“I hate feeling helpless, like I’ve got no choices. I’m not like that prick, Devon, who wouldn’t know work other than to catch a football.”
“But you’re not helpless, Russ. You’re young, intelligent, hard-working. You have a future that is yours to grasp.”
He held her gaze again, swallowing deeply. “Society possesses a conventional standard whereby it judges all things.”
Her quick inhalation sounded out in the room. “Theodore Dreiser’s ‘Sister Carrie’.” Shaking her head, she added, “We don’t study that novel until the next grading period.”
“I’ve already read all the novels for the year,” he said, a blush tinging his cheeks.
“I see…” She tried to steady her breathing, not wanting to embarrass him by gushing over how impressed she was and yet so moved by his quote. “So, tell me about how you feel judged by society?”
Shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, he looked to the side, shaking his head slowly. “Not all of society. Just people like Devon… those who feel that daddy’s money makes it okay for them to look down on others. People who see someone bagging groceries and think they’re better.” His cheeks puffed out as he heaved a sigh. “Sometimes, not having money makes it hard. Makes it hard to know what the right thing to do is.”
His sudden change from a literature quote to wondering how to do the right thing had her zero in on his face, seeing conflict in his eyes. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel pushed into the wrong choices because it was too hard to do the right thing. She now remembered the quote he’d given in a previous class about doing the right thing. “Do you sometimes feel that it would be better to take an easier route to success, especially if we define success by money?”
“It’s hard, Ms. McBride. My dad left years ago. Mom works as a cleaner for one of the big hotels. My older sister just got on there as well, but she’s making minimum wage. I get the younger kids home from school and settled, then head to the grocery to work.” He grimaced. “I know there’s easier money out there… I just…” Another heavy sigh left his lips.
“You don’t have to go to college to be what you’d like to be, Russ.” She straightened and walked toward him, patted his arm, then stepped back. “But you just need to stay true to yourself.”
He swallowed hard again, nodding slowly. Startling, he looked at the clock on the wall. “I gotta go, Ms. McBride.” He pushed off from the table edge, swung his backpack over his shoulder, and walked to the door. Looking over his shoulder, he held her gaze then offered a chin lift before disappearing through the door.
She remained locked in place for a long moment, his situation filling her thoughts. She had many students from economically disadvantaged families in her classes and wondered how they would resist the temptation for easy money. Whether drugs, thefts, moving stolen property, gambling, just to name a few of the reasons teens were arrested, she prayed he would be able to rise above and keep working.
Shaking off the maudlin feelings, she walked to the teachers’ lounge and quickly visited the ladies' room. Stepping out, she listened to several teachers discussing the teachers’ fundraising fair that they were all expected to participate in.
“I have no idea what to bring,” one of the older teachers said. “I don’t bake. I don’t knit. I don’t make jewelry on the side. And yet, the principal wants us all to bring something to sell at the Saturday event.”
“What are you bringing, Caitlyn?” Barbara asked. “Cookies?”
Shaking her head, she replied, “I figure there will be lots of baked goodies. But my neighbors make potpourri, candles, and tea. They’re going to let me bring some to sell and have said that they’ll split the profits fifty-fifty with the school.”
“Oooh, like that great scented potpourri you have in your classroom?” another teacher asked.
She smiled and nodded. “Hopefully, they’ll sell well, and it’ll be a win-win for the school as well as my friends.”
As the conversation droned on, she excused herself and walked back to her classroom. Once at her desk, she graded papers, tests, and assignments. The soft click of a locker closing gently sounded, and she glanced at the clock on the wall. Students should have left the building unless they had stayed late with a teacher. Standing, she walked to the door and pulled it open, leaning her head out. A few students were at the end of the hall, but it appeared one of the coaches was with them. Moving back to her desk, she gathered her purse and bag, glanced around at her room, and then walked out.
The place was deserted until she came to the hall by the PE locker rooms that led to the teachers’ parking lot. A lone student headed toward the locker room door when they looked up sharply. Ducking their head, they barely lifted their hand toward her as they pushed their way into the locker room. Students were supposed to be accompanied, but she assumed Renée or Jamie were inside, both being PE teachers and coaches.
She hesitated, then pushed open the outside door. Glancing over her shoulder, she spied Russ and the other student leave the locker room at the same time.
His gaze landed on her, and she could have sworn his eyes widened for a second before he and the other student half-heartedly threw up their hands in another wave before turning to go out a different door.
She hesitated, wondering what they were doing. She probably should go back to the office on the other side of the building to report that she’d seen them. Damnit! Standing with her hand on the door, she sighed heavily. It’s Russ… I know him… I trust him. Ugh! Forcing suspicions to the side, she continued outside. Weaving through the cars, she finally came to her small car. Not sorry she’d chosen to give the boys the benefit of the doubt, their actions niggled.
Needing a distraction, she detoured and stopped by her parents’ house. The streets of the old neighborhood were so calming. Large brick homes, each different. No modern McMansions in sight. Tall oak trees bordered the sidewalks that had cracks and bumps in them from the roots. Near the end of the street, she came to the two houses, both as familiar as the other. One, the McBride family home where she and her five older siblings were raised, now where just her parents lived. The other, owned by the King family where they raised their five children along with her siblings. They, like her parents, now lived in the home alone, but with the multitude of adult children, significant others, and grandchildren coming along, the houses were often filled.
The backyards, which had remained open to each other and still had a worn path between the two, often held picnics and gatherings of whoever could come at the time. Seeing no other cars, she wasn’t surprised to walk into the kitchen and see Hannah King sitting at her parents’ table, sharing tea with her mom. Looking through the sliding glass door, she spied Chauncey King with her dad in the backyard, sharing a beer as they sat in the Adirondack chairs. Greeting her mom and Hannah, she sat down and accepted the cup of tea offered.
“Oh, my, your face looks so much better!”
Smiling at her mom, she nodded. “Yeah, there’s just a bit of yellow bruising which I can cover up with makeup.”
“I hope they threw the book at that kid!” Hannah exclaimed, then tossed her hand up. “I know, I know, it was an accident. But still, that’s no excuse. Between the two of us, we had six boys, and while they were testosterone monsters as teenagers, none of them ever got into a fight in high school that would’ve involved hitting a teacher!”