My reply (which was actually non-existent) was thankfully interrupted when Pamela called the English department up to the stage. We both stood and slid out of our aisle. When we reached the stairs leading up to the stage, Miles motioned for me to go before him. I did so, putting on the careful mask of pleasantness across my face as I turned toward the crowd.
“The English department, as you all know, had a big change this year,” Pamela said into the microphone as she watched us approach. Her voice was animated and robust as if she were entertaining millions instead of a crowd of tired teachers being kept past their normal school hours. “We welcomed a brand-new teacher into our midst this past March. He stepped in and took over while our dear Mr. Grady completed his cancer treatments, and we loved him so much we decided to keep him. Miles Taylor has been a wonderful addition to our school. The reviews from the students as well as the staff have all been glowing.” Pamela turned and looked at me. “Isn’t that right, Olive?”
The smile on my face dropped for a moment before I rallied again, giving the audience two semi-sarcastic, enthusiastic thumbs up. Millie’s gaze found mine from the audience, and even though she looked like she was very much enjoying herself, I still clung to her like a lifeline. Miles stopped next to me, his shoulder brushing up against mine. He would have definitely appreciated the statement, and I kept waiting for him to nudge my arm, but he never did.
Pamela checked her paper at the podium and bent over, fumbling around in a large box full of trophies, looking for one in particular.
“Any last wagers?” Miles whispered, keeping his gaze forward. “Five bucks yours has something to do with forcing Jane Eyre down the throats of impressionable young high school boys.”
“Five bucks yours is for almost reaching the maturity level of your students. Did I hear that you had a philosophical discussion on The Terminator in one of your classes last week? Was that teaching the structure of story as well?”
His mouth twitched as he leaned toward me ever so slightly. “It was the first Terminator. Arnold Schwarzenegger. Very classy stuff.”
“I’m terrified of the minds you’re corrupting.”
“My guy blows people up. Yours keeps his wife chained in the attic. So far, we are equals.”
For some reason, unbeknownst to me, my lips seemed to want to smile at that. “So far, we are equals,” I repeated slowly. “Did you just quote Pride and Prejudice?”
A spot of color formed on his face, and I could see the sheepish grin beginning to appear when Pamela stood up, a trophy in her hand. “Okay, first up, Miles. From his interactive classes, to the way he scales rocks and jumps out of planes like it’s no big deal, and the fact that he’s a real live published author…the kids just love you, and so do we, which is why we’ve given you the Coolest Teacher Award.” With excited arms flailing, she motioned for him to step forward to take his trophy.
After he accepted his award with over-emphasized smiles and laughter, he scooted back to my side, bumping into me ever so slightly.
“You owe me five bucks,” he whispered.
“I’ll pay you ten to stop talking.” I kept my face benign. Pleasant. So, Miles just won an award for being the coolest teacher. Great. Good for him. But for some reason, my body wanted to sink to the floor and disappear. It was all so stupid. Awards for doing our jobs. I didn’t need a cheesy trophy as validation that I was a good teacher, even though, apparently, kids were now exiting my classes in droves.
“Okay, Olive, your turn. Come on up here!” Pamela looked back, motioning me to join her at the podium. I strode forward, a plastic smile on my face as I waited.
“Now, I can’t count how many times I’ve asked Olive for writing advice over the past year. Every letter I have to send to the school board, I run it by her red pen, that’s for sure. I know she’s helped many of you, as well. Her grasp of language is unmatched, which is why we’ve deemed her the Grammar Queen!” She held the trophy up as if she had just announced the winner of the Super Bowl.
My face felt like a balloon deflating. There was a collective hush in the audience before Millie began giving me a pity clap, the rest of the audience joining in soon after.
Do. Not. Cry.
I pinched myself hard under the elbow, hoping to shock my system into not crying. Smiling numbly, I accepted the trophy with a mumbled, “Thanks.”
Miles and I made to leave the stage when Pamela stopped us both.
“Hold on! We need to grab a picture of you two for the school website.”
We stopped moving and turned to face Pamela as she fumbled with the camera on her phone. I shifted my weight and dared a glance toward Miles. Brown eyes tucked behind long dark lashes met my gaze before I looked away. My chest tightened.
Pamela raised the phone up in front of her, looking at us through her screen. “Okay, squeeze in a bit closer. Yes, that’s great! Miles put your arm around Olive. There you go. Just like that. Hold your trophies out in front and…smile.”
TWO
"I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself."
Charlotte Bront? - Jane Eyre
Grammar Queen.
It was fine. Not a big deal. I followed rules, tried to help everyone, happened to be good at grammar, and this was my reward. My trophy. What I’ll be remembered for.
Most of the teachers mingled in the auditorium after the awards. Miles tried a couple of times to speak to me, but I cut him short. I flew from the room the second Pamela relinquished the mic. Not in a weird way that would make anybody think I was upset, but in a way that suggested I had places to be, like any other busy but emotionally balanced person. I pasted on a smile, pretending to look at my watch, waved to a few friends, and acted like I was headed home to put my new trophy on the mantel.
I didn’t have to be the favorite. When I set about getting my teaching degree, I originally thought I’d make a great second-grade teacher. But I fell in love with English. Reading and literature had become passions, and I knew that I needed to teach them. After my dad’s passing, I had thrown myself into the work, craving the distraction it provided. I found my rhythm, and the students responded to my efforts. It was the best kind of feeling when your hard work began to pay off. My kids were studying the classics like Jane Eyre and Taming of the Shrew and, for the most part, enjoying it—even the boys, thank you very much.
At least…I had thought they were.
I didn’t become a teacher to win popularity contests. That wasn’t the problem. But something about this cut deeply. My job was the one thing I’d had in my life that brought me an escape. Helping teenagers discover the joy of literature and connecting with them over that shared love had kept me going this past year on those days when I didn’t want to get out of bed. I thought I’d been shaping lives, at least to some small degree. But Grammar Queen? It felt like a slap in the face.