Brooke Roberts
Brooke POV
The buzz of conversations around me serves as the backdrop for my lunch. The Greenbriar Primary School teacher’s lounge is simple, with off-white walls and a large bulletin board crammed with papers pinned with colorful thumbtacks. There are four circular tables surrounded by plastic chairs, which are extremely uncomfortable, I might add, a refrigerator, a microwave, and a coffee maker that must have been here since I attended kindergarten.
My phone vibrates on the table, alerting me to a new message.
Liv: What are the chances you can get tickets to Underworld for tomorrow?
I roll my eyes when I see the message from Olivia Jones, my best friend since college when we shared a dorm at Stanford in our first year.
Brooke: Hey, Liv. I’m good here, and you?
I chuckle and smile when I see she’s already typing a response. I can imagine her resigned sigh when she saw that I didn’t answer her question. Olivia doesn’t like wasting time—why beat around the bush when getting straight to the point is much more practical?
Liv: Hey, hey. I get it, manners and all, but what about the tickets?
Liv: There’s going to be an amazing DJ at Underworld tomorrow. And, before you ask, yes, I just found out; apparently, they announced it this morning.
Underworld is one of the best and largest nightclubs in San Jose. It’s the place everyone wants to be, especially on a Friday night. The reason Liv is asking me to get tickets is simple. One of the owners of Underworld is Kyle Thorne, my best friend since childhood, my former neighbor, my first love.
Liv: Please, B. Put us on the list.
Liv: I’ve never asked you for anything.
I laugh at the ridiculous argument, drawing the attention of two teachers at the table next to mine. I shake my head while typing a reply.
Brooke: You mean you haven’t asked for anything TODAY, right?
Liv: I promise not to ask for anything for a week, how about that?
Brooke: Not happening, you owe me one more.
Brooke: I was planning to prepare next week’s lessons and maybe make a special dinner for Patrick; we’re barely seeing each other.
Liv: Instead of staying home cooking, we could hit the dance floor. You could even invite Patrick to join us.
Brooke: How considerate of you, considering you’re using me to get into Underworld at the last minute.
Brooke: I’ll try to get the tickets, but don’t get your hopes up, it’s not a guarantee.
Liv: As if he’s ever said no to you.
Liv: Oh, you know I love you.
Brooke: I love you too, I’ll let you know after I talk to Kyle.
Liv: Good luck with the little ones!
“Little ones” is Liv’s affectionate term for my students. She’s not the biggest fan of kids and thinks it’s absurd that I chose a career that has me spending most of my days in a classroom with them, but I love my job.
Being a first-grade teacher wasn’t my dream. Until my junior year of high school, I had no idea what career I wanted to pursue; I was only 16. How could I choose what to do for the rest of my life? Back then, I just wanted the school day to end so I could catch some waves before the evening, which was rare. But after countless hours with the career counselor, the thousands of tests pointed to one common trait: working with children.
I started imagining what it would be like to spend my days in a classroom surrounded by the chaotic energy of children aged 5 to 10. And contrary to what I expected, I didn’t feel scared or irritated, but excited and full of high expectations.
I was in my second year as a first-grade teacher at Greenbriar School, and I felt professionally fulfilled.
I check the time and have fifteen minutes before I need to return to my classroom, so I type a quick message to Kyle.
Brooke: Hey, Ky! I need a favor.
I barely placed my phone on the table before it started ringing.
“You didn’t have to call,” I answer, laughing.
“What do you need, Sunshine?” Kyle is the only person in the world who calls me “Sunshine” without any hint of irony or sarcasm. Usually, this nickname comes with one of those tones, but since the first time he referred to me this way, I’ve never heard anything but affection.
“Nothing much, what are the chances I can get some tickets to Underworld for tomorrow?” I ask while packing my containers into my bag.
“You know you don’t have to ask, Brooke. You have guaranteed entry anytime,” he replies in a serious tone.
“I heard there’s some event going on; I thought it might be sold out.” I shrug, knowing he can’t see.
“For you? Never. We don’t sell VIP area access; it’s by invitation only, and yours is lifetime.”
“You’re the best, Kyle!”
“Who else is going with you?”
“Oh, you know, just my closest friends, about 37 people,” I joke, and I hear his laugh.
“Olivia and Patrick then, no problem. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sunshine. Call me if you need anything.”
“See you tomorrow. Take care, Ky.”
The call ends, and before I forget, I send a message to my boyfriend asking if he wants to come. When I’m heading back to the classroom, I confirm that he read the message but hasn’t replied. Oh, he must be busy at the office.
I’m already in the classroom when my little hurricanes return. Their voices fill the room as they put their lunchboxes in their designated drawers at the back of the room; this process usually takes about fifteen minutes.
Their energy always seems recharged after spending nearly an hour playing on the playground. Little Madelaine approaches my desk with a big smile, her blonde hair tied in pigtails swaying with her steps.
“Miss Roberts?”
“Yes, Maddie.”
“Is it time to paint now?” she asks.
“Yes, do you want to help me sort the paints?” I ask, already standing up and walking around the table, extending my hand, which she takes eagerly, practically leading me to the area where the craft supplies are stored. “Thank you so much, Maddie,” I say as she grabs one of the boxes and brings it to the center of the table. Soon, two more students are by my side, their little arms outstretched, waiting for their turn to help.
After all the materials are distributed, I give instructions on the theme of today’s drawings.
Josh and Lucas are the last students in the classroom. The lesson ended ten minutes ago, but their parents are running late. The boys play with the dinosaurs from the toy box, jumping on pieces of the carpet that are apparently a river, a fish pond, and a mud puddle.
Two knocks on the door break the spell of their imaginations, and they run into their father's arms.
“See you tomorrow, Miss Roberts!” Josh shouts from the door, while his brother waves enthusiastically.
“See you tomorrow, boys.”
“Any problems today?” asks their father.
“None, they’re angels. Tomorrow is Show and Tell; they need to bring something,” I remind him. He nods and turns away, with the boys on either side, talking at the same time as they head down the hallway.
I stretch and put the last chairs back in their places. The lesson is over, but a teacher’s work extends beyond the hours spent with the students. That’s why I head back to my desk to correct the day's exercises, then separate the ones I need to copy and leave at the reception at the end of the day. This last hour passes quickly as I dive into notes and planning. I’m on my way to the car when I realize Patrick hasn’t replied to me yet. His new job at an insurance agency has been taking up so much of his time that he’s always exhausted when he gets home.
When I check the surf conditions at Steamer Lane, one of the best beaches in the area, it’s as amazing as expected. My heart longs for the sea; the adrenaline and euphoria I feel when I’m on a board are unparalleled. However, it’s a 45-minute drive if traffic cooperates, which is unlikely, and getting there with a time limit would be a different kind of torture.
Just two more days, I promise myself. On Saturday, I’ll spend the day in the sun. A day away from the city will be good for Patrick and me. We can take some walks along the shore and maybe have a picnic on the beach. I smile at the thought and start listing what I need to buy at the market to put my plan into action.
I’m checking the salmon in the oven when I hear the front door open. It doesn’t take long for Patrick to appear in our small kitchen. His hair is all messy, with little black curls going in every direction, and I can tell he’s had another busy day at the office.
“The smell is amazing, love,” he comments, walking around the counter that divides the kitchen and living room and kissing my cheek. “I’m just going to take a quick shower and I’ll be back.”
As if on cue, by the time I finish serving the second plate, my boyfriend returns wearing only pajama pants. My eyes travel over his lean body to his face, noticing his tired expression. The image of us sitting on the beach fills my mind and I smile; we both need this.
“Let’s have dinner,” I announce.
He takes our plates to the living room and places them on the coffee table. Our apartment is small, with just one bedroom, a bathroom, and a combined kitchen/living room. It’s what a newlywed couple could afford, so we don’t have a dining table and have gotten into the habit of eating while watching TV.
Once we’re settled on the couch, each with our plate in our laps, I turn on the series we’re watching and we begin to eat. We comment here and there on the story and what we think might happen next. Between episodes, I check my phone and see Liv’s message celebrating that I managed to get us on the Underworld list, which reminds me that Patrick hasn’t replied.
“Hey, love?”
“Hm?” he grunts, while typing something on his phone.
“I’m not sure if you saw the message I sent earlier, but Liv invited us to a party at Underworld tomorrow night,” I say, pausing the episode at the opening.
“I think I saw that,” he says, looking up from the screen. “But I’m too tired to go out, love. This week has broken me; I’m exhausted.”
“It would be good to go out and have some fun, without thinking about work,” I try to convince him.
“I know, Brooke, but I’m just not in the mood. I just want to come home and veg out on the couch.” He must notice the disappointment in my expression because he adds, “But go with Olivia. A girls' night out—you deserve it!”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I trust you,” he says.
“I wish you could come; it’s been a while since we’ve done anything together.” He sighs and looks down at his empty plate still in his lap. “But I know how busy your work is, so I’ll go straight to Liv’s place after my theater class and get ready there, so you can get home and rest.”
“You’re the best,” he says, leaning in and giving me a quick kiss before pulling me into his arms and restarting the series. Halfway through the episode, I feel his arms grow heavier around me and his breathing deepen. I wait a few minutes before moving, and see that he’s fallen asleep again. With great care, I get off the couch without disturbing him, clean the kitchen, and pack my change of clothes and makeup into a bag that I’ll take with me in the morning, so I can head straight from school to Liv’s apartment on the other side of town.
As I’m about to go to bed, I return to the living room and try to gently wake Patrick, but he turns on the couch and I head to the bedroom, knowing from experience that he’ll wake up at some point during the night and come to bed.