Crashing In
The day started badly and only got worse.
Amanda spilled coffee on her lesson plans before first period. Her printer jammed three times. One of her seniors decided today was the perfect day to test every ounce of her patience.
By lunch, she was barely holding it together.
And then came the parent.
Amanda had just finished stacking graded essays when the knock came at her door. She barely had time to say "Come in" before a woman stormed inside, her face already flushed with anger.
"Ms. Lehan-Canto," the woman snapped. "Do you even realize the damage you’re doing to these kids?"
Amanda blinked, stunned.
"I’m—sorry?"
The parent launched into a tirade—complaining about grades, about assignments being "unfair," about Amanda "targeting" her child. None of it made sense. None of it was true. But the sheer force of the woman’s fury battered at Amanda until she could barely breathe.
She tried to explain. Tried to stay calm.
But the woman wasn’t listening.
When she finally left, slamming the door behind her, Amanda sank into her chair, shaking.
The classroom felt too small. The walls too close.
She barely registered the tap on her door.
Angela slipped inside, closing it quietly behind her.
She didn’t say anything—just walked over and crouched down in front of Amanda, her hands resting lightly on Amanda's knees.
"Hey," Angela said softly. "Look at me."
Amanda did, eyes burning.
"You didn’t do anything wrong," Angela said firmly. "You’re a good teacher. One bad parent doesn’t change that."
Amanda shook her head, fighting the rising panic.
Angela squeezed her knees gently. "You’re okay. I promise."
Amanda swallowed hard, clinging to the words like a lifeline.
That night, Amanda ended up at Angela’s again.
She wasn’t even sure how it happened—one minute she was pacing her apartment, the next she was knocking on Angela’s door, a bottle of wine tucked under her arm.
Angela smiled when she opened the door, no questions asked.
They sat on the couch, wine glasses in hand, Spork curled up between them.
At first, it was easy. Light.
Amanda told a dumb story about a student mistaking her for a substitute teacher. Angela shared a horror story about her first year counseling.
They laughed.
And laughed.
And then Amanda’s laughter caught in her throat.
Angela noticed immediately. "Hey. You okay?"
Amanda opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
The wine buzzed in her blood. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
"I’m scared," she blurted out.
Angela set down her glass carefully. "Of what?"
Amanda pressed her fists into her thighs, trying to stop them from trembling.
"Of this," she whispered. "Of you."
Angela’s brow furrowed, confused and concerned.
Amanda pushed on, words tumbling out now, uncontrollable.
"I keep… I keep thinking of you as more than a friend. And it’s—it’s terrifying. Because I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to want something without ruining it."
Angela’s mouth opened, a soft sound escaping—Amanda couldn’t tell if it was relief or surprise or something else entirely.
But Amanda panicked.
Before Angela could say anything, Amanda was on her feet, grabbing her jacket, her heart pounding so loud it drowned everything else out.
"I’m sorry," she gasped. "I—I shouldn’t have—"
Angela stood, reaching out instinctively. "Amanda—"
But Amanda shook her head, blinking back tears.
And then she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her.
Angela stood there, hand still outstretched, heart aching.
She didn’t chase her.
She just waited.
Because if Amanda had taught her anything, it was that sometimes, the bravest thing you could do was give someone the space to come back on their own.