Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
He stepped to the side to allow the kids to take center stage. I sent him an encouraging look, but he was busy cueing the music that would accompany the song. He returned to crouch in front of the performers, directing their singing and dancing.
Their performance was adorable and well-choreographed, even the part where one of the dancers went in the wrong direction. As much fun as watching my kids was, my attention kept getting drawn back to Nolan who had the most animated directorial style I’d ever seen, a far cry from Mrs. Crenshaw’s stiff composure. The kids finished with a flourish, and the applause felt genuine and well-earned.
Next came the band, then Mx. Lennox’s dance class, then more singing with the overly enthusiastic seventh grade drummers who almost drowned out the singers. The eighth graders featured several squeaky-voiced boys in the wrong key and a couple of sour-faced girls, but the overall song was uplifting and hopeful and a good ending to the performances.
After all the kids were dismissed to join their families, I congratulated Legend and Ryder on a job well done before they went to try their hands at the games.
“I’m winning all the cookies,” Legend bragged.
“No, I am.” Ryder poked him.
“How about you both win a cookie?” I used a reasonable tone, earning me groans as they raced off to join their friends.
Boys occupied, I fetched a plate of fried rice and a cup of juice and brought them to Nolan sitting on a folding chair near the stereo, looking wiped out.
“You need to eat,” I said sternly, holding out the food.
“I think I had something at lunch.” Nolan wrinkled his forehead, which likely meant he’d had a granola bar or an equally small snack. He inhaled, and his stomach growled. “Okay, maybe I am hungry. But this is too much for only me. You sit too.”
I nabbed another empty chair and dragged it next to Nolan. We’d shared enough food over the last month that we had a certain rhythm. He ate more of the meat while I ate the sautéed onions, and we dueled over who got the pineapples and cashews.
“All the performances were amazing.” I smiled at him, but he frowned.
“Well—”
“They were. No nitpicking.” I made my voice stern, with no room for Nolan’s perfectionist tendencies. “Didn’t you hear the applause?”
“I did.” He beamed, inner ham coming out.
“And look.” I gestured all around us. Families dotted the courtyard, eating food, playing games, and enjoying the decorations the kids had worked so hard on. Over in a far corner, Cara sat with several other mothers with the baby asleep in his carrier, looking as happy as I’d seen her. Smiles abounded along with lots of picture taking, memories being preserved. Athena, as always, was filming content for her channel. The lights sparkled, casting a warm glow over the festival, making everything seem more special. “It’s the holiday magic you wanted.”
“It really is.” Nolan took a deep breath, a contented smile settling on his handsome face. I loved his private smiles most of all, the ones that felt like they were for me and me alone. In another world, I might have been able to hold his hand here in the shadows. Desire for that world, the one where Nolan was a permanent part of the school and my life, swamped me like an unexpectedly too-big wave.
Unable to dwell on those thoughts, I nudged his foot with mine. “Still coming over tonight?”
He winked at me. “With bells on.”
Sixteen
A quick note of appreciation from the administration for our wonderful Lights Festival and the hard work of all the students and teachers involved. Come Monday, we’ll have many pictures to share!
NOLAN
I had worked with Tony-winning actors and on award-nominated shows. I’d played to packed houses and had some decent reviews. But few accolades lived up to the night the holiday festival came together. I’d been a mess of nerves before we opened the doors to the parents and community members, but as the evening ended, all I felt was a sort of pride I wasn’t sure I ever had.
I’d been proud of my fellow performers before, of course, but this was deeper, a pride in the values we were displaying in the school and its mission. I wouldn’t call the emotion parental, but my affection for the kids had certainly grown over our time together. I’d always seen substitute teaching as a stopgap, a necessity to pay bills, but for the first time, I understood why longtime educators called teaching a calling.
“Thank you, Mr. Bell!” Family after family came up to offer congratulations and thanks. “That was beautiful!”
“Can’t wait until next year!” Liam K.’s mother had the same mischievous smile as her son and was accompanied by a trio of younger siblings. My hands clenched along with my jaw. I wouldn’t be here to see next year. Someone else would take the credit, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. The festival had become my baby, and giving it up would be difficult.