the escape hatch that carried me away during long, lonely times when my mother was gone. During the years I grew up wondering why my father didn’t want much to do with me, and the times I landed in schools where, with my wild black curls and olive-toned skin, I looked different from everyone else, and kids curiously inquired, What are you, anyway? Books made me believe that smart girls who didn’t necessarily fit in with the popular crowd could be the ones to solve mysteries, rescue people in distress, ferret out international criminals, fly spaceships to distant planets, take up arms and fight battles. Books showed me that not all fathers understand their daughters or even seek to, but that people can turn out okay despite that. Books made me feel beautiful when I wasn’t. Capable when I couldn’t be.
Books built my identity.
I want that for my students. For those lonely, hollow faces and unsmiling mouths and dulled, discouraged eyes that stare at me from the desks day after day.
The school library will not be a suitable source, even temporarily. The kids are not allowed to take books out because they can’t be trusted with them. The city library, housed two blocks from the school in an old Carnegie building, is slowly fading into oblivion. The good, fully modern, and well-equipped library is, of course, situated out by the lake, far beyond our reach.
I need to know what help can be found in the hoard at Goswood Grove. To that end, I have asked Coach Davis if I might borrow a pair of the binoculars they use in the announcer’s stand during games. He shrugged and muttered that he’d have one of the students bring them over after last period, but this being Thursday, he’d need them back by Friday for the football game.
Following the last-period bell, I diddle around my empty classroom until Lil’ Ray and the skinny kid with the always perfectly coiffed hair finally show up at my door. Michael, the other boy, is one of Lil’ Ray’s favorite toadies.
“Mister Rust. Mister Daigre. I’m assuming Coach Davis sent you with something for me?”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Because Coach has sent the boys, they are as meek as lambs and display good manners, to boot. Lil’ Ray apologizes for not getting here sooner. Michael nods.
“It’s all right. I appreciate the delivery.” They eyeball the snack-cake drawer, but I don’t offer. After dealing with these two knuckleheads desk wrestling and mouthing off daily in class, I’m shocked and almost peeved by all this politeness. “Tell Coach Davis thanks.”
“Yes, ma’am,” skinny Michael says when Lil’ Ray hands over the binoculars.
They start out the door, then Lil’ Ray snaps his head up like he hates to ask, but somehow he must know, “What’d you want them spyglasses for?”
“What do you want those spyglasses for?” I correct. “Remember, you’re in the English room, which means English class rules apply.”
Michael looks down at his feet, smirks my way. “Lil’ Ray and me are in the hall, though.”
Good gravy, this kid is quite clever. He’s been hiding that fact from me for two weeks. “I claim proximity,” I say with a smile. “Technically my territory goes to the middle of the hall all along this stretch in front of my classroom. The other side of the hall, now that is science room territory.”
Lil’ Ray grins and backs up two giant steps into the safe zone. “What’d you want them spyglasses for?”
“Answer a question in my class tomorrow—any one of the questions I ask about the reading from Animal Farm—and I’ll tell you after class…about the field glasses, I mean.” It’s worth a try. If I could gain sway with Lil’ Ray, I might start turning the tide. He carries a lot of clout in the high school social structure. “Any question, but you have to give a good answer. Not just nonsense to make people laugh.”
I dream of the day when an actual classroom discussion takes root. Maybe tomorrow will be the day.
Lil’ Ray cranes his head away, giving me the fish eye. “Never mind.”