Page 21 of The Devoted Dastard

Me: Thanks y’all, I really appreciate it

Appreciate was too small of a word for the warmth I felt, but it was the best I had.

Taylor: Because I feel like you’d be the one to remind us to do it, you probably wanna chat with Freddie tomorrow, just so the team’s "public imagine" is prepared for people to find out and be assholes about it

Me: Oh, right, that’s a good call, thanks

I grabbed my laptop to send a quick email to Freddie, the team’s PR manager, just explaining my non-partner and I were going to have a child out of wedlock and while I intend to keep it a private matter, they should know in case it ever became a "thing." And then I did the one thing I didn’t think Leah would argue with me about: set up a savings account for our kid.

The Reference

Leah

Apparently the morning sickness thing was real and now, at roughly eight weeks, I was dying because of it.

And it wasn’t just the general nausea, it was that all kinds of smells were suddenly bothering me. One of my kids had pickles with lunch and I nearly emptied my stomach. I was going to need do some hardcore research on how not to die from smells that I didn’t mind a week ago or else I’ll be masking up in class, which the parents hated to hear about, even if it didn’t affect the kids in the slightest.

Just as I was grabbing my purse to go, my classroom phone rang. For a second, I debated answering. Whoever was on the other end couldn’t possibly know I was still here, if I didn’t pick up. But if it was a parent, they might leave an angry voicemail that I’d have to deal with first thing in the morning.

“Ms. Walton’s room, how can I help you?” I answered with feigned chipperness.

“Hi Leah, it’s Nicole.”

Oh fuck. A call from the principal at the end of the day was never a good thing. Best-case scenario, I get home late. Worst-case …

“Would you mind stopping by my office on your way out? We got some calls about you and I just wanna check in.”

“Uh … yeah, I’ll be there in just a minute.” This was definitely leaning toward worst-case scenario, because who the hell would be calling about me? Sure, there were always angry parents, but I hadn’t done anything wild lately, like not explicitly stated that there are just two genders, which got me a lot of heat last year.

Racking my brain about what I could’ve done to upset parents, I walked down to Nicole’s office. She had her door decorated for Halloween, flickering orange and black lights lining the frame and a jack-o'-lantern in a witch’s hat hanging from a wreath hook. It was cute, a little flash of joy in an otherwise dull office.

“Ms. Banks?” I called as I knocked on the cracked door.

“Leah! Come in. And please, call me Nicole.” She waved me in and I sat opposite her in a chair I pictured being in Pottery Barn dorm magazine. Honestly, her whole office was magazine worthy, which was wild for anyone working in public education, even a principal.

But it was a comfy chair, so I wouldn’t complain.

“So, what’s up?” I asked, consciously balling my hands up so my fingers didn’t tap anxiously.

“Well, that’s what I wanted to ask you? I got a call this afternoon from a …” She picked up a sticky note and read, “Freddie Poole.”

“Never heard of him.” I shrugged, relaxing back into the chair. That wasn’t the name of any of my students’ parents, so whatever this was, it must be one big mix-up.

“Are you sure? Because he was asking all these weird questions about you.”

“Like what?” I asked, scooting to the edge of my seat.

“He asked about your attendance record, lateness, general attitude. It was like a reference call but … weirder. Are you looking for another job? Or have you applied for a large loan or something?”

“No,” I answered, dumbfounded. I mean, every once in a while, when I had a particularly bad parent interaction, I’d go through job listings and apply for things. But I hadn’t hit that low this school year yet. And I certainly didn’t apply for more debt.

“And you’re not in any kind of financial trouble? I don’t mean to pry, I just want to make sure you’re all right. The man didn’t sound threatening or anything. It was just … weird.”

“I mean, I appreciate the concern, but this is probably scam.” I took out my phone and googled the man’s name. The first thing that popped up was his LinkedIn, showing he worked at …

“Thanks for letting me know. I think I know who's responsible for this nonsense and I’ll get him to stop.” I stood up, phone in a death grip.

“Oh good. But … are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? Or anything else? My door is always open, really.”