Brooke Roberts

I’ve poked my finger with the damn needle three times in the last ten minutes as I try to reattach the angel wings to one of my students’ costumes. The backstage of Greenbriar Elementary’s auditorium is in chaos, with all the classes from kindergarten to fourth grade trying to get organized for their respective performances.

Some teachers look like they might join the crying and tantrum-throwing kids. Those who aren’t desperate are running down the hallway, barely avoiding the obstacles shaped like their peers. It was in one of these that Josh’s wings came off.

“Everything okay over here?” Trevor asks as he approaches.

“As soon as I finish these stitches, we’ll be ready, right, Josh?” I reply, leaning in and squeezing the small shoulder of the little boy in front of me.

“Yes, Miss Roberts,” he agrees. To be honest, he’s been extremely patient and only tried to get out of his chair to play once. After four stitches, it’s done.

“Go ahead, Josh, but don’t run down the hall. We’ll be starting soon, and you want to show your costume to Mom and Dad, right?” I even feel guilty using the parents’ card, but this is an extreme situation.

He sighs and lets his shoulders slump before agreeing and walking toward his classmates. I’m relieved to see that none of them are crying, though they all seem to be buzzing with energy ready to be used.

“How’s it looking out there?” I ask, turning to Trevor, who’s coordinating the entrance order with two other teachers.

“Packed house,” he says with a smile. “Five minutes, everyone!” he announces before heading to the kindergarten teacher.

I return to my students and quickly review our number with them. They barely have any lines; they’ll be performing while I narrate the story they helped create. Since they’re in first grade, we’ll be performing after all the kindergarten classes.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I turn to check the message.

Liv: We’re already here. Your boyfriends draw a lot of attention, you know?

Brooke: They’re not my boyfriends.

I type the response, rolling my eyes and trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach from reading her words. This is what I get for sharing things with Olivia; she flipped out when I told her about the ménage with Raffi and Kyle.

Liv: Oh, just taking you to Paris, huh?

I smile, biting my lip at the memory. “You’re surrounded by kids, Brooke. For the love of the goddess, get it together!” I chastise myself.

Brooke: They’re my friends and came to support me, just like you.

Liv: Oh, sure. All three of them came, by the way.

Brooke: I know.

Of course, I told the brunette about what happened between Seth and me—or rather, what didn’t happen. I felt foolish for having read the signals completely wrong, but I couldn’t accept that I had imagined the tension between us. The pain of his rejection was momentary, but the embarrassment took over, and I avoided him the entire day. But we share a house, and it’s impossible to hide forever.

The next morning, we met in the kitchen for breakfast, as we always did. I tried to apologize once more, and he dismissed my words with a hand gesture, repeating that I hadn’t done anything wrong, but that he wasn’t good for me. After a few seconds of awkward silence, we both tried to fill it with trivial questions and ended up laughing. That afternoon, during my practice, there were still remnants of embarrassment on my part, but Seth treated me as always, and since then we’ve returned to normal.

Olivia thought I was right and had read the situation correctly but that Seth wasn’t ready or willing to deal with the repercussions of what that meant. I seriously doubted it and still thought my friend just didn’t want to hurt my feelings by saying he wasn’t attracted to me.

“You’re up next, Brooke,” Trevor says, squeezing my shoulder to get my attention.

“Okay.”

I turn to the small children waiting and quickly mentally count to make sure none of them are missing, relieved that they’re all present, with their anxiety finally keeping them in their seats.

“Ready to show your parents everything we’ve practiced?” I ask, crouching down in front of my students.

Their little eyes sparkle, and they almost bounce in their seats as they respond with enthusiastic shouts:

“Yes, Miss Roberts!”

We walk to the side entrance, and Trevor hands me a microphone. The previous class bows as the audience applauds, and I hear the excited whispers of my students.

As the stage clears, I take a deep breath before announcing my class. The theme music starts, and they all enter at once, in their eagerness forgetting the timing according to the narrative. Despite this, whistles and claps echo through the auditorium.

“Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom,” I begin to read the short story while enjoying the spectacle of my students performing. They forget what they’re supposed to do, and a classmate helps them, they get lost and start playing, but by the time we reach “they lived happily ever after,” everyone is smiling.

I join them on stage and realize the magnitude of what they’ve accomplished. The audience is packed, as Trevor had said, but the thought of performing in front of hundreds of people frightens me, and I am even more grateful for the innocence and courage of the children.

My eyes scan the audience as the applause begins, and Liv was right, my friends really stand out among the other spectators. I quickly find them, all four wearing proud smiles as I hold the hands of two of my students, who continue to form the line for our bow before leaving the stage.

The children run excitedly to the room that serves as our dressing area, eager to take off their costumes and join their parents in the crowd. As expected, it’s chaotic, everyone talking and laughing at once, and an euphoria fills me. Moments like today confirm that I’ve chosen the right profession. In a way, today is a farewell to this class I’ve spent the past year with. I know they probably won’t remember me, but they will be a part of my journey forever.

Almost twenty minutes later, someone knocks on the door. The first parents come to pick up their children, congratulating me and thanking me. As they leave, the next parents come in, and so on, until only a few students remain who have siblings in other classes.

“Brooke?” I turn to find Ms. Hawkins with a beautiful bouquet of red and white roses in her arms. “Someone left this for you; they must have confused the room and ended up leaving it in mine.”

“Thank you so much for bringing it to me, and congratulations on the presentation. The pre-K children’s dance was beautiful,” I say, stepping forward to take it, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the flowers.

“You’re too kind. We both know it was only beautiful because they’re so adorable, but it was a mess,” she confides. “Have a great night, Brooke. See you on Monday.” She steps away as two more couples enter to pick up their children.

I open the elegant card and shake my head, not believing that the guys went through the trouble when we had planned to go out for dinner with all five of us as soon as I finished here.

“Congratulations on the presentation and your continued dedication to your work.
PS: That shade of green highlights your eyes.”

A smile spreads across my lips as I read the words. I glance at my moss-green dress with a heart-shaped neckline and feel my cheeks flush. There is no signature, but I know it was them—who else could it be?