Chapter 1
I learned early that looking vulnerable could protect me. I could cry on cue whenever I needed to.
When I was in kindergarten, Tyler Grant, a boy from my neighborhood, stole my toys at school. I cried to every neighbor who would listen until everyone knew he was a little bully and no one wanted to play with him.
In high school, a teacher spread rumors that I was secretly dating. I dropped to my knees in front of the entire school and begged her to spare me.
The matter eventually reached the school district, and she was fired for mistreating students. Her whole family was suddenly left scrambling to make ends meet.
After college, I joined BrightPath Learning Center and met Monica Reed, one of the parents.
"Ms. Foster, honestly, you teach pretty well, but you really shouldn't keep drinking water during class. It's distracting. And every time you stop for a drink, the students have to sit there and wait. I paid for teaching, not to watch you drink water."
Jenna Price, the teaching assistant beside me, barely dared to breathe. "Oh no. She's one of those parents."
I sniffed once, and tears welled up almost on cue. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken a drink during class. Even though... I have a throat infection, I still shouldn't have taken a drink..."
The moment I finished speaking, a group of children rushed over to defend me, including Monica's own son.
'As long as I cry first, no one gets to guilt-trip me.'
"Ms. Foster, are you sick?"
The door opened, and several children crowded around me. I wiped away the tears still clinging to my cheeks. "I'm fine. I just got a little emotional. Did I scare you?"
"But you're crying!" a little girl said anxiously. "Does it hurt a lot?"
The parents waiting outside for pickup heard the commotion and began looking in.
Monica, who had been lecturing me with such confidence a moment earlier, stiffened. Her son, Ethan Cole, stood at the back of the group, twisting one of his backpack straps around his fingers.
"Mom," he said softly, "Ms. Foster was teaching the whole time. She wasn't slacking off."
Monica frowned at once. "Ethan, what have I taught you? Adults are talking. Children don't interrupt."
At one sharp look from her, Ethan hunched his shoulders.
Inside, I almost laughed, but I made myself look even more wounded. "Monica, please don't blame Ethan. This is my fault. I shouldn't have come to work with a throat infection instead of taking sick leave, and I definitely shouldn't have drunk water during class and wasted everyone's time."
I cried as I spoke, tears rolling down my cheeks.
One mother couldn't stand it anymore. "Ms. Foster has a throat infection. What's wrong with taking a sip of water?"
Another father joined in. "Exactly. The kids are in class for nearly an hour. Of course a teacher should be able to take a sip of water to soothe her throat."
Monica's expression tightened, and her tone turned sharp. "I only offered a couple of suggestions. I didn't mean anything by it. Does she really need to act sick and play the victim in front of the children?"
"Act?" Jenna's face changed instantly. "Ms. Reed, can you be reasonable? You pushed her to tears, and now you're accusing her of putting on a show?"
I quickly caught Jenna's arm and looked at Monica with reddened eyes. "I'm sorry. We didn't handle this well. I won't drink water during class anymore. Is that okay?"
"No!" a boy shouted first.
"Yeah! If Ms. Foster's throat hurts, she should drink water!"
The children chimed in one after another, all taking my side. Monica's expression hardened by the second.
She forced a smile. "Teachers should keep learning throughout their careers. I'm only trying to help Ms. Foster become more professional."
The mother from earlier shot back, "Being professional doesn't mean working like a machine."
"Right," Jenna added. "She's a teacher, not your servant."
The room went silent.
I figured that was enough. I sniffed softly, crouched down in front of the children, and said, "All right. I'm sorry I made everyone worry today. I'll take better care of myself, and I'll keep doing my best to teach you well."
When Monica realized the room was no longer on her side, she gave a contemptuous snort. "So much for trying to help. Ethan, we're leaving."
She grabbed Ethan and started toward the door. He looked back at me and murmured so quietly I could barely hear him, "I'm sorry, Ms. Foster."
Monica's face turned livid. She yanked his hand. "Come on."
She dragged him out so quickly it looked as though she couldn't bear to stay another second. At the doorway, however, she paused and glanced back at me.
"Ms. Foster, we'll see about this."
