“I’m fine,” said Karen, irritated by the failure of supervision that the collision implied.
Just then, a woman whom Karen presumed to be Winslow’s mother appeared before her. She had her hair back in a ponytail and no makeup on. “I’m so sorry,” she said before turning to her son and saying, “Winslow, say you’re sorry!”
“Sorry,” the kid mumbled.
“I’m seriously so embarrassed,” said the woman, turning back to Karen. Although she was now standing right in front of her, she continued to speak in an unnecessarily projected voice, as if other people might be interested in hearing what she was saying. “My son is, like, a complete maniac on that thing,” she went on. “I can’t even keep up with him.”
“It’s fine—really,” said Karen. She tried to smile in appreciation of the apology. But she had the distinct impression that, for Winslow’s mother, the child’s speed and carelessness was meant to be understood as a metaphor for his fast learning, his quick wit, brash creativity, and intellectual chance-taking.
Or did the woman simply feel bad that her son had ridden into Karen?
“Watch where you’re going next time,” Ruby suddenly piped up. “You could have hurt my mom.”
“Rubes, it’s fine—really,” said Karen, embarrassed and touched in equal parts. “It was an accident.”
Just across the courtyard, Karen caught sight of a mother she’d briefly known when they both had kids at Elm Tree. From what Karen recalled, the woman made baby slings out of vintage calicos and sold them on Etsy under the name of her older daughter (Clover). She was also visibly pregnant. Karen recalled that her younger daughter, who was Ruby’s year, was named Ivy. Would her third child be called Pachysandra—or maybe just Ground Cover? As Karen followed the mob into the school building, she lowered her eyes to avoid having to say hello.
A minute later, Karen found herself back in Mather’s main office. “She’s in Ms. Millburn’s class,” said the woman with the frosted hair.
“Oh, terrific!” said Karen, as if Ms. Millburn’s reputation preceded her.
“Third floor, room three-eleven.”
The morning bell was ringing. Karen and Ruby returned to the hall. The crowd of arriving students and parents had begun to thin. As the two of them ascended the stairs to the third floor, Karen tried to silence their mutual anxiety with meaningless chatter. “Hm, I wonder if this is the right staircase. Well, I guess we’ll soon find out! Wow, there are a lot of steps!” She rambled on, and on, while Ruby stared stonily ahead and said not a word. Finally, at the end of the hall, Karen located a door marked 311. Ruby took a step backward while Karen tentatively pushed it open, craned her neck into the resulting space, and said, “Excuse me?”
It was a classroom like any other public school’s: crowded and colorful, with fluorescent lights attached to the ceiling, linoleum tiles on the floor, and a hodgepodge of lists, charts, maps, calendars, and inane inspirational posters pinned to the walls. One read TODAY IS A GREAT DAY TO LEARN SOMETHING NEW! But here the walls were freshly painted mint green, the children’s chairs had gleaming chrome legs, the desks were not covered with the brown residue of partially peeled-off stickers, and there was a seemingly brand-new multicolor rug depicting the United States up near the whiteboard. The three-pronged cactus representing Arizona immediately called to Karen’s mind a devil’s pitchfork.
The only adult in the room—presumably Ms. Millburn—glanced over from where she was standing near the board. To Karen’s amazement, she looked uncannily like Miss Tammy, only about five years into the future and with a ring on her fourth finger. “Can I help you?” she said.
“Sorry—my daughter is new,” said Karen. “And we were told to come here.”
The students, who until then had been busy putting their backpacks and coats away in the closet, turned to gawk.
With a grimace and a waggle of her large head, Ms. Millburn walked brusquely over to where Karen and, behind her, Ruby stood. “No one told me we were getting a new student,” she said. It was unclear to whom the comment was addressed, but it struck Karen as unnecessarily harsh. Then again, there must have been thirty students in the class already, if not more, which meant that Ruby would be number thirty-something. No wonder the teacher didn’t look pleased about the arrival of a new student, Karen thought guiltily. She also wondered if Ruby would be able to learn anything in such a large class. “Hello there,” Ms. Millburn went on, sounding slightly more genial as she leaned her head around Karen and into the hallway to address Ruby, who was now hiding directly behind her mother. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Ruby,” she replied in a barely audible voice.
“Why don’t you come in,” said Ms. Millburn.
“Go!” said Karen, attempting to pry her daughter’s hand off her jacket sleeve.
But Ruby clung to her, wouldn’t budge. As so often happened these days, Karen felt her frustration growing into franticness. It was Ms. Millburn who finally coaxed Ruby away. “Why don’t you follow me, and I’ll show you where to put your coat,” she said, taking her hand and leading her into the classroom. Relieved, Karen ducked away.
As luck—or, really, the lack thereof—would have it, Karen nearly collided at the front entrance with Maeve and her father, Evan. Maeve looked predictably trendy in a leopard-print top with dolman sleeves and capri leggings. So did Evan in his black T-shirt with the mathematical symbol pi on it and black track pants with a white stripe down the side. Since Karen had last seen him, he’d grown a rectangular-shaped mustache that made him look the tiniest bit like Hitler. “Evan!” said Karen, hoping this encounter would go smoother than the others she’d had that morning.
“Hey—what are you doing here?” he said in his faux mellow drawl. Karen could never tell if he was stoned or just acting that way.
“Ruby just started here,” Karen said simply. No apology, no explanation. It seemed like the safest approach. Besides, it wasn’t as if Maeve’s family lived in the right zone either.
But, then, why did Karen feel so uncomfortable and so out of place? Or would she always feel that way, wherever she went in life? “Oh—cool,” he said. But he was looking at Karen—in her dowdy office separates—as if she were anything but.
“Ruby goes to Mather?” asked Maeve.
“This is her first day!” said Karen.
“Who does she have?”
“Ms. Millburn.”
“I’m in Ms. Carter’s class.”
“Oh, too bad,” said Karen, disappointed. “But can you do me a favor and find her at recess? She doesn’t know anyone here.”
“All right,” said Maeve, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm that Karen pretended she hadn’t detected.
“Well, it was nice to see you,” said Evan. “But I’m actually running late. And so is Maeve. So we really should get a move on.”