The parent, Amelia, found herself pacing the length of her kitchen. The first day of school was always a bit nerve-wracking, but this year felt different, a tightness constricting her chest. Her daughter, Lily, had skipped ahead to Mrs. Gable's fourth-grade class, the very same Mrs. Gable who had ruled Amelia's own elementary school years. Amelia pressed her palms together, as if in prayer, though it was just a habit. Would Mrs. Gable be as stern? Would Lily thrive, or wilt under the same gaze that had made Amelia's knees tremble during spelling tests?
Amelia glanced at the photo on the fridge of Lily, all smiles. She hadn’t told her daughter about Mrs. Gable. She didn’t want to project anything, but a prickle of unease ran down her spine. The old school felt like a different world, a distant memory, yet the thought of the same teacher in the same classroom felt unnerving. She imagined the teacher’s familiar, clipped tone.
She sat heavily at the kitchen table, the scent of coffee doing little to calm her. Amelia took another sip, then got up again, as if unable to stay still. She glanced at the clock, then stared at the window, the sunlight seeming to mock her anxiousness.