Once a Teacher

Yes, it’s real—and it’s yours, the note read.

Cameron stared at the check that had been neatly folded inside the black leatherbound notebook. The words twenty thousand and 0/100 stared back. The rest had been left blank.

Cameron recoiled as if the words had burned her skin; the book hit the ground with a thud. She glanced around the small bookstore, though she didn’t know what she was looking for—the place was empty; its front door locked tight and the intentionally vintage-looking ‘closed’ sign turned out towards the street.

With an unsteady hand, she reached down to pick up the notebook, rubbing her thumb over the soft leather. The shop didn’t carry anything like this.

Oh Joan, she thought. What did you do?

***

Joan was a regular at the bookstore, stopping in every few weeks or so after finishing whatever she had picked up during her last visit. She was a short woman with the lovely kind of gray hair that looked almost platinum in the right lighting, and had kind, crinkly eyes; laugh lines etched over the course of her forty years of teaching.

Cameron herself was an aspiring teacher, but could never quite seem to get the timing—or her finances—just right. Grad school, the certification process, the unpaid student teaching—it meant she had a lot to do before her career could begin.

Joan would ask her about it sometimes. Had she volunteered anywhere recently? What schools did she plan on applying to? It wasn’t much, but it made her dreams feel more real, having someone ask about them.

Earlier that evening, with less than an hour until close, Joan had popped in. Weekdays were slow; hours could pass between customers, so Cameron had been startled out of her book when the bell above the door rang. The corner of her mouth pulled up in an unconscious smile when she saw who it was. She went back to reading and left Joan to her browsing.

She’d start out by the ‘Bestsellers’ display, meandering through ‘This Month’s Picks’, perhaps lingering by the wall of trinkets and literature-themed paraphernalia, before ultimately stationing herself by the used books, as always.

After a few chapters’ worth of time, Joan walked up to the register and placed a tattered sci-fi novel down on the counter.

“Is this really what you want?” Cameron asked, gingerly lifting up a torn, and very yellow, page.

“Yes,” Joan said. “It really is. Who needs a cover, anyway?”

“Well I don’t know who put this out on the shelf, but I’m not charging you for it.”

“Don’t be silly! It’s only, what—” she said, checking the back for the price tag. “Three dollars!”

“Charging anything for this would be a crime. I’m serious, I’m not letting you pay for it.”

“Fine,” Joan said, the corners of her eyes crinkling up, though she feigned annoyance. “How’s the studying going? Have you taken the GRE yet?”

“No,” Cameron said, her cheeks growing warm. “I’m still studying, but I can’t seem to pull the trigger and take it.”

“You’ve been preparing for what, a year now? You’re smart as a whip. You’re going to do just fine on it.”

“And if I don’t? It’s two hundred dollars just to take the test. Between that and all the application fees, I just… need to make sure I don’t have to take it a second time.” Cameron avoided Joan’s eyes, intently rubbing at a spot on the counter with her thumb.

Joan nodded. “I understand. Can I give you some advice?

Cameron nodded.

“You see those notebooks over there?” She motioned toward the ill-visited display of journals near the back of the store. “Get one for yourself—a little black one. Write down every last thing you need to do in order to get where you want to be. And I mean every last thing. Not just, ‘take the GRE,’ but ‘study your brains out for the quantitative portion,’ ‘take free practice tests online,’ and every other nitty gritty detail that goes into it. Every time you finish an item, put a checkmark next to it, cross it out, highlight it, do whatever feels the most satisfying to you.”

Cameron smiled. “That’s good advice. Does the notebook have to be black, though?”

The older woman nodded solemnly. “It has to be leather, too. It’ll make your notes feel more important, and will make you feel like someone who’s ready for grad school. Because you are ready.”

“Well alright then, I appreciate the advice. It’s good to hear from someone who was able to make it work.”

“Barely,” Joan said with a laugh. “But I suppose I did get there eventually.” She patted her hand on the counter, rings clicking against the polished wood. “You’re going to get there too, I know it. Anyway, I’ll be back once I finish this one,” she said, waving her book. “Maybe sooner if it disintegrates before I’m done with it. I expect to see some plans put in motion by then, alright?”

“Alright,” Cameron said, feeling a little more confident than she had that morning.

“Enjoy the rest of your night,” Joan said over her shoulder, before a cold gust of wind swept in and she walked out.

“Thanks, Joan, you too,” Cameron called after her, idly wondering if the store even carried leather notebooks.

***

More than an hour had passed since she had found the check. Cameron was slumped down against the bookshelf, her reeling mind finally beginning to quiet.

Had this sweet retired schoolteacher who only ever shopped for used books seriously left her a twenty thousand dollar check? Was she secretly some enigmatic millionaire? Perhaps an heiress?

Although… That doesn’t look like her handwriting, Cameron thought, reading over the strange note inside the cover. And why didn’t she fill out my name? Anyone could have found it and written their own.

She held the notebook uncertainly and placed it back where she had found it on the shelf. Maybe it wasn’t from Joan.

She pulled her knees up, pressing the heels of her hands into her forehead. How could it have been from anyone else? She had been so adamant about that black leather notebook, and the shop didn’t even carry them.

Cameron let out a long breath and glanced at her watch. It was late, and she needed to feed the cat. She ducked behind the counter and grabbed her things, fishing around for her keys. One hand was on the door, ready to leave, but she hesitated, glancing at the display of journals. With a sigh, she slid the check out of the notebook and into her coat pocket, taking two steps forward before she doubled back and took the notebook, too.

***

The next morning, Cameron came into work, a still-unaddressed check hiding in her pocket. She sat at the counter, anxiously tapping against the footrest of her stool, avoiding eye contact with the customers milling around the store. Of course it would be a busy one today. She hadn’t slept a wink the night before.

The bell above the front door chimed and a smiling Joan strolled through the door.

“Morning! It seems my poor book—” she stopped mid-sentence, taking in Cameron’s appearance. “Are you alright?”

Cameron didn’t speak for what felt like only a few seconds, though she knew it was likely much longer than that by the way Joan shifted uncomfortably.

“Why did you tell me to get that notebook?”

Joan’s brows knit together. “It was just friendly advice… I didn’t mean it offensively. I’m sorry if it came off that way.”

Cameron leaned back slowly. “That’s all?”

“That’s all. Really, are you feeling alright?”

“Why leather specifically? We don’t carry that here.”

“Oh? I was almost certain I saw one yesterday, though I should have taken a closer look I suppose… it just made me think of the notebook I used when I was in school. It doesn’t have to be leather—it could be cloth, or even those paper-y ones. I just thought something nice like that would inspire you a bit. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Her lips pulled into a concerned frown, and Cameron suddenly felt guilty.

“No, I know you didn’t. I’m sorry, I just slept poorly last night and—” she stopped, “what is going on today?”

Over the course of their conversation, Cameron had faintly registered the sound of the bell chiming, but it had grown incessant. She looked around the shop. There must have been thirty people packed inside.

“Hi, yes, excuse me,” she said, tapping an excited looking mother on the shoulder. “Is there some kind of… party, or something?”

The woman laughed, but her smile fell when she registered Cameron’s expression. “Oh… no, it’s… well it’s for Small Businesses Week?”

“And?”

The woman’s grin returned as she spoke. “Some mystery donor put it together to get people to go and visit the local shops in town. You know, to give them exposure, and get people to buy things? It was all over social media this morning!”

Cameron nodded, urging her along.

“Well someone hid five checks in five different businesses all across town—the biggest one worth twenty thousand dollars! Whoever finds it, keeps it, and whichever store it was found in gets the same amount!”

Cameron stood stock-still.

The woman turned away uncomfortably, and Cameron made her way back to the counter, her stomach beginning to flutter. The money was hers. Twenty thousand dollars! Call it fate, or sheer dumb luck, but—she stopped.

Joan was still there, leaning against the counter and waiting to hear what all the fuss was about.

You’re about to become ten thousand dollars richer, Cameron thought, greeting her with a smile.

***

One dreary winter evening, Joan set off for the bookstore. She was in the mood for something different—maybe she’d try a sci-fi novel this time.

She meandered through the various sections, though she knew where she’d eventually end up. On her way to the ‘used’ section, something caught her eye. A beautiful leather bound notebook—just like the kind she had used in college.

She picked it up, running her fingers over the smooth leather, and opened it.

Out fell a check.

Joan stood there a long while.

Twenty thousand dollars.

She could get a new washer and dryer. She could finally replace the squeaky garage door. She could pad her emergency fund.

And yet, for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to put the check in her pocket. She found herself looking over the display at Cameron.

Cameron, who reminded her so much of the woman she had been when she was young—they had many of the same struggles, too.

Cameron, who had the tenacity and patience and kindness and grit it took to become an incredible teacher.

Cameron, who could hardly afford to even apply to a teaching program.

Joan remembered what it had taken for her to get to this point. The shame of paying for groceries with food stamps. The unintentionally condescending tone others would take when they found out what she did for a living. ‘Oh, teaching? That’s so cute!’ ‘Wow, I sure wish I got summers off!’ The exhaustion of bringing work home every night and every weekend, and spending those ‘summers off’ working as a waitress to make ends meet. She knew what lay ahead for Cameron.

Joan looked down at the check in her hand.

Twenty thousand dollars.

An easy decision.

Joan carefully placed the check back inside the front cover of the black leather notebook and put it up on the shelf. She calmed her breathing and walked back to the counter, grabbing a book from the used section on her way up. She placed it down on the counter, and smiled when she saw the title.

Huh. Sci fi.

“Is this really what you want?” Cameron asked.

“Yes,” Joan said. “It really is.”