She had followed me around all week, either literally or with her eyes. Melissa was one of the brightest children in my first grade. She always watched and listened very carefully to my teaching, but this was different. I felt like she was trying to catch me doing something secretive.
I had enough problems of my own without worrying over Melissa's atypical behavior. It was only early afternoon and already I felt really tired. And my lower back hurt. I guess I should expect that, I thought. After all, I am seven months pregnant.
I was surprised that none of my pupils had asked me about my pregnancy. It was May now, and most of the children had reached the age of six. Many six-year-olds knew the signs. Someone in a friend’s first grade had asked his portly principal, “Are you pregnant” “and the poor man had been so shocked that he went on a diet! But no one had asked me.
The bell rang. Good, it was recess and soon I’d have a few minutes to put my feet up and rest. But what was Melissa doing” She didn’t leave the room with the others. She was at my “teacher closet,”a very sacred place. All the children knew they could never open the doors to this closet unless specifically requested to do so by me. The only glimpse any of them ever got of the inside was when I asked someone to bring out the scissors or the crayons.