("You" are Miss Breely.)

You start your day as normal, waking up to a steaming pot of coffee. He’s put it on for you today, because like any other day, he leaves before you. A tiring hobby, but at least he can come home and snuggle with you to warm his calloused hands. Going around from house to house, starting at yours, he picks up discarded appliances. Most people would see it as just trash collecting. You know the difference. You know it’s his passion. Finding lost things, he says as he kisses you on the forehead. You teach science. It’s not your dream job, but it pays the bills. You went to that school as a kid. It seems all the people here did. There are very few outsiders in Rootfield. Plip, plip, plip, goes the drip coffee as you make a cup. One, two, and three sugar cubes. You tend to make a game out of it, stacking them one on top of the other, one by one. The day just doesn’t sit right with you if you don’t. 

You grab your coat out of the closet, checking the news as you slip it on. Right, you have to turn off all the lights so as to not waste power. It’s Autumn today. Your students are finishing a class project about leaves. Just in time for the festival, too. Every year, you do this project, and every year, there’s always one kid who goes out of their way to make their leaves feathery, glittery, or over-the-top in some way. You chuckle as you grab your keys, before petting your cat, Breely Junior, on the back. He purrs, meowing for more. He does this every day without fail. “Gotta go, Junior,” you laugh as you shut and lock the door. You can hear his protesting meows through the door. “Junior, Pa will be back soon to give you the food! Go back to sleep, kitty, I have to work.” 

The drive is mind numbing as always. You manage to stay awake with the assistance of the coffee. Rootfield Public School is only about two miles away, but your car has a heater, and you don’t want to walk. You don’t pay much attention to the scenery. Besides, it's just the same old brown trees and yellow bushes. Fall isn't pretty here. You turn on the radio to some soft jazz. The news always puts you down, so you don't bother.

The parking lot is fairly empty. You get into your normal spot, rubbing your hands together for the warmth before turning the key and shutting off the car. You gather the day's supplies from the back seat of the car, struggling to hold it all in one arm.

"Miss! Do you need help?"

Another teacher had parked right next to you. "No, Sven, I've got it," you say back, papers fluttering out of your grasp.

"No, let me help," he laughs, bending down to pick the papers up. "Leaves, huh? Doing that project again?"

"Sven, it's mandatory for the year's curriculum. You know that." You sigh. He always tries to talk to you, wearing his "don't talk to me until I've had my coffee" shirt. You have a bet going with your other coworkers on how long it takes for him to switch back to his "I'm into fitness. Fitness taco in my mouth!" shirt.

There is one student you've been keeping an eye on. Ronald Amsel. He is excellent in English, and has shown much more skills than his age demographic. You plan to pull him aside today and ask him to show you what he's been working on. He might even qualify for an award.