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)
“I tell folks my brother is an amazing uncle. Dropped everything to fly out to Hawaii when he heard my wife had pregnancy complications.” Craig stopped to clear his throat. “I talk about how my little brother can make a whole room laugh. Like at our grandfather’s funeral. You were young then, still in college, and wow, you delivered a showstopper of a eulogy. I’ve always admired that.”
“You?” I made a shocked noise, which startled the baby, starting a fresh round of marching and patting. “You’re on your way to becoming a general. You admire me?”
“Sure, I’m good at making rank. But have you heard me give a speech? And I’m definitely not the fun uncle in this family. I walk into a room, and people are ready to hup two, but you walk into a room, and everyone lights up. There’s a difference.”
“Oh.” I stopped in the exact center of the kitchen, as surely as if someone had placed a mark there, jaw dropping open even as my chest swelled.
“Whatever you do, you do it with your whole heart, and it shows. Being an uncle. Starring in a play. Tutoring. Teaching. So, hell yeah, I’m proud of you.” He gave me a mock salute, and that was it. The waterworks were unleashed.
“Way to make me cry before eight a.m.” I waved a hand helplessly as the girls and Cara streamed into the kitchen.
“Dad broke Uncle Nolan.” Athena came to give me a hug, followed closely by Stella and Cara, who gently relieved me of the baby.
“He didn’t break me. He…helped.” I swallowed hard. For years, I’d assumed acting was my grand rebellion and something the family would never fully understand. And it turned out Craig had seen me this whole time? And not only that, he appreciated me? I felt ready to rush back to Broadway and find the role of a lifetime, buoyed by fresh confidence, and also like I no longer had to. Like proving myself was so last decade.
I let those thoughts rattle around in my head as I walked the girls to school and started my day.
“The room smells.” The seventh grade class was apparently in competition with the eighth grade for who could complain the most, but the kids had a point. After almost two weeks of living with the leak and a bucket, the windowless room had taken on a rather musty odor to go along with the harsh lighting and poor airflow.
“Yeah, I don’t like it in here.” Another student pretended to be queasy, putting his hands on his skinny neck and pretending to retch. At least, I hoped it was pretend. I’d had enough stomach bug cases to last the remainder of the term.
Ordinarily, I’d ignore all the complaints about the room, but I was already in a cranky mood and the room was only making things worse. On the walk to school, the sun had been shining, no hint of rain, and we were stuck here in mildew land again.
“Everyone up.” Not waiting for the class to comply, I scooped up my portable speaker and teaching notes. “Grab your things. We’re headed to the courtyard.”
“We can sing outside?” The same boy who’d pretended to throw up looked rather dubious about my proposal. Before I could reply, one of his friends thumped him in the back of his head.
“You did for the holiday performance, doofus.”
“Don’t call me—”
“Follow me.” I interrupted the brewing argument to lead the class to the courtyard, where the sunshine helped lift my mood at least, and the novelty of the setting seemed to brighten the students’ attitudes as well. In fact, it worked so well that I took the eighth grade choir outside right after taking attendance.
However, unlike the seventh graders, the eighth graders were unimpressed by the change of scenery. With the holidays behind us, I’d picked several selections from recent Tony-winning musicals as possible numbers for the spring showcase. In theory, the unit also provided a chance to discuss the rich history of musical theater, but I might as well be asking them to sing the periodic table.
Heck, that might get more excitement than this sunny ditty the class seemed determined to butcher.
“Let the sunshine inspire you! Upbeat voices, everyone!” I instructed, but barely half the class was actually singing. “Remember, every part counts! Let’s take it again, from the top.”
“I hate this song.” Kaitlyn was always passionately against whatever I was in favor of, but this outburst was loud even by Kaitlyn standards. She stood from her perch on one of the picnic tables to wag a finger at me. “I don’t want to sing happy songs. You’re always happy, happy, happy.”
“Not always.” If anything, this unit had been a struggle for me as well, trying to bring all the fresh new-year energy to the term and stay in a good mood for the students’ sake.