She squeezes my arm. “I’ll make sure Ainsley stays here. If she tries encouraging a transfer, you can definitely speak up against the idea. As a parent, that’s your right to call her out and fight the matter. Depending on how that goes, it’s a risk. Speaking up as a parent is one thing, but…”
As a faculty member… “I could lose my placement if administration thinks there’s a conflict of interest,” I conclude, with a tight bob of the head.
She doesn’t say anything to confirm.
“Ainsley means more than this position,” I tell her quietly, knowing the risk is more than just a paycheck. If I don’t get my student teaching hours in, I won’t be able to graduate.
“It’ll work out, Piper.”
Evie has always been an optimist. Me? Not so much. But I try pretending like she’s right even though doubt cements itself in my stomach. What I know for sure is that I don’t want Ainsley to leave the district. Too much change has already happened in her life. She needs stability, consistency. And if Harris or the administration has a problem with that, then I’ll make the point heard before telling them what they can shove up their hypocritical asses.
I’m in a bitter mood all day. I want nothing more than to complain to the school about the poor communication skills between faculty and parents, but I know Evie is right. If I say anything now, it puts Ainsley and me in a bad place. I don’t want her getting punished for my big mouth.
After cooking our favorite comfort food, spaghetti and garlic bread, I help Ains with homework and study the way she absorbs the information. I’ve always known she’s a talented kid, smarter than most her age. When my parents visit or babysit, they note the same thing.
“Nugget.” The pencil in her hand stops as she looks up at me from the workbook in front of her with dotted lines she’s practicing her penmanship in. “How would you feel about taking classes with me. It would be for American Sign Language, which is a way to communicate with our hands.”
Her brown eyes widen, then blink.
Not really a response. I clear my throat and sit back at the table, bringing my elbow to rest on the edge of it. “I never want to force you to do something you’re uncomfortable with, so I’d never tell you that you have to speak. And nobody else should either, okay?” It takes a moment before her head moves up and down slowly, giving me confirmation that she understands me. “So, a friend of mine mentioned this method as a way to communicate. If I could get us into a class, would you be willing to take it?”
Please say yes. Nod. Smile. Something.
I hold my breath as she looks at me, her pencil held tight in her hand. It took her two tries to hold the writing utensil right. When I did teaching observations early on in my degree, I’d been placed in an elementary school where I watched kids struggle to do that for a lot longer. I’ve been told that Ainsley is a special kid, and I’ve never needed to hear it twice to agree.
“You don’t have to decide now,” I relent when she doesn’t make any type of movement that gives me an answer. “But I want you to choose soon, okay? I want … I want to give you a chance to have a voice in your own way.”
She blinks again, her lips parting. My heart races at the tiny movement, then shatters slowly when it closes again. But she reaches out with her free hand and squeezes my wrist before nodding her head.
I blink back tears. “Yeah?”
Another head nod and squeeze.
Blowing out a small breath, I smile. “I’ll look into classes then. It’ll be fun. Something for you, me, and maybe my parents if they’re interested in learning.”
When she goes back to her homework, I pull out my phone and text Evie saying I want to do classes no matter what—cost, time, it won’t stop me. Ainsley and I need this. Maybe me more than her, at least that’s what I tell myself. It isn’t often I text Evie since we’re not really friends outside of school, but it seems necessary. This, what she’s offering, could be the start of something life changing.
After an hour of homework, I tell Ainsley to go upstairs and grab her pajamas so