The Black Rose
Entry 3

Ding Dong.

I bolted upright and frantically glanced down at my clock. Eight am. “Shit!”

That must be Mrs. Greenwald. I raced to the bathroom. My hair looked as if a rat had literally thrown a party on one side. I hurriedly ripped a brush through it, pulling out half my hair in the process. I stripped off my day’s old shirt and threw on the Star Wars classic. I didn’t have time to do anything else.

Ding Dong.

“I’m coming!” I groaned, out of breath, missing the last step and almost face-planting into the wood floor. Luckily, the door handle was close enough for me to grab.

I fumbled with the handle clumsily, my head still in a fog from being jarred awake way too prematurely.

“Hi,” Mrs. Greenwald beamed, greeting me, her blonde hair shimmered in the morning light, her posture, erect, her ensemble put together. She held a basket of what smelled like fresh-baked muffins.

“Hi,” I muttered, slightly out of practice, on the human-to-human introductions or etiquette.

“You must be Danielle, I’m Mrs. Greenwald,” she smiled, sticking out her manicured hand for me to grab, ignoring my disheveled appearance and heavy breathing.

I awkwardly reached out and shook her hand and nodded. “You can call me Dani,” was all I could manage.

“Right, Dani,” she corrected, jovially eyeing the space behind me.

“Um, would you like to come in?” I stammered. I had no idea if my dad had made it home, or what drink we had to offer that paired well with fresh muffins. I cursed myself for falling asleep to no alarm.

“I would love that,” she nodded. “Are your parents’ home?” she asked curiously as I showed her through the hall and into the kitchen.

Isn’t that the question of the year, I thought to myself?

“My dad worked late last night. Not sure if he’s home, and well, my mom lives in North Carolina, so pretty sure she isn’t home either.” I caught myself. Shit. Already being sassy or “incorrigible,” as my past teachers liked to call me.

“I see,” Mrs. Greenwald trailed. “Well, let’s get right to it, then, why do you want me to be your teacher?” she asked, brutally turning to face me.

I gulped. The truth was I didn’t know. I didn’t think I wanted anyone to be my teacher. I preferred to teach myself, but I couldn’t get into a respectable university down that road. “You seemed like someone I could stand to be around for considerable chunks of the day and week,” I shrugged.

She eyed me suspiciously. “And your last school?”

“Creative differences?” I shrugged with a smirk.

“Your profile says you’re almost fourteen, is that correct?” Mrs. Greenwald added, eyeing me suspiciously.

“I am,” I pressed. “Why? Do you doubt me?”

“No, you just seem...older,” she paused, giving my Star Wars shirt a lingering glance. “Anyway, what are your favorite subjects, Dani?”

I looked at her with intrigue. No one had called me mature or even bothered to ask me questions about myself. “I, I like computers and math.”

Mrs. Greenwald smiled wide, “Well, I hate to admit those are my worst two subjects, but if you are willing to give this a shot, I am.” She paused, “But, Dani, I want you to really think about this. If I become your teacher, I will not tolerate disrespect, do you understand?”

I nodded in silence taking two measured breaths before answering. “I want you as my teacher.”

“Good, when shall we begin?” she smiled slightly, placing the basket on the counter. Looks as if my reward was muffins.

“Now?” I offered, even though I could sorely use a shower and brush my teeth.

“Sure,” she aired. “I brought the necessary paperwork just in case,” she trailed, rummaging through her black satchel. Pulling out a stack of papers and her computer, she continued, “I can accept you through the teacher portal, and we can do your assessment today, but I will need your father to sign these papers before we make this truly official. Will that be an issue?”

I nodded eagerly, “I will make sure he is home today to sign.”

“Good,” she smiled, “And while I do this, maybe you can go and clean yourself up a bit.”

She was perceptive. I liked it.

Rushing upstairs, I showered, put on deodorant for the second time in my life, brushed my hair, teeth, and texted my dad.

Me: Dad, can you please come home this afternoon by three to sign for my new teacher. P.S. this is your daughter, you know the one who lives in your house alone.

I erased that last line.

Me: Dad, can you please come home this afternoon by three to sign for my new teacher. I think you’re going to like her.

After hitting send, I jogged downstairs, computer in hand, ready to take this assessment for the fourth time. While I could probably recite the assessment questions verbatim by now, I had a new aura of excitement. I had a new teacher, who could bake the best muffins I had ever put in my mouth and was cautiously optimistic she would last.

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