He pointed to a pile of work on one of the student desks. Rose had to grade a surprise quiz from a morning class and do some filing.
Patiently, Rose waited. She graded the quizzes. She filed. Two hours went by and still Mr. Slocum said nothing. But why? Mrs. Moore had loved the attention, couldn’t get enough of it.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Rose said at the end of the afternoon, trying not to sound disappointed.
“That’s the arrangement.”
He never even looked at her.
On the way home, she brightened when she caught sight of a dog in a sweater. “It’s so great you put a sweater on him!” she told the owner, a guy on his phone, who didn’t really want to be interrupted. “That means you’re taking good care of him.”
During one of her free periods on Friday, Rose had to check in with Ms. Pratt, the school psychologist.
“Goodness,” Ms. Pratt said. “You look well.”
“I feel well.” Rose knew this office—the pale-blue walls; the indentation in the couch; the tall flowers, now a bit brown around the edges, held in a glass vase filled with water and stones; and Ms. Pratt herself, dark wavy hair, olive skin, always wearing muted colors like beige and taupe. It had never occurred to Rose before, but now she wondered if Ms. Pratt’s understated style was her way of saying The important thing in this room is you.
“You were here while I was away,” Ms. Pratt said. “You spoke with Ms. Gruskin; I read her notes. You had a disagreement with Mr. Slocum?”
“I’m working on that. I’m doing my school service with him.”
“Really?” Ms. Pratt couldn’t hide her surprise. “Tell me what’s been happening with you.”
“Well, I’m Rose now.”
“Rose?”
“Don’t you think it suits me?”
“I think it’s a wonderful name for you. I see you’ve changed your hair, your clothes—”
“You look different too.” Rose realized that Ms. Pratt had a kind of glow about her.
Ms. Pratt couldn’t hide a small smile. “Is it that obvious? Well, it’s not exactly a secret, why I was away. My wife and I went to a reservation in Arizona to adopt a baby.”
“That’s fantastic! Tell me about the baby.”
“We’re not here to talk about that.”
“Can I see a picture?”
“We only have a few minutes—”
Rose clasped Ms. Pratt’s hands. “Please?”
“Oh, all right.” Ms. Pratt had several pictures on her phone, actually. “That’s my wife, holding Ethan—she took an extended leave to take care of him.”
“She’s keeping him safe and sound.” Rose gazed at Ms. Pratt’s beautiful son.
“Now let’s get back to you and Mr. Slocum,” Ms. Pratt said.
“Today’s my last day of school service, and Mr. Slocum and I are going to have a nice, long talk. We’ll be peachy after that.”
“Peachy, huh?”
“My dad used to say that. Ask him, how are you, he’d say, peachy. I’d get mad and tell him, you can’t feel like a piece of fruit! Anyway, why a peach? Why not an apple, or a tangerine?”
“I have a feeling you weren’t the easiest child.”
“Maybe so. But my dad never complained.” Rose leaned forward eagerly. “Ethan—what a great name. So what was he like on the plane ride home? Does he sleep through the night? I’d love to see him in person. Will you bring him to school?” Rose had more questions after that, and then the free period was over.
At the end of her final day of school service, Rose plunged right in. Last chance! “Mr. Slocum, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
He glanced up from behind his computer. “Whatever for?”
“You think I don’t listen—”
“I don’t think it, Miss Hartel. I know it. Lately there’s been improvement, I’ll admit. But for all of September and most of October, you were off in la-la land.”
“Not true. I’m sorry it looked that way.”
“I had to send you to Ms. Pratt. Nothing personal,” he added.
Nothing personal? He’d singled her out in front of the whole class for a trip to the school psychologist. “I’m here now—you can talk to me.”
“Why should I want to talk to you now?”
Mr. Slocum wasn’t making this easy. “Well, you’re a science teacher. Maybe you could tell me about . . . Mount Vesuvius.” She wasn’t sure why she’d said that; she’d never thought much about volcanoes, but for some reason it was there in her mind.
Mr. Slocum glared at her; his big, round, shiny head turned purple. “I wasn’t an eyewitness to the destruction of Pompeii, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Of course not!”
“Miss Hartel, you need six hours of school service. That’s the tenth-grade requirement, unless I’m such an old ruin I’m remembering it wrong.”
Rose was afraid she might trigger another eruption here in the lab, but she pushed on. “Maybe you can tell me where you were born, why you became a teacher, that kind of thing?”
He looked at her intently. “You’re quite full of yourself.”
“Not true! I’m modest!”