Nanny Returns by Emma McLaughlin Read Free Book Online Page B

off the board, even though she “pretty much” saw the “tweaks” through to completion, and now the board wants to pay me to be “on call” in case they need a “cushion”— not part of this principal’s job description—for potential future organizational tweaks? Yup, no clearer than when I ventured under the Chihuly fifteen minutes ago.
    “Agnès b. designed them for us,” Gene whispers proudly in my ear.
    “Sorry?”
    “The uniforms.”
    “The seniors are here for announcements,” Ingrid calls from her chair as a trio of kids snake up through those seated.
    “Today’s field hockey game against Dalton is at four. Please come cheer!”
    “Drama Club tickets for Caucasian Chalk Circle go on sale today. Come by our table after school, buy a ticket and a vegan brownie!” The seniors don’t stand directly behind the podium so much as lean on it for conferred support.
    I take off my trench and fold it over my arm as the last senior steps forward wearing an elaborate feather headdress. “The Save Venice Club will be selling handmade masks in the senior homeroom all this week. Every dollar raised goes directly to Venice.”
    The town criers make their way out and Ingrid takes the floor, returning Gene’s wave. “Hey, guys! And welcome, Headmaster De-Santo! So, as today is the third Tuesday of the month, we will be holding our final round of competition for junior class keynote speaker at the convocation of our helipad the Friday of Memorial Day weekend. Chassie, come on up.” The small girl stands from where she was leaning against Ingrid’s chair, hastily removes her hat, and makes her way to hover behind the podium with a stack of note cards. She has dirty blond hair, in both senses, and little fingers she tucks up under her chin in nerves.
    Ingrid cups her hands around her mouth as she reseats herself. “Let’s hear it for Chassie, guys!” There is a smattering of halfhearted clapping.
    With a quick glance of gratitude to Ingrid, Chassie clears her throat and, rolling back her shoulders, begins to speak. “I believe that the helipad is a perfect metaphor for departing Jarndyce. Next year we will leave equipped to lift off and up, to see the world with vast perspective,” she says in a small voice, her chin just clearing the wood. “But not without ambivalence. As much as we would like to see ourselves as Pynchon’s Chums of Chance, climbing into our blimp and touring through the very center of the world, we will still struggle to leave that which has nurtured us.” Chassie, her voice shrinking, continues on, from Jason and the Argonauts to Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, occasionally stealing sidelong glances at a nearby cluster of boys, who snicker obnoxiously. “Ultimately, to honor the Jarndyce education is to soar.”
    “Thank you, Chassie.” Ingrid steps forward, clearly impressed as she pats Chassie on the back of her cardigan. Everyone claps. Chassie, blushing furiously, moves to the side and all heads turn to an oversized boy sitting in the middle of the cluster of boys, sporting identical hairdos that look like an adolescent take on the middle-age comb-over, or as if they’ve found their grandmothers’ bob wigs and thrown them on backward and slung to the side. The kid in the middle looks a little nonplussed. “Go, DZ!” one of the comb-overs shouts in encouragement and, recovering, the kid lumbers to his feet. I think DZ is attempting a swagger, but his limbs are too long and his body too thick. He should be playing football in a cornfield somewhere, from the looks of him, really violent football, not overshadowing a forensic podium.
    Ingrid continues enthusiastically, “And now Darwin’s presentation!” Darwin? Oh my God. I lean forward, squinting to place the most psycho of the psycho kids from my nanny heyday who used to beat the crap out of his caregiver, Sima, while his mother stood idly by. The large forehead, the pug nose, the pronounced jaw—features that have