Saving Mr. Terupt

by Robert W. Buyea

  “You heard what he said,” I warned Luke. “Not a word.” I stood. And after me, Jessica did. And then Zack. And Brandon. And then all of a sudden the entire gym was on its feet, Luke included.

  I had chills after beating Scott Winshall, when the referee raised my arm and everyone went wild cheering for me, but that didn’t compare to what I felt in that gym, standing together. My skin tingled.

  Knowing there was nothing he could do, Principal Lee turned and slammed through the doors. Gone for the moment, but we knew he’d return.

  “Now what?” Anna asked.

  “We stay,” Luke said.

  “For how long?”

  “Until they give us Mr. Terupt back.” He sat down, and the rest of the gym followed, ready to stay the course.

  Were we on our way to winning the war?

  Principal Lee never suspected me. He was wild with fury, determined and desperate to find someone to blame for it all, to nail the culprit, but he never even looked at me. But Mr. Brobur did. Mr. Brobur maintained a straight face and acted as if he didn’t know anything and was only there with the rest of his colleagues, supporting Principal Lee. But when he looked at me—in a moment that was invisible to everyone else—it was clear that he saw my phenotype. There was a twinkle in his eye. He knew. And here’s what I knew—he wasn’t going to tell on me. But why?

  LUKE’S SEVENTH-GRADE SURVIVAL GUIDE

  TIP #22: It’s in your best interest to make your teachers allies. You’ll want them on your side as you navigate seventh grade and beyond. I suggest you go about this with good old-fashioned hard and honest work, and not through brownnosing efforts.

  The one thing we hadn’t discussed was what to do at the end of the day. If nothing had resulted from our pilgrimage, what were we going to do? Luke was prepared to stay there all night. He wasn’t budging until they gave us Mr. Terupt back, and none of us were trying to talk him out of it. Principal Lee’s temper tantrum had tricked us into believing we were winning, when really we weren’t.

  Superintendent Knowles and Mr. Murphy, president of the school board, showed up next, but, unlike Principal Lee, they didn’t lose their cool and start yelling. They commended us for our efforts on behalf of our teachers, but they also assured us it wasn’t going to change anything. Given the results of the vote, and the current state of the budget, the cuts had to be made. It was already decided.

  “We understand that’s difficult to hear, but we have no other choice,” Dr. Knowles said. “I’m sorry. You can go to class now.”

  Even then, we didn’t call it quits. Luke had predicted this would happen, and he had emphasized to everyone that we absolutely had to continue with the sit-in after they tried talking us out of it, otherwise nothing would change. We had to be brave and determined—and we were.

  It turns out the only person who was able to get us to stop was the person who got us started in the first place. Mr. Terupt arrived later that afternoon. He walked into our gym alongside Principal Lee. It was obvious he hadn’t seen our campaign signs for him or known how much effort we were putting in to save him, because he came to an abrupt halt when he entered the room. I hoped it was because he felt the magnitude of our love. We were there for him.

  Mr. Terupt turned to Principal Lee and said a few things. What, I don’t know, but I could tell Principal Lee wasn’t in agreement by the way he started shaking his head and waving his hands. That was when Mr. Brobur joined them. He and Mr. Terupt talked to Principal Lee, and a minute or two later, Mr. Brobur, Principal Lee, and the other teachers exited the gym, leaving just Mr. Terupt. The gym remained silent, with all eyes trained on him as he walked over and sat down with us.

  “Hey, gang,” he said. He was talking in a low voice. “I didn’t realize until I ran into Danielle the other night that you even knew what might happen with my job. I see now that you’ve been fighting for me all along. And you still haven’t quit. You guys are the best. This means so much to me….But…it’s time to stop now. Your voices have been heard, but at this point, I fear your continued silence might start doing more harm than good. You have your parents, teachers, and other caring and compassionate adults in your lives very worried. Besides, I just got Mrs. Terupt back home, and when she hears about this she might get all excited and go into labor again,” he joked.

  We cracked tiny smiles, but this was no laughing matter. My prayers about Mrs. Terupt and the baby had been answered, but that didn’t make losing Mr. Terupt any easier.

  “The board is in a difficult position,” Mr. Terupt continued, turning serious again. “It’s not like they wanted this to happen, but it did. They can’t change that now. If they could, they would. But trust me when I say to you that what you’ve done here in the last month might not have saved me, but it will make a difference for all those who come after us.”

  We didn’t say anything. We huddled together, sharing that moment with our beloved teacher, wishing there was a way we could keep it forever. There’s no telling how long we would’ve sat there, but I started feeling shaky. I didn’t want to be the one to ruin things, but I didn’t have a choice. My sugars were dropping, and I didn’t have any snacks with me.

  “Guys, I’m feeling shaky. I’ve got to go to Nurse Sharon’s and get some juice.”

  It took so much work and planning on Luke’s part to get everyone gathered in the gym, but after I said that, Mr. Terupt, with Luke beside him, explained to everyone that it was time to get back to class. We got up and started leaving, and it was all over in a matter of just a few minutes. When I got to Nurse Sharon’s and tested my blood sugar, I discovered that I wasn’t low. I was feeling shaky because I knew there wasn’t anything more we could do. We had tried—and we had failed.

  Dear God,

  I thank you for the days I did get with Mr. Terupt, and I ask you to please be with him and his family when the time comes for them to move away. Help them find a place that loves them like we do, but also knows how to keep them.

  I pray that you help my friends and me stay together when he is no longer in our community.

  Amen.

  After our sit-in, after our failed attempt to save Mr. Terupt, there was a sadness that we carried with us every day. I had another wedding in my future—the one I’d been dreaming about—a dad and a sister, my friends, Jeffrey, so much to be happy about, but the realization that we were losing Mr. Terupt was always with me.

  We transitioned from trying to save our hero to trying to savor our remaining time with him. We wanted our seconds to feel like minutes, our minutes like hours, and our hours like days. I took pictures whenever we got together, but those snapshots just brought us closer to the end. No matter how many photos I took, it wasn’t freezing us in time.

  We spent the last few weeks of May visiting Mr. Terupt whenever we could. It was like we’d resumed Thursdays with Terupt, but it happened on any day of the week. Mrs. Terupt was doing better. She was still on bed rest, but it was close enough to her original due date that her situation wasn’t a scary or stressful one anymore, so Mr. Terupt was able to spend time with us after school. We chose not to arrive until his day of teaching was over. We liked his sixth graders very much, but we wanted them to enjoy their final days without us interfering, and we also wanted our time with him to be only ours. We weren’t interested in sharing. Maybe that sounds selfish, but that was how we needed it to be.

  We busied ourselves on those afternoons by doing our homework—though Peter refused to consider us a homework club—and by helping Mr. Terupt. We helped him gather boxes and, little by little, we packed up his belongings. We started early because we worked slowly. It was hard to put his things away, knowing we wouldn’t see them again. It reminded me of when we moved him to the annex before our sixth-grade year, but this was different. Mr. Terupt wasn’t moving to another classroom. He was moving out.

  Jessica

  Dear Journal,

  For my essay on words in Mrs. Reeder’s class, I chose to write a letter. Here’s how it
began:

  Dear Dad,

  My English teacher, Mrs. Reeder, has had us thinking about important words all year long. She challenged us on the first day of school to do something important with our words. Now the time has come for us to write a paper of reflection on this very topic, and while I know I’ve said and written heartfelt and meaningful things this year, I also know I haven’t yet said or written everything that I need to.

  You taught me at a young age that, if strung together with thought and care, words can tell incredible tales. I have one for you now. It’s about my amazing teacher—Mr. Terupt….

  Writers say the work needs to come from inside, that we must put emotions into the marks we scratch on paper; I was a kaleidoscope of emotions as I began writing to my father. In my letter, I told him about our journey with Mr. Terupt, from day one in fifth grade to now, describing our struggles to save him and how our ride had come to an end. I told him how Thursdays with Terupt had ultimately led me to New York City, where I found him. I told Dad that, like us, Mr. Terupt was a fan of happy endings—and our ending was still left to be written, so I hoped he’d keep trying.

  I handed my paper in yesterday, and Mrs. Reeder kept me after class today. “Jessica, I wanted to talk to you about your essay,” she said.

  “Was it okay?” I asked.

  “I read it last night…four times,” she said, “but I didn’t mark it up or put any sort of grade on it. Jessica, what you’ve written is far more important than any essay for my class. You need to send it to your father. It’s beautiful.”

  Earlier tonight, I sealed my letter in an envelope and addressed it. Then I went and asked Mom for a stamp. She was reading. “I’ll put one on it and get it in the mail for you tomorrow,” she said, never looking up from her book.

  “Thanks,” I said. I left the envelope sitting next to her and quietly slipped away.

  I knew she’d see who my letter was going to when she put the stamp on it. I still wasn’t sure how to talk to Mom about Dad, but maybe this was a start.

  Drained,

  Jessica

  P.S. There’s a level of excitement that I feel with the letters to and from my father, because I find I’m hoping they might be a beginning. But to think I’ll have nothing more than letters with Mr. Terupt is a sad thought.

  There were boxes on top of boxes in Teach’s room, and like, I got used to them being around. So I didn’t even think about it when boxes started showing up in my house. I was more concerned with the upcoming test. No, not some stupid math test or science test or any other test in school. Mom was going in to have her scan to see if the cancer was gone—or not.

  If I’d had to choose between losing Teach or Mom, then I’d have picked Teach. Don’t hate me for saying that, but, like, it’s the truth.

  And those doctors had better not tell me I was losing both!

  Dear Journal,

  I had fooled myself into thinking all stories with Mr. Terupt delivered happy endings, but fairy tales aren’t real. You don’t always get a happily ever after.

  Glancing around his classroom, I felt like I was in a graveyard, with each box representing a coffin and a different set of memories being buried forever. Our days together had been wiped from his walls and tucked away. His books that I loved to gaze at and hold and read were no longer out to provide me with comfort; they were huddled together in darkness, afraid of their untold future. I imagined they felt like me.

  With all those special stories and words taken away, Mr. Terupt decided to fill that empty space with his own, taking a page from Mrs. Reeder’s book. “You know what else I really like, other than happy endings?” he asked me on an afternoon when I was huddled over one of the final boxes.

  I thought about it, and then I remembered. “Surprises,” I said. “You love surprises. That’s why you wouldn’t let Mrs. Terupt find out if you’re having a boy or a girl.”

  “That’s right.” He smiled, not at me, but at the mental pictures he had playing out in his mind. “I guess we’ll know pretty soon,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “You know what else I like?” he asked again.

  I shook my head. I didn’t have an answer this time.

  “I like it when I know about a planned surprise and get to keep the secret, and then spring it on someone else later. That’s fun, too.” He smiled again—this time at me.

  That got my attention, and I was about to say something to him, but our moment was interrupted by the sudden ringing of his phone. Mr. Terupt always encouraged us to eavesdrop when he was conducting reading and writing conferences, so I thought of his phone conversation as one of those and did my best to listen in.

  “Now?! It just happened? Are you sure?…Dumb question. Sorry. I’m on my way.”

  Mr. Terupt ended his call and then looked at all of us. There was nervous excitement in his eyes.

  “That was my wife,” he said. “I’ve got to go. Our baby is on the way!”

  Smiling,

  Jessica

  P.S. I hope it’s a little girl.

  It was time for another gathering in our gym. Not one organized and masterminded by Luke, but one that we knew would be coming. It was our last day of school, and I will admit, the junior high had managed to plan something that I’d been looking forward to. It was Yearbook Release Day. Anna and I were anxious to see the results of our hard work.

  Before heading to the assembly, I went to check my blood sugar with Nurse Sharon. It didn’t matter that it was the last day of school. When Anna and I arrived, we found Nurse Sharon and Mrs. Rollins carrying on the same as always, whispering like crazy in their hushed voices. There was just one difference today. For some odd reason, they zipped their lips as soon as we got there. They hadn’t even reacted that way when it was the budget cuts and Mr. Terupt they were gabbing about, or any other thing for that matter. What in heavens they could’ve been discussing on the last day of school that was so important, I hadn’t a clue.

  “What do you think they could’ve been talking about?” Anna asked as soon as we stepped out of Nurse Sharon’s office. She’d noticed their strange behavior, too. The Spy Sisters didn’t miss much.

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but that sure was weird. Something’s up.”

  We made it to the gym just before things got started. The entire seventh and eighth grades sat in the bleachers, excited for the release of this year’s junior high yearbook. There wasn’t a kid who didn’t look forward to getting it.

  Naturally, Principal Lee had to start things off for us. It was his lectern, and before anyone else could use it, he needed his moment. I noticed he didn’t seem to stand quite as tall at it anymore. Whether that was because it was the last day of school or we’d shrunk his ego with our sit-in, I don’t know, but he didn’t threaten us with his air horn or even raise his hand. We simply fell silent without giving him any sort of attitude. You could say it was because we’d had plenty of practice at being quiet, but I think it was more that our budget struggles had left both sides tired of fighting.

  “This is always one of my favorite events of the year,” Principal Lee began. “I’m very proud of the work Mrs. Reeder and our students have done to create this beautiful yearbook. This is something that I know will bring you fond memories for many days to come. It was, after all, a truly memorable year.

  “I wish all of you a happy summer. And now, here to announce this year’s yearbook dedication is Mrs. Reeder.” Principal Lee stepped away from his lectern and Mrs. Reeder came forward. I was on the edge of my seat.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, your student yearbook committee has done a wonderful job. You’ll find your yearbook is full of beautiful moments, photos, and artwork. The cover was designed by our extremely talented Danielle Roberts.” There was sudden applause, which made my face flush—something that usually only happened when my sugars were high. “The campaign posters Danielle created during our student government elections were so striking that we took her storm sketch and rewo
rked it for the cover. How fitting that turned out to be, because you most definitely took this year by storm. You’ve done important work, work that hasn’t gone unnoticed, work that has done more than you realize.”

  Mrs. Reeder paused, giving us a chance to absorb what she’d said. Then she took a deep breath and continued, “As voted upon by the students, this year’s junior high yearbook is dedicated to…(drumroll)…our remarkable science teacher and wrestling coach, Mr. Brobur.”

  The gym erupted in cheers and clapping and whoops that continued until Mr. Brobur took his place at the podium. He would take a minute to thank us for the honor, and then it would be time to pass out the yearbooks. That was how things were supposed to proceed. But we were just getting started with the big announcements.

  I wanted to know how Mrs. Reeder could stand up there and tell us we’d done important work, and that it hadn’t gone unnoticed and had done more than we realized, when we hadn’t saved Mr. Terupt. There wasn’t anything about my work that left me feeling good or proud—but that all changed when Mr. Brobur stepped forward.

  “I want to thank all of you for this touching honor,” he said. “It means a tremendous amount to me, and it’s the perfect parting gift.”

  Mr. Brobur paused. He had to. There was an explosion of whispering throughout our student population after he said that, with everyone asking the same things: “What did he say?” “What does he mean?” “Is he retiring?”

  “Yes, I said ‘parting gift.’ I have decided to retire,” Mr. Brobur announced.

  Again, he paused to allow for more whispering. I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. I was stunned. First I was losing Mr. Terupt, and now my favorite teacher in the junior high was leaving.