Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Unfortunately, their worry is starting to rub off on me, making my freedom feel a little too much like being unemployed, which is freaking me out. Perfect. Now instead of enjoying ourselves, we can all spend the rest of the night wondering what the hell I was thinking.
“The worst part is you still haven’t told us why.” The usually stoic Black man sounds sincerely concerned. “Did something happen?”
“I’m allowed to need a break,” I hedge, and it isn’t really a lie. More like an omission. “You know I’ve been working nonstop since I was fifteen.”
I waitered and salesclerked and occasionally hustled my way through college to get my degree in education. Now I’ve been teaching at my middle-school alma mater for the last ten years, and during that time, even my summer breaks have been packed with work activities. Summer school followed by summer camp followed by back-to-school prep. And during the pandemic, the one year I wasn’t able to do the work in person, I did it all online instead.
He shakes his head. “You don’t do breaks. You’re too focused on ‘shining a fact- and empathy-filled light on the bright young minds of the next generation’ and ‘paying it forward while getting paid.’”
I grin wryly at his air quotes. “Can’t say you haven’t been paying attention to my work-based rants, can I?”
He knows me too well. And because of our long friendship, he also knows there’s a deeper, more personal reason I don’t typically do anything that might risk my job security. I think he was actually in the room when I vowed to do whatever it took to never again experience going hungry or wondering where I’d be sleeping for the night. Been there, done that, didn’t bother getting the T-shirt because I don’t like to talk about it. Or think about it. Or have too much time on my hands to ponder what I want from the future.
“So why, then?” He’s being unusually invasive tonight. It’s a strange reversal. Ordinarily, I’m the one trying to get him to talk.
“I just need some time, Val.” Time enough to consider my next steps if a certain vice principal doesn’t leave the district for the shiny new promotion he’s been bragging about while I’m gone. For example.
“Well, now you have it,” he says, finally accepting me at my word. “So, what are you going to do with eight whole months of extra time?”
“I’m already signed up for that online course,” I remind him. Furthering my education is a requirement of my leave.
“You said that would take less than two months. If you need part-time work after that, I could use some help in my office.”
It’s a generous offer. Sabbaticals come with a pay cut that will pinch. And Val knows how restless I get with nothing to do. Don’t get me wrong, I love spending weekends catching up on reading and watching my shows, and can scroll through TikTok and Insta for hours at a time (for teaching resources, of course), but that kind of brain candy only feeds me for so long before I start feeling the compulsive need to be useful.
“We’ll see.” I’d rather find something on my own than end up watering his office plants. Not right away, though. All I need to do right now is spend more quality time with my friends. A couple of them have gotten their heads firmly stuck up their asses and could use an assist.
That intervention won’t be happening tonight, because one of them is “working” and the other one is too busy raking my decision over the coals to take me seriously. Maybe I should raise a few more glasses to my freedom and find a willing partner in the crowd for a holiday quickie. If the man with the ponytail and tight pants I’m clocking at the end of the bar looks as good from the front as he does from the back, he might be a contender.
Call me a ho, ho, ho.
It’s a wonderful life, I remind myself. And unlike the Jimmy Stewart classic of the same name, I don’t need an angel to show me why I should be thankful. All I have to do is look around the packed pub and point to the three great loves of my life—Connor, Val and Bex. My found family. My ride or dies. The reason I survived my childhood to become the upbeat and hardworking control freak I am today.
“Hey Winnie, check me out!” Connor yells.
That’s me, by the way. Nolan “Win” Winston, though no one uses my first name unless they want my passive-aggressive wrath aimed in their general direction. And only my friends and the voice in my head that likes to keep me humble call me Winnie. For the rest of you it’s Win for the win. All I do is Win, no matter what.