Mrs. Trent and I moved off to a corner, where we sat on a pile of rugs. From this vantage point, we could spot potential trouble before it got out of hand. I started to whisper a question, but she held up a hand and gave me a notebook, instead. Good thinking. Our talk would only encourage the kids to chatter instead of sleep.
So I wrote, What do we do with those who refuse to nap?
She replied, Wait half an hour, then give them a book. Per regs, they have to rest quietly for two hours. We can’t make them sleep.
Gotcha.
She added, Usually, I go to lunch now, but I’ll stay for the first hour, until most of them fall asleep.
Okay, thanks.
If a kid gives you problems after I leave, rub his back. That sometimes works. If it escalates to tantrum territory, call me. Then she scrawled her number. I’ll come in to regulate.
The kids were fine, though. Fifteen of them dropped off in the first twenty minutes, and another succumbed as Mrs. Trent slipped out to take a well-deserved break. As if that was his cue, Sam popped up on his cot. Oooh, you little faker.
He peered around the room. “Nadia?”
I navigated through sleeping children, afraid he’d wake them up, and it would be a huge, chaotic mess when Mrs. Trent got back. Kneeling down beside him, I whispered, “What is it?”
“I can’t sleep. There’s too much breathing.”
“Do you want to look at a book?” If I’d known he was still awake, I’d have offered him one earlier.
“Okay.”
He was close enough to the window that I wasn’t worried about his eyesight. I got him the book Mrs. Trent had read earlier, thinking it might help if he was familiar with it, since I didn’t have a clear sense of Sam’s reading aptitude. Some four-year-olds could sound out words like first graders—others were still struggling to remember what sound each letter made.
“Can you sit next to me?”
Without answering, I slid down, wedged between Sam and the wall. I could still see all the other kids, though. He turned onto his stomach and opened the book. At this point, I wasn’t sure it was even worth trying, but I followed Mrs. Trent’s advice and rubbed his back in little circles. Honest to God, I was surprised when he shoved the book to the side and flopped on his pillow. Sam gave me a sleepy smile and then closed his eyes. His breath evened out, joining the rest of the class. It was silly how happy it made me, as if I’d scaled Everest or invented a lifesaving vaccine.
On tiptoe, I went back to the carpet pile, and when Mrs. Trent flipped the lights on, the kids were bright-eyed, ready to put their stuff away. She got them settled for snack while I wiped down and put away the cots. Afterward, another potty break, and then they lined up so they could take their turn playing outside. In a month or so, this ritual would include jackets, then hats and scarves, and eventually, they’d lose outdoor playtime to frosty weather. Usually, I’d have been pulled away by now, so it was interesting to see how routine made things easier.
Mrs. Trent led them out the side door and onto the playground. I came last to make sure nobody was left behind. Sam immediately ran for the slide while some kids raced for the swings, and others jumped on wobbly bees and dragonflies. I circulated, giving a push here, admiring a rock there, until the break was over. When we took them inside, it was almost four, and time for more face-and hand-washing.
While I set out crayons and pictures to color, Mrs. Trent sat down to write up her daily reports, detailing any problems or milestones. I got the kids settled and sat with them while they created masterpieces for their parents, who started arriving half an hour later. I shook a lot of hands, confirmed that I would be replacing Elaine part-time and made people happy by confessing that I was a college junior, studying education. By 5:15 p.m. we were down to thirteen students, and Sam was one of them.
“One more pickup, and you can head out, Nadia.”
“That would be great.” As a floater, I often ended up closing the facility down, and I had homework waiting, not to mention more reading, and a sample lesson plan project with only a week until it was due.
Ty was the next person to walk in. Sam jumped up from the table and ran to him, waving his picture excitedly. He had about a thousand things to say, all at once, and his dad beamed, like this was the best part of his day, and it made everything else worth it. Quite often, at pickup, the dads were impatient or irritated; Ty’s interaction with his son only made him seem hotter.
I’ve got to get over this.
“...and I slept for, like, twelve hours!” Sam finished.
He glanced at me, brow raised, so I clarified, “It was more like forty-five minutes.”
“But he did nap? Impressive. He stopped sleeping during the day with my aunt when he was three.”
“Everyone else was napping,” Sam said. “It was really quiet.”
I hung back while Mrs. Trent chatted over first-day impressions, then she gave Ty the report. Left to my own devices, I probably would’ve lingered to avoid potential awkwardness, but Mrs. T turned and made a shooing motion. “I’m down to twelve. Get out of here.”
So I signed out, grabbed my purse and left with Ty and Sam, who was swinging hard on his dad’s arm. Ty carried his backpack, glancing over at me now and then with an inscrutable look. But Mrs. Keller flagged me at the front door.
“Forms, remember? It won’t take long.”
I waved as Ty led Sam out. Five minutes later, I followed. It was dumb to be disappointed that the silver Focus was gone. I climbed into my Toyota and drove home. Our timing was off because Ty’s car was parked but they were already inside. I had no excuse to see him again, and I didn’t know if he wanted to go back to the balcony chats, after Saturday night. Maybe some distance would be good? Tired, I trudged up to our apartment and found everyone at home. At this hour, that was so surprising that I pretended to stare at them suspiciously.
“Is this an intervention?”
Lauren narrowed her eyes. “Have you been up to something that calls for it?”
“Probably,” I said, smirking.
She demanded that I spill, but I couldn’t. The whole Ty thing was complicated; I felt like I’d be violating his privacy if I dished like he was just any other guy, and there was Sam to consider. So I just shrugged and fell into the recliner, since Lauren was cuddling with Angus while making Max rub her feet. One of these days, I have to learn that trick. With natural blond hair and blue eyes, Lauren was pretty, though she was constantly saying she needed to lose twenty pounds. More to the point, she was sweet and had been at age seven, when she became my best friend by hitting Billy Derwent in the head with a glue bottle; he was trying to steal my lunch at the time.