches out to help him zip his jacket. The gentleness with which those massive hands straighten the boy’s crooked collar leaves me with a warmth that has nothing to do with classroom temperature.
"You really take this seriously," I say quietly.
"Protection isn't a duty," he replies, eyes still on Theo. "It's a vow."
I don't have an answer for that.
I became a teacher because of a moment like this one, a grown-up who made a small person feel less alone.
It took me a long time to find a classroom that felt like mine. I'm not sure I realized until right now that I'd been waiting to feel that way again.
When dismissal finally empties the room, he turns to me.
"You survived," I say.
"I was not defeated," he replies. "That is acceptable."
I smile. Then, quieter: "I'm glad you're here. After the break-in… I've been a little on edge."
"Your response is rational," he says. "A perimeter breach makes people feel unsafe."
I exhale. "Thank you. No one else seems to understand that."
"Vigilance is appropriate."
In the hallway, we step aside to let a group pass. His arm brushes mine. We both pause.
"Sorry," I murmur.
"No apology needed."
He walks me to my car and waits until I've pulled out of the lot.
Driving home, I find myself thinking about the way he held that tiny marker. The care of it. Like everything in that room mattered to him—the children, the tiny marker, the crooked collar on a little boy's jacket—not because it was his job, but because it was simply true.
I've worked alongside people for years who never looked at my classroom that way.
Chapter Three
Riona
The morning rain catches me by surprise.
I’ve been so focused on my math lesson that I didn’t notice the dark clouds gathering until the first heavy drops hit the classroom windows. My kindergartners immediately abandon their counting bears, rushing to press their faces against the glass.
“Rain, rain!” Tyler shouts, as if announcing a celebrity sighting. “Can we go outside and splash?”
“Not today, friends,” I laugh, gently guiding them back to their seats. “Inside recess today.”
A collective groan rises from twenty-three disappointed five-year-olds. I sympathize. After two hours of focused learning, they need to burn energy. Contained indoors, they’ll be bouncing off the walls by lunchtime.
