Happy Birthday, Miss Markum! Part Four
(Catch up with Part One, Part Two, and Part Three.)
Something was up with Piper’s students. They kept giving each other furtive looks and whispering. Her kindergarteners never whispered.
Of course, maybe she was just paranoid. At one o’clock, she was so close to dismissal, she only actually had twenty minutes of instruction before the kids left for art class and then their last recess. She’d almost made it through a whole day of school without any students discovering it was her birthday.
“Who’s ready to check on our caterpillars?”
All hands shot up. A grin spread over her face. She never got tired of their enthusiasm. And caterpillars had to be one of their favorite lesson units of the year.
“Everyone, take a seat on the carpet.”
Although her students knew better, they scraped their chairs against the linoleum floor and practically ran to the carpet. Jostling each other, they all found seats on the round blue rug.
Slowly, Piper picked up one of the mesh cages and brought it over to the carpet. “Face out, and I’ll walk slowly around.” She didn’t need to tell them, they all remembered the routine from the last few days.
“It looks like Lollipop and Soda Pop are growing. Can you see?”
“Where’s Snap?” Gracie asked.
“I think he’s under a leaf here”
“No, Miss Markum. That’s Crackle.”
“Of course.” She could never tell the caterpillars apart as well as her students could.
“See it has that little stripe next to the big stripe?”
Next she brought over the second cage and went through the same routine.
“How long until they turn into mush?”
Piper had made the mistake of showing her class a video of caterpillars transforming into butterflies. It hadn’t seemed gross when she watched it by herself, but the kindergartners became fixated on the caterpillars turning to goo before reforming into butterflies. It didn’t matter how many times she taught them the words “chrysalis” and “metamorphosis.” All they cared about was the mush.
“Remember, Devon? The Monarch caterpillars grow for about two weeks before they form a chrysalis. Who can remember how long the caterpillars need to be?”
“Two inches!”
Soon the novelty of the caterpillars was gone. Piper’s students started wiggling and chatting once again. One whispered to another and smiled at her. It nearly gave her the willies. No telling what kind of trouble those six-year-olds were cooking up.
“Who needs a water break?” Thank goodness those kids were so easily distracted.
After everyone was sufficiently watered and pottied, it was time for art class. Sixteen pairs of shoes squeaked down the hallway while sixteen fingers covered sixteen mouths. Once they’d all marched into the art classroom, Piper breathed a sigh of relief. Time to clean up the room, sort papers and folders, plan for next week, check emails, and go to the bathroom. Too bad she only had forty-five minutes.
Piper indulged herself in a quick listen at Brian’s classroom door. All the windows were covered with paper and decorations, so she couldn’t look in without disturbing his lesson, but she loved to hear him teach. He was so great with kids—gentle and kind yet fun and engaging. He had high expectations for behavior, but his students always seemed up to the challenge. She couldn’t get the same good behavior from her students. Of course, he’d been teaching two more years than she had. And her students were mere babes compared to his third graders.
Checking her watch, Piper walked quickly to the teacher’s lounge. Time to get a move on.
With only fifteen minutes to go, Piper had read every email, prepped every folder, and straightened every learning center. She had a question about student learning outcomes for the next unit and desperately needed the help of a teammate. Thankfully, the fellow kindergartener teachers were always happy to answer questions.
But when Piper checked both of their rooms, she couldn’t find either one. And when she got back to her own door, it was locked. Strange. I thought I left my door open like I usually do when it’s empty.
No worries, she’d just use the key on her wristband. But when she reached for her wrist, it was bare. It wasn’t on the other arm either. Or in her pockets. She patted herself down.
Okay. I know I used it to get in the building this morning. And I had it at lunch. Maybe it’s in the faculty lounge.
Piper checked the halls as she retraced her steps from the other kindergarten classrooms all the way to the faculty lounge. She didn’t find it on the table or any countertops, so she looked in chairs and on the floor. When the clock read ten minutes after two o’clock, she knew she had to give up the search. Perhaps she could stop by the main office and ask Trish or Mrs. Greggs to unlock her door for her. Then Brian and the other teachers on her team could help her search after school let out.
It was time to pick up her students. Piper quickly poked her head in the office to let them know she’d lost her keys. Mrs. Greggs said she’d send someone down in a few minutes.
Piper racked her brain on the way back to her classroom with her students. Where could her keys be? I bet I locked them in the room. That has to be what happened. Most of the school doors locked automatically, so that could easily be the case.
When she rounded the corner to the kindergarten hallway, she could see that someone had propped her door open. Mrs. Greggs must’ve come by. But when she turned to look behind her, she saw the secretary on her way with the large ring of backup keys.
What’s going on?
“Happy Birthday!”
All the other kindergarten students were in her classroom. They’d filled it with balloons and hung a huge banner above her white board.
She took a step back and bumped into Jaylee. “Happy Birthday, Miss Markum!”
Turning, Piper saw every one of her students was holding up a card. “We made them in art class!”
Piper froze. This was exactly what she’d been avoiding all day long.
