After pulling my briefcase from the back seat, David hands it to me. Standing in front of me, he rests his hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes. “Good luck. Or break a leg. Whatever I’m supposed to say.” We share a laugh, but nervousness still washes over me. More in tune with me than I ever would have imagined, he picks up on the change. “Hey, we’ve walked through the whole lesson. It’s good. Really good. And what the hell do I know about English?” His casual and sweet smile reassures me.

“Thank you.”

“You got it. Now get in there and kick ass. I’ll be out here waiting for you.”

When I turn to walk toward the building, he slaps my ass. “What the . . . ? Did you really just do that?” I ask, astonished by the slight sting his strong hand left there.

“What? You’ve never been slapped on the ass for good luck before?” Leaning against the door of his car, his arms are crossed over his chest. A smug look spreads across his face and he smiles at me. “Oh, that must just be guys then.” He laughs.

Stepping back toward him, I poke a finger in his chest. “Not funny,” I scold, but can’t help from laughing myself.

Pinching his finger and thumb together in front of my face, he says, “It was a little funny.” Involuntarily, my eyes roll skyward and I laugh. “And now, see? You’re not nervous anymore.”

He brushes a soft hand over my cheek, pressing his lips in the wake of his touch. Whispering in my ear, he wishes me good luck one last time before I walk away.

From her perch at a desk in the main lobby, the hall monitor buzzes me in. I laugh a little noticing she barely lifts her eyes from the cross stitch she’s working on. Pulling her attention away from her project for a second, she checks my I.D. and then points me in the direction of the office I need.

Another secretary greets me, letting me know she’ll tell the principal I’m here. As I wait in the main office, I take note of the general atmosphere. Teachers walk in and out of the office with ease, checking their mailboxes as they carry on casual conversation with their colleagues. Students laugh in the halls as the classes change. Even though I’ve only been here for less than five minutes, it feels comfortable and personable.

“Ms. McCann,” a voice calls my attention away from the group of students standing in front of a locker out in the hall.

Standing, I extend a hand. “Mrs. Gallagher. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You have a lovely school.” I can’t exactly put my finger on her age, but if I had to guess, I’d say Mrs. Gallagher is somewhere in her mid-forties. Her blue eyes are bright and shining with enthusiasm. Wearing a black pant suit with a pink blouse, she looks every bit the professional, but the warmth and kindness in her face speaks to what I can tell is her kind nature.

She smiles, saying, “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. Please,”—swiping a hand to the side, she escorts me to her office—“come this way.”

There are two other offices in the short hallway down to her office, both empty. When I walk into her warm and inviting office space, I see two other people waiting for me. “Ms. McCann, this is Mr. Gildon and Mrs. Reese, the two assistant principals. Please, have a seat.”

We all greet one another and before I realize it, the interview is underway. After telling them about myself and my experience in student teaching, they ask me a slew of questions. Thankful for the late night round of rapid fire questions from David, I am more than prepared on all fronts. We covered diversified classrooms, inclusion instructional models, interdisciplinary curriculum development, and common core learning standards. When the interview segment is over, I feel confident that I’ve nailed it.

“You really know your stuff,” Mrs. Reese asserts, tapping together a stack of papers in front of her. “I have to say, I’m impressed and a little surprised you haven’t been snatched up by some other district.”

“It’s a saturated market,” I explain away my rather unfruitful-to-this-point job search. “But I’m very honored at the opportunity here.”

“I just have one final question,” Mr. Gildon interjects, leaning forward on the table.

“Of course.”

“If you were to be offered this job, and I happened to walk past your room one day, while you were teaching of course, what would I hear?” His somewhat cryptic question throws me off track for the briefest of seconds.

Saying the first thing that comes to mind, I utter, “Laughter.” All three administrators give me a confused stare. It’s clear they don’t know what to make of my answer, so without waiting for any further questions, I explain, “What I mean is that, no matter the objective, no matter the novel, or short story, or poem, at the heart of every lesson I’ll ever teach will be to enjoy life. If you can’t enjoy what you learn, if you can’t devour the true essence of life by reading the words of others, then there’s no point in it. My goal will always be to help my students achieve the most they possibly can, academically speaking. But when they’re out of these walls, when they’re out in the real world, if they’re able to smile and laugh, to see the positives through the world of negatives . . .” Pausing, I take a deep breath and gather my final thoughts. “Then I know I’ll have done my job.”

Pushing her chair back, Mrs. Gallagher stands. “Very well said.” She rewards me with a proud smile. Mr. Gildon and Mrs. Reese stand from their chairs. Looking up at the clock, she says, “It looks like fifth period is about to start in roughly fifteen minutes. Let’s make our way up to the classroom for your demo. There’s no class in there now, so you can have the space to yourself to prepare your lesson.”

When the bell rings, dismissing fourth period, a rush of anxiety and excitement floods my system. Mrs. Gallagher sits in the back row, Mr. Gildon and Mrs. Reese on either side of her. Their somewhat stoic stares do nothing to help calm me down.

Remembering something that always stood out to me when I was in school, I move to stand by the door. Greeting the students not only helps calm my nerves, but I hope that it makes them feel more at ease with me. I learned very early on in my student teaching experience that students are not always warm and receptive to someone new in their classroom, especially if they are firmly attached to their current teacher.

As the bell rings signaling the start of the period, whatever nervousness I feel evaporates. Truly in my own element, the words of my lesson flow from my mouth with ease and eloquence. In my planning, I’ve basically memorized the story I’m teaching. With the help of a few eager volunteers, as a class we read Joyce Carol Oates’ short story Journey fairly quickly. On the surface, the story is nothing more than a traveler on a journey, narrating the obstacles and victories he encounters along the way.

However, upon a closer reading, and after a few guiding questions from me, the students begin to see the metaphorical meaning behind the words on the page. It’s about much more than a road trip. The story is actually a parable to how people should lead their life, how they should take the proverbial road less traveled.

After modeling the first example, the students work in small groups to decipher the many metaphors and symbols in the story. Much to my delight, they actually seem to enjoy the story and they’ve mastered the tasks I’ve given them.

With three minutes left to the period, I write the final example on the board, and tell the students they’ve done a wonderful job. “So for homework.” My words are met with a collective and audible groan from the class. “I’m just going to ignore that,” I say with a dismissive laugh. “Anyway, at the end of Journey, we’re left with the image of the traveler, resting against a tree as he reflects on the choices that brought him to this point. For homework, I’d like you to take the place of the traveler, and write a brief metaphor for your own life and the choices you’ve made. It can be in a poem, or a narrative. Even a visual design. Just something that conveys the lessons you’ve learned and the choices you’ve made.”