Knox - Grumpy Dad: A Greenbridge Academy Romance

By Abby Knox

Sunny, eccentric Kindergarten teacher Jewel knows how to charm the typical private school parent. Vince, however, is the only one whose outward stubbornness provokes in her a nearly uncontrollable desire to stroke his beard, squeeze his dad bod and stare at him while he watches Burt Reynolds movies. Hey, whatever works to get more help for the PTA bake sale ...

Vince really wishes people would leave him alone. For the most part, they oblige. So why does a gorgeous, relentlessly upbeat Kindergarten teacher keep trying to include him in all this bougie PTA rigmarole? But ... if all this nonsense will help five-year-old Max fit in at this fancy school, fine. Just this once, he'll help; and then everybody'd better leave him alone.

This book is intended for adults ages 18 and over, because its full of explicit, juicy, delightful grown-up activities, vulgar language and also terrible puns.

(Trigger warning: this story contains references to domestic violence perpetrated by secondary characters.)

Jewel

My students large brown eyes, almost too big for such a small boy, stare up at me stubbornly.

Max, would you join the class for good morning stretches? I gesture to the brightly colored foam mats laid out along the east-facing windows. The sunshine streams in over the manicured lawns of the campus, making all of these other kindergarteners look like haloed cherubs performing cute and clumsy downward dogs. How could anyone resist sun salutations on such a bright, cloudless September day?

No. Max crosses his arms in front of him and tucks his chin to his chest as he stays fixed to his pint-sized wooden chair. His eyes land on my mismatched striped knee-high socks. He squints at them with suspicion.

I crouch down to his level and speak to him conspiratorially. I know. I get that look from adults all the time, I say with a smile and put up my arms in a shrug. I mean, what am I going to do with myself? Maybe someday you can help me pick out matching socks.

The kid is sitting here, shooting daggers at me with his eyes. Are you sure you dont want to pick a superhero cape? Who do you like? Iron Man? I gesture to the wall of capes, but he isnt budging.

My classroom theme this year is superheroes, and all of my students are welcome to spend the entire day wearing a cape, apart from recess time.

Well, I can handle this kid. Headmistress Moody hired me to teach kindergarten at the hallowed halls of Greenbridge Academy for a reason, and I intend to keep this coveted job. Not just keep it, but crush it.

To that end, I am relentless in my efforts to win over my kids and their mostly well-to-do parents.

With Max, I can see that Ive got to let him warm up a bit. A late enrollee, he was granted admission just days before the start of the fall term and therefore had not had the opportunity to be involved in the various summer day camps and pre-term mixers that Greenbridge offers to families of new students. The culture here at Greenbridge can be a lot. Max seems understandably overwhelmed. So I let him be still during our morning yoga session.

Later, when its time for sharing, I try again.

Come on, Max. Join us for circle time on the rug to talk about the dreams we had last night.

He shakes his head and glares at me as if Ive suggested we take turns kicking each other. Something in his expression is haunted. No, this kid does not want to talk about the content of his dreams. Somehow, I think they dont come close to resembling the other kids dreams of flying on Pegasus or sliding down rainbows.

After circle time and poetry recitationthe latter also of no interest to Maxits time for lunch. We practice our silly walks outside, down the stone walkway and into the dining hall. Max is not the least bit interested in a silly walk but his wide eyes hint at something close to wonder at the ivy-covered stone columns, the neglected St. Francis statue, covered in moss and standing guard in the bird-watching garden. When we enter the dining hall, I hear his stomach growling and yet all I can get him to say is, Im not hungry.

I have a special place in my glass-half-full heart for difficult kindergarteners, but now it might be time to call in the parents for a conference. Just as well because Im curious to meet them. Since his parents didnt attend the open house over the summer due to the last-minute enrollment, we havent had a chance to meet yet.

Even more curious to me: neither of Maxs parents escorted him to class this morning. No tears, no hugs and kisses, no selfies at his assigned desk. He was brought to my classroom on his first day of kindergarten by the tight-bunned Headmistress Moody, who simply handed me his file, smiled warmly at Max and wished him a wonderful year, and left.

When the children head outside to recess, I go to the main office to look through Maxs file and find his parents number. Make that dads phone number. The file shows no number for a mother. And this dad, I notice, hasnt signed up for any of the parent volunteer committees. I peer at his name as I talk to myself. Vince Cole. Sexy name. Too bad you didnt sign up to help with a single thing, Vince, because now all thats left is the fine arts committee. Of which I am the chair, and Im not afraid to delegate.

My calls go to voicemail each time. But honestly, who leaves voicemails these days? Ill just keep annoying Mr. Cole until he picks up. Did I mention relentless?

Listen, if you want the privilege of calling yourself a Greenbridge parent and flaunting the school logo on your Land Rover, the rock bottom least you can do is answer your phone.

Vince

The number isnt familiar, so I hit decline.

Ive done enough people-ing today.

People suck.

I had a meeting with my court-ordered counselor right after dropping off Max at school, and I was almost late to it. Now Im all talked out.

The plan is to spend the rest of the day driving my classic Mustang around town to look at available office spaces until its time to pick up Max from school. If I dont figure out a way to make some money soon, I might have to sell this sweet ride, which represents the entirety of my inheritance from my hard-working parents, may they rest in peace.

I grab some burgers from a fast food drive-thru and ponder the properties Ive looked at so far. Based on the notes on my legal pad, none of them look promising.