Shira's Tale(Wattys2017)

Chapter 4

The subway ride to school this morning is as slow my mother runs when she attempts to jog with me. As I jump off the train, I feel as if everyone is looking at me. I wonder if they're looking at me and wondering what's on my mind or what they would do with me if they could get into my pants.
This thought just proves how single I really am.

The hallways are loud as they were yesterday, yet I am, grateful to not overhear any conversation about Lillian. I rush to my classroom and huddle in my chair, hugging my legs and resting my face between them. I feel my thoughts race as I think about last night. I feel like I can feel Brooke screaming in my ear, telling me I'm not good enough. I want to slap her as I think of her disrespect towards Maureen, ignoring her the whole ten minutes we were sitting at her bar. I don't want to look up and I don't want to face the world. I want to climb into my bed with Bengi , have Maureen (who is coming over on Friday night) to my apartment and watch movies.
But I am here, at work. I have a responsibility to educate teenagers about the language they speak. Isn't that supposed to feel good? The fact that you're preparing the next generation for the future? Doesn't that feel rewarding?
No,I feel like I'm not feeling anything at all.
The bell rings and vibrates in place, forcing me to open my eyes. I slowly lower my feet towards the ground and lift my ass off the chair. I am standing up, like a human. I am standing because I am human. Why do I find that so amazing: that I am human? Why am I not a dog or a lizard? Why does my soul fit inside the body of a human? Why am a woman-curvy and tan? Why am I who I am?
Why can't I be perfect?

Seeing my first class of sophomores at the beginning of the day cheers me up as they crack jokes that I could never think would fly out of their mouths. I teach them about adverbs and other things they know from the back of their heads and refresh the information. In my second class, I start having a uncanny desire for Pizza Hut, despite not even liking their that much pizza. I end up revealing this to my class after I use too many pizza examples in sentences I make up.
"I ask the cashier at Pizza Hut to add extra cheese-what is my proper noun and subject"?
"Pizza Hut doesn't have a bacon option. This upsets me- what conjunction can I use"?
I was asked by my students if I was craving pizza and told them the truth- I was but I wanted to stay slim and fit, pizza are only allowed on the weekends.
After second period, I had third off and continued planning lessons and in the last ten minutes I went to the staff room to make coffee. I didn't see Elijah and was still wondering whether I just text him or wait for him to text me. As I arrived back in my class, I wondered if I should even text him or why I should text him. He won't respond straight away, there's a possibility he has a class. But does he even like me after the idiot I portrayed myself to be yesterday? Did he think as I walked away: 'what a fucking nutjob'? That's what I'd think if I were him.
Should I just try?
I glance at top of my phone to view the time:the bell for my next class will ring any minute. I begin to unlock my phone and find his contact details. I soon have access to a keyboard where I can type whatever I want him to know. I quickly swipe my fingers to my choice of letters to complete English words. Soon, I enter a question mark and read over the message:

Hey, it's Evelyn (crying Jewish English teacher in staff room from yesterday)
Do you want to meet me in my class at lunch ?The staff room is the most depressing place to eat and is basically a boring psychiatric hospital rec room. Save yourself.
Evie.

Fuck I'm a nerd. I send it anyway.
The bell rings and I feel myself jump since my phone begins ringing at the same time. The vibrating begins in my hand and the screen flashes for me to see those eyes staring at me. Those gorgeous, irresistible sapphire eyes. Brooke's contact ID stares at me in the face, it feels like she's staring at me right now and demanding I answer. I swipe and put the phone against my ear.
"Hi". I answer in a gruff and stern tone.
"Hey Evie! I'm sorry about last night-"
"It's fine I know-"
"I completely forgot that you're not allowed to have alcohol with your pills and everything! I didn't understand why you were barely touching your cocktail last night but I completely understand now. I hope you're not feeling sick or anything".
I feel my face transform into a what feels like a facial , tightened face. It's almost painful to be putting so much pressure onto my subtle face.
"Jesus ,you are fucking clueless for an Alder".
I hear Brooke groaning like I was last night, but she sounds so victimized it's not only irritating, it's almost revolting.
"I don't understand why you're all of suddenly picking fights with me, Evie. It concerns me that you're sinking back into your old ways-"
"I'm not picking a fight , Brooke", I begin to raise my voice, "I'm just sick of you treating me like I am sort of crippled loser!"
"I'm not treating you like that at all! I'm just looking out for you".
"I don't need looking out for, Brooke".
"Evie, I don't want to see you the way you were that year".
"That's not going to happen again, trust me. I'm not that sort of person anymore".
She gulps into the phone and sounds like she's about to burst into a melody of irritating tears. "Just promise me you are safe".
"Brooke...why are you so worried about me all of sudden?You're really starting to freak me out now".
She sighs. "Please do me a favor, Evelyn: call Mom and Dad back when they call. They become paranoid when you start ignoring them. You make me paranoid-and all we want to do is make sure you're not attempting to jump off a bridge again".
"Don't worry", I say in the most controlled voice I can speak with in this moment where anger is pumping in my blood and my fists is ready to drive through a window, "I'm not going to try and jump off a bridge again".
Suddenly, I have a instinct to look to the left of my desk. I look as Brooke begins to chime about that she's happy that I'm happy and that she is always here for me and a whole lot of other redundant information. What I see to my right is a girl, a student for my next class. I've never seen her before-not in my class nor in the school.
She is short, about my height and has the structure of a child but an age appropriate looking face. She has large, almond shaped eyes; a pretty and stereotypical Jewish nose and long , wavy and flowing hair running just past her fried egg breasts. Her eyes are widened and I can tell from her posture that there is a possibility she has been staring st me the whole time I was speaking to Brooke.
She is wearing a maroon beanie and a matching turtle neck, a loose black skirt cut above her knees, black stockings and beige ankle boots. She holds a white , rectangular box in her hands-the sort you supply baked goods in.
"Brooke".
"Yes"?
"I need to go".
"Where"?
None of your fucking business. I think to myself.
"I'm teaching a class now".
"Okay, enjoy!"
The line is dead and I am locked in eye contact with the wide eyed Jewish girl.
"Good morning ma'am", she greets me with a sweet but mature voice, "are you Mrs Goldberg"?
"I am, indeed ".
She smiles like I've told her she's getting a free pizza. She walks up to me and holds out her hand. I just sit in my chair staring at her and waiting for to perform what seems is going to be a humorous show.
"I'm Shira, Shira Bayer. I'm in your junior class".
I couldn't help it, I raised my eyebrows. She looks way too small to be a junior. She looks too small to even be a freshman!
Out of respect , I rise from my chair and hold my hand out to shake my student's hand. She places her mysterious white box on a desk before shaking my hand. Despite her small structure, her hand is the same size as mine. Her palm is soft and moisturized , her nails are pained turquoise blue and are longer than my mine. Despite the strange way to meet a student, I shake her hand like it is completely normal. Once how hands break contact, she lifts the white box back into her hand and opens the lid to reveal the possessions.
"I'm new at Madison and I only started today due to minor issues", she anxiously explains, "so in order to make a good impression; I've bought some cupcakes from my dad's bakery to say thank you".
I chuckle. "Thank you for what"?
"Thank you for being my peer to others, thank you for being my teacher to you".
She moves closer to me and my nostrils begin scenting the natural , homemade baking scent mixing with my classroom's atmosphere.
"You can take any one you want!" She exclaims.
I don't even take a peek before making my decision. "I'm fine thank you".
"Oh come on! They're delicious!"
"I'm sorry, I don't like eating desserts during the week".
"But-"
"Shira", I begin and take a step forward to her, "this whole 'let's bribe people to like me by giving them free cupcakes' is not necessary ".
"But-"
"Do whatever you want, but this is not how you make friends. It makes you look desperate".
"I'm not desperate, I'm just kind".
I fold my arms and hear myself huff out a thin steamtrain of smoke. "Were you homeschooled before you came here, Miss Bond"?
"It's Bayer; like the sea bay and with a e-r".
"Were you, Miss Smartass"?
"No, I was at a boarding school in the southern countryside".
"You have the social skills of a child who has been homeschooled their whole life".
"No , I don't. I'm just different compared to other people you know around here".
I don't understand how this girl thinks of these sudden comeback answers, yet they seem to just roll off her tongue. I feel as if I'm being defeated, defeated by a tiny teenage girl. Her face is serious and firm , the opposite to how it been when she came skipping into my classroom. She looks prettier when she doesn't smile, she looks quite funny when she smiles. Her cheekbones rise too high and her eyes stretch. I only notice now that she has a beauty mark to the left side of her right nostril-which is quite large too when she stretches it.
"You got sick of boarding school"? I fight back, "the rooster waking you up in the morning became too annoying for you"?
She takes a step towards me and I suddenly feel like the limit of our contact has been reached. "Ma'am", she begins in a calm yet quite bitchy tone, "I understand that you are in a bad mood, that someone has pissed you off. I don't know who you were talking on the phone, but they seemed to bother the living hell out of you. I know you are a kind woman, Ms Goldberg: I can see it in your pupils. They're very beautiful-your eyes. The eye reveal a lot about a person . I am not going to let this little disagreement put us on the road to a negative and conflicted teacher-student relationship.
"Perhaps if you were the math teacher I would've not put too much effort towards you-I hate math with every fiber in my body. But I love English, poetry, writing, literature. It's a beautiful subject". She turns away from me and begins walking back to the door.
"Where are you going"? I ask. "Your lesson with me is about to begin".
"I am putting my cupcakes away in my locker ma'am, I will see you in a moment".
Without another utter from me or her, she exits the classroom and her hair bounces against her sweater. I suddenly have to sit down, the kid has made me feel strange and poisoned with racing thoughts.

As I teach my class, I always feel her eyes are on me, watching every movement I make and every blink my eyes perform. She watches as my eyelid crashes and then jumps above my eyeball. Up...then down. Up...them down.
She attempts to answer all of the questions I propose, yet I only let her answer a few. She answers everything correctly. Her fellow peers roll their eyes when they hear her logical voice and tone fill the room.
She speaks like she knows everything to an extent that it may be true. She speaks the way a professor speaks: with class and as if a diamond is melting on her tongue.
When it was her turn to introduce herself, she revealed she wanted to be a writer. She wants to write novels and travel around the world. With her sharp enthusiasm and queer smile, it sounded more like a correct prediction rather than a dream.
The class is soon over. The bell has rang and everybody is eager to get to lunch. The class unfolds and go their separate ways. They bundle into their groups or rush to find their separated friends in other classes. Shira walks alone and turns around to smile at me . She walks towards me and I can see from her facial expression that she wants to ask me a question.
She asks about becoming a journalist for the school paper. I tell her the details of the meetings she needs to attend and the requirements of the job. She thanks me and walks away, still a lonesome wolf.
I watch her walk away and find myself paralyzed in curiosity;I watch her movement like she watched mine. She walks quickly yet doesn't let her feet slide. She picks them up like a weight but with no difficulty at all. I look at her hair and notice as it bounces that she has two piercings at the top of her left ear. I only have one at the top of my right ear. She is uncanny, she is sophisticated , Shira is a mystery.

When the class is empty , I check my phone to fortunately see that Elijah has accepted my invitation to join me for lunch. He offers to bring me black coffee from the staff room and I selfishly accept. When he arrives with a mug of coffee in each hand, I thank him and add my own milk and sweetener to my own coffee. We sit next to each other in two of the front desks. They both are damaged by graffiti; doodles of dicks and the ugly words including 'homo' written in bubble font in the center . I don't care to look but I know a museum of chewed gum is stuck under the desk. An abstract piece of different,fading colors and shapeless objects.
I take out a salad a bought from home for my lunch whilst Elijah grinds on a sandwich. As we eat, we ask each other questions that lead to further conversations. I ask him about his age: he's twenty four and I tell him I'm twenty five. He asks me about my alma mater and I tell him I graduated from Boston university and that I'm from there too.
"You went to college in your hometown?" He asked me in a low tone of horror.
"I started out at NYU...but there were some complications along the way". I enter his eye contact and attempt to tell him through my facial language: 'not telling you today ,buddy' .
I learn he's from Ohio, graduated from Colombia and is now doing his honors in psychiatry. He has two brothers: Max who is twenty three and Nick who is nineteen. I mention Brooke but only that she too is a resident of New York and that she's open up a diner. I tell him about my photography, he tells me about his hobby of fishing and cycling. I tell him I jog, he tells me I have pretty eyes.
It's soon arranged that we'll be getting drinks at a bar Elijah suggested around the corner tomorrow night. The bell rings and he leaves. I watch him go and he looks back at me-smiling like I may be the best thing that happened to him that day. I smile too, but can't help feeling sorry for him. I just don't have faith in myself that I'll make him happy. I want him, he wants me. What will become of us?