Brittany Sloane
“Attention! Quiet please!” When the room didn’t quiet, Sophie slapped a palm against the chalkboard.
Fifteen pairs of eyes snapped to hers. She met them with a satisfied smile.
“Okay, matchmakers,” she said. “The July meeting is officially in session.”
She paused for applause, then pointed to the agenda she’d scribbled on the board.
“We’ll start with an update on the Dairy Queen outing with Grant’s mom and Carly’s dad. Then, we’ll review Simon Lester’s application to join M.A.T.C.H., and, finally, we’ll vote on this month’s adults.”
Sophie turned to her classmates, scanning the group to find the flushed, freckled cheeks of Grant Lin.
Grant inhaled deeply, then pushed back his chair. “Carly and her dad picked up me and my mom last Saturday,” he began. “Mr. Ryan drove us all to Dairy Queen and paid for our Blizzards. I got Oreo, and my mom got M&M. We ate them at a picnic table.”
From the next chair over, Carly blurted, “They talked the entire time we were eating—and even exchanged phone numbers at the end!!”
The two students grinned at each other, and Sophie’s own excitement exploded like confetti in her chest. Another success story, making their group three for three.
What had begun as a study group for Mr. Hanson’s fifth grade class had taken a sharp turn after a rainy-day showing of The Parent Trap. Instead of reviewing notes on the Great Depression, the students had spent the entire after-school hour brainstorming ways to set up the lonely adults in their lives—the first unofficial meeting of the Middleton Academy Taskforce to Create Happiness (M.A.T.C.H.).
“Great work, everyone,” Sophie said, already thinking of lonely candidates for July. Maybe Nurse Casey and Laura Harrington’s dad? She spun to the chalkboard to write down their names. “Laura? What’s your dad’s—”
Max, the group’s appointed lookout, came sprinting in from the hall. “Mr. Hanson approaching!”
Sophie lunged for the eraser, while the others dove for their backpacks, pulling out the summer reading she’d told their former teacher they were there to discuss.
She’d just wiped away the final letter when a familiar face appeared in the doorway.
Mr. Hanson smiled as he took in last year’s students, all hunched over their paperbacks. When he spotted Sophie at the board, his grin widened.
“With Sophie Daniels in charge,” he said, “I half-expected to walk in on a plot to overthrow the principal.”
Sophie rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop her own smile from spreading. Mr. Hanson wasn’t like other teachers. He was kind, patient, and actually funny—one of the few adults at Middleton Sophie could say that about.
She blinked, replaying the facts. Mr. Hanson was always on time—unlike Sophie’s dad, according to her mom. Also according to Poppy Daniels, Mr. Hanson had a nice smile. And he didn’t wear a wedding ring.
“Fifteen-minute warning,” he said, nodding toward the clock. “The local community center is hosting a singles mixer in the gym, and somehow I got roped into facilitating.” He shook his head, then disappeared into the hall.
Sophie waited for his footsteps to fade before addressing the group. “Simon can wait. I know our July adults and the perfect way to set them up.”
***
Poppy Daniels strode quickly down the corridor, the clack of her heels echoing loudly in the school’s empty halls.
The voice on the phone had introduced himself as Mr. Hanson—a man she remembered from various Middleton parent events.
While Poppy’s ex-husband had many good qualities, showing up on behalf of their daughter had never been one of them. Billy’s flakiness only made Poppy more grateful for men like Mr. Hanson, who’d gone out of his way to be a steady, supportive presence in Sophie’s life. A perfect mix of Poppy’s boldness and Billy’s charisma, their daughter was destined to run either the country or a cult by the time she reached middle age. Under Mr. Hanson’s tutelage, Poppy was cautiously optimistic it would be the former.
She spotted the teacher as soon as she rounded the corner. What a man with that jawline and those blue eyes was doing teaching fifth grade, she’d never understand.
“Ms. Daniels,” Mr. Hanson started, taking a step towards her. “I—”
Poppy waved a hand as she approached. “Please. Call me Poppy.”
His crooked smile stirred a sudden warmth in her cheeks.
“Poppy. Thanks for coming. As I said on the phone, I came to check on Sophie and her friends and found the door locked. They’ve been sliding me demands from underneath it.” He handed Poppy a torn-off sheet of notebook paper. “This was the most recent.”
Call Sophie’s mom. 512-555-8949.
“Mr. Hanson—”
“Greg,” he corrected.
Poppy exhaled a laugh. “Greg. I am . . . so sorry.” She glanced sideways, her eyes meeting Sophie’s through the window in the door.
Sophie fluttered her eyelashes.
Poppy raised her voice. “You can rest assured Sophie will be—”
She cut herself off as a new piece of paper slid into the hall.
Mom, you seem stressed. Go get a drink at the mixer. Take Mr. Hanson. We’ll unlock the door when you get back.
Poppy balked.
She reread the note, then handed it to Mr. Hanson—Greg—who skimmed it once and passed it back.
“Poppy?” he asked, his blue eyes sparkling beneath the overhead lights.
“Yes?”
He reached behind him and pulled a crumpled flyer from his pocket. Poppy could only make out two words, but they were enough: Singles Mixer.
If she weren’t so mortified, she might’ve been impressed by such a resourceful scheme.
“You know,” Greg mused, rescuing her from an impending spiral, “I actually could use a cup of coffee. Negotiating with fifth graders is exhausting work.”
He hit her with another of those crooked grins, and Poppy’s decision was made.
“All right,” she relented. “One cup of coffee.”
They’d barely made it to the end of the hall before the classroom behind them erupted in cheers.
Spark Flash Fiction 