"Hey, are you Gail," you ask the unpleasant-looking teenager sitting on one of the benches in the hallway.
"I am," she answers back in a bored tone, "what of it?"
"I'm Holly, you'll be paired with me today for training." You look at your clipboard, "Looks like we're in the pre-K room," you say as you start to walk down the hall.
She follows slowly, dragging her feet against the waxed floor and you roll your eyes. Wonderful, you've been assigned a brat.
The pre-K room is at the end of the hall, and you pass brightly colored pictures and art projects all along the way. This part of the hallway always makes you smile, it reminds you of home.
You stop suddenly in the hall, absolutely positive that she's not paying attention. And, sure enough, a second later you feel her body bump into yours.
"Hey, what the hell," she exclaims, and you sigh.
"Okay, first of all. No swearing. Got it?"
She nods and you can see a barely banked fire burning in the backs of her eyes.
"Second. Lose the attitude. I don't know why you're here, but I'm guessing it wasn't your choice. Which usually means you were offered the choice between community service or court, and you were smart enough to pick community service, am I right?"
The girl glares at you, her dark black hair a sharp contrast to her pale, pale skin. "My mother the cop" she says, almost a growl, "made a deal with the arresting officers. My punishment is this. It's supposed to give me perspective."
The eye roll tells you she doesn't expect her worldview to change much during her time here. A spoiled brat then. Today should be fun.
"Right, then. Listen up. You will not go in there with that attitude. You will not make these kids feel like they are a burden or like you think you're better than them. This is an after-school program for under-privileged kids, kids whose parents can't afford daycare or nannies or au pairs. Some of these kids can't even see the poverty line from where they're living, some of them are homeless, the kinds of situations you can't even imagine."
For the first time since you found her lingering in the hallway, she won't meet your eyes. Good. It means she's really listening.
"For a lot of these kids, this is the safest place they know. We're not just babysitters, we're counselors, we're teachers, we're playmates, and we make sure they know that they are appreciated, and that they are loved, and that they are not worthless. And whether you want to be here or not, you will do the same, you get me?"
This time the nod you get is honest, and a little ashamed. Hopefully your words will stick.
You open the door to the chaos inside, the buzz of happy voices to greet you.
"Miss Holly," you hear them all say as Rico, the primary school coordinator for the program finishes up taking attendance.
Four hours later and you're tired, but a good kind of tired. The kind of tired that means today was a good day. Gail had settled in well after your lecture in the hallway, and you have no doubts that the sixteen-year-old rebel will fit in well over her term here. And hopefully not get caught with spray-paint in a freeway underpass anytime soon. Honestly? You're looking forward to working with her again over the next few months. Her biting with and her sarcastic take on the world was so different than the bored entitlement of the people you spend your days with in your classes, the kind of bored entitlement you first assumed she possessed as well. And it's different, too, from the sleepy comfort of your—
"Mom," you hear a small voice shout from the other end of the hall, where the kindergarten kids have their classroom and activities. "Mom," he repeats again, and then you feel a tight hug around your knees. He's getting tall.
"Max," you answer back with a grin before reaching to pick him up and settle him on your hip. Soon he'll be too big for this, and you want to take advantage of it while you can.
"You didn't come eat with me," he says with a fake pout.
You see Gail watching the two of you, a look on her face that you assume is her trying to remember if she said anything about the parents or kids here that you might find offensive.
She shouldn't worry. She didn't. And even if she had, you'd already heard it all at one point or another. A teenage mom. Periodically homeless. Perpetually struggling to make ends meet. Yeah, you've heard the worst that people can say about you.
"Nope, I was busy helping my new friend Gail here," you answer back, "say hello to Miss Gail."
"Hello, Miss Gail," he says, and runs one of his toy cars up the curve of your shoulder.
Gail shakes off whatever she was thinking and steps forward to offer Max a high-five. "Hey, Max," she says, "sorry I kept your mom from you."
"S'okay," he says as he kicks his legs.
"Nah," she answers back with a curious smile, "I know how I felt when I was your age, and my mom couldn't eat dinner with me. How about I make it up to you."
She looks back and forth from him to you and back to him before continuing, "Think your mom will let us all go get ice cream? My treat?"
You know you're lost the moment you hear Max gasp—ice cream is a special thing in your home—and feel his legs pick up their pace.
"Mom, can we get ice cream with Miss Gail, can we?"
You look at Gail, into the sparkle of her blue eyes, and sigh.
Yep, absolutely lost.