I Became a Kindergarten Teacher for Monster Babies!

For a heartbeat, there was only silence– the hush of the breeze, the tiny splashes of ripples. Then Drake’s voice rang out, loud and proud. "My fire boat is fastest!!" he shouted, chest puffed, tail wagging.

Boo, not to be outdone, spun around and pointed at his own messy boat. "Nuh-uh! Boo’s ghost boat will haunt yours! Look — it’s floating backwards!"

Kelpie squeaked a little laugh, his fingers tapping the water. "It’s so pretty... so pretty..." he murmured, his eyes wide with wonder as he watched all the little boats drifting.

Alina lowered eyes for a moment, her smile so bright it made her eyes sting. Goodness, she thought, her heart so full it almost hurt. What did I ever do to deserve such precious little ones?

After the little boats drifted far across the lake, dancing like tiny paper wishes in the morning sun, Alina carefully picked up her phone, tapping the screen with a soft smile. She peeked at the short video she’d captured — nine small babies crouched together, boats bobbing away on the sparkling water. Their laughter echoed even through her phone’s tiny speaker.

Goodness, she thought, pressing her hand to her chest as she watched Kelpie’s awed face and Boo’s upside-down grin. They really are the sweetest.

She clapped her hands lightly, her voice gentle yet bright. "Alright, my loves — back to class, come on!" she said, herding her tiny ducklings back along the leafy path. They trailed after her, some chattering about whose boat was fastest (Drake insisted his still was), some just bouncing with leftover excitement.

Once everyone was settled again in their room and the breakfast bell rang through the hallway, Alina patted her skirt, took a breath, and slipped in to the staffroom.

She settled at an empty desk and pulled an old file box closer. She flipped carefully through each page, hoping to find something — a list of emergency numbers, any record of each baby’s family. I need to be prepared, she thought, frowning slightly.

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But the files were thin, some so old they looked like they hadn’t been touched in years. Her fingertips paused on blank lines where phone numbers should be, her brows knitting together.