Flip and Jeff were already laughing.
“That’s it?” Eliza asked. “He just got away?”
“Well, he might have . . . maybe . . . sort of . . . run into the board room and jumped onto the table and eaten Dr. Adler’s sandwich.” Natalie’s voice was full of feigned innocence.
“Don’t forget the shaking,” Jeff said. “That dog stood right in the center of the table and flung dirty, hairy water all over the entire room, including on Dr. Adler.”
Natalie was finally laughing herself. “I’m lucky she was such a good sport about it.”
A few minutes later, when the laughing had died down and everyone was finished with their lunches, Eliza moved so she and Natalie were sitting side by side. “How long were you at Rockbridge?”
“Eighteen months. I was pretty much a total mess until Rockbridge.”
“Is that why you wanted to come back?”
“You know, it’s funny. It was something like six months, maybe nine months later, after I left. I was just starting college, and Dr. Adler sent me a Christmas card. When I saw the picture of the school on the front, everything just sort of clicked, and I realized what I wanted to do with my life. So here I am.”
Eliza smiled. “I think it’s really amazing that—” She paused. Natalie’s focus had been pulled elsewhere. Eliza followed her gaze and saw, several feet away, a single student—Chloe—sitting alone, her arms wrapped around her legs, knees pulled up. Behind her, three other girls were sitting together tossing small pebbles at Chloe’s back. The stones weren’t large enough to do any physical harm, to even inflict a sliver of pain through the layers of Chloe’s clothing, but they were plenty large enough to leave an emotional scar.
Eliza watched as Chloe lightly flinched each time a pebble made contact. This was not the kind of behavior Eliza would tolerate. She motioned to Natalie, and the two counselors stood, Eliza heading for Chloe and Natalie approaching the offending threesome behind her. Eliza lowered herself next to Chloe, sitting cross-legged, and waited for Natalie to move the other girls farther up the hill. Eliza sensed that Chloe wanted to speak, so she waited silently, patiently.
“You didn’t have to stop them,” Chloe finally said. “I’m strong enough to take it.”
“I have no doubt that you’re strong enough,” Eliza said. “Why were they throwing rocks at you?”
Chloe shrugged. “Because they can. It’s just a game to them.”
“Do things like this happen often?”
She shrugged again. “Not really. I mean, sometimes, but it’s not a big deal. Like I said—I can take it.”
“Chloe,” Eliza said gently, “you are not a punching bag—or a game to entertain a pack of disrespectful girls. You’re a person with the right to be treated at all times with dignity and respect. You are worthy of love, of true friendship, of mutually uplifting relationships with others.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “Do you say that to everyone?”
“If I did,” Eliza said, “it would only be because it’s true of everyone.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not true of me,” Chloe said defensively. “If it were true about me, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be with my family because we would have ‘mutually uplifting relationships.’” She raised her fingers in the air and made mock quotation marks around the last three words of her sentence.
Eliza heard the rest of the group gathering their things behind her. “We’ll talk more about this in our next session,” she told Chloe. “Would you like to hike out with me?”
Chloe looked at her, her eyes distant. “Yeah. Because that will solve all my problems.”
“Chloe, watch your tone, please,” Eliza said calmly, “or you won’t be leaving campus next week.”
With another eye roll, Chloe picked up her bag and threw it over her shoulders. “Whatever,” she mumbled under her breath. Considering the circumstances, Eliza chose to ignore the girl’s disrespect. She wanted Chloe to be willing to open up to her in their next counseling session. Her gut told her that for now, it was best to leave well enough alone. She looked at Natalie as she moved up beside her.
“Is she all right?” Natalie asked.
“I think so.”
“And you?”
Eliza looked at Natalie. The question felt deeper, as if it was referencing more than just the exchange she’d had with Chloe. The last month had been harder in many ways than Eliza had expected, but she still knew how she would answer Natalie’s question. She smiled. “I’m good,” she said simply. “I’ve got this.”
Chapter 5
Henry stood at the window of his classroom, his arms folded tensely across his chest, his jaw tight. The room was empty, save one other person. Daniel, Henry’s student who had been causing him the most grief, was slouched down in his seat with his legs extended in front of him, staring idly at the ceiling.
It had been more than a month since Henry’s meeting with Dr. Adler regarding his performance and progress at Rockbridge. Circumstances with a few of his other students had improved, but with Daniel, things were just as difficult as ever. Most of the time, the two of them were at complete odds. Daniel barely did enough to scrape by in Henry’s class—so much so that Henry had yet to assign him to a group class and was still meeting with him one-on-one. While Daniel had completed a handful of assignments for Henry, he never offered more than a few disjointed sentences when answering questions.
Henry tried to relax his jaw and shake the tension out of his shoulders. The assignment sheet sitting on Daniel’s desk was still blank. For close to twenty minutes, Daniel had been sitting sullen and silent and hadn’t so much as reached for his pencil.
“Daniel, I don’t want to waste your time, and I certainly don’t want to waste mine,” Henry said. “I’m not sure I understand why you simply can’t write a few paragraphs in response to the essay prompt. It isn’t a big deal. I just want you to tell me about yourself, tell me about the books you like to read, the music you like to listen to.”
“What does any of that have to do with English?” Daniel didn’t even turn his head to look at Henry. “Can’t you just assign me some book to read and let me get out of here?”
Henry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Daniel’s assignment was simple. It was generally something he had students complete on the first day of class—basic questions about books they’d enjoyed in the past or subjects they liked to study. It was an easy way to identify a student’s interests while also giving Henry a little bit of insight into where each student stood in their writing and reading skills. It should have been simple, but for Daniel, it was anything but.
“It has everything to do with English,” Henry said. “I’m asking you about books you like to read. What interests you? What doesn’t? These aren’t hard questions.”
“All right, whatever,” Daniel said. “But what if I just don’t like to read at all? Can’t exactly write about that, can I?”
“I’ve seen you reading, multiple times, all over campus. You can’t tell me you don’t like to read. Just write about the last book you read. Tell me why you liked it or didn’t.”
“I don’t feel like writing anything. Not for you.”
“Daniel, this is an English class. You’re going to have to write things down.”
“Or maybe I’ll just sit here and stare at your ceiling.”
Henry walked to the front of the room and stood with his back to Daniel. He suddenly felt tired, annoyed that day after day the two of them seemed to be stuck in the same place. “Look. Right now my class load isn’t very heavy. There are fewer students here over the summer, but in August, it will pick up. Classes will be bigger, and I will have more students who need my time and attention. I won’t have time to sit here watching you refuse to complete a simple assignment. I don’t know what you feel like you have to prove, but quite frankly, I don’t have the patience for it anymore.”
Henry was frustrated, almost angry, but his warning to Daniel sounded hollow. The truth was he
didn’t know what the consequence would be if Daniel did simply stare at his ceiling for the rest of the summer.
“Whatever,” Daniel said again. “Why does it matter so much? Why can’t you just give me a grade and be done with it? Why do you even care?” He shoved his notebook forward on his desk, sending his pencil flying to the floor.
“This isn’t a regular high school,” Henry said, trying to infuse calm into his voice. “You want to be where people don’t care? Then you’re in the wrong place. Everyone here cares. You won’t do the assignment for me? Then we’ll get Jeff in here to talk about why not. If you won’t do the assignment for Jeff, then we’ll get Eliza and Natalie and James in to let them have a go. We’ll even call the director down. Maybe she will be able to figure out why you don’t want to do the work.”
Henry knew he needed to stop. He was letting anger dictate his words—an approach that surely wouldn’t accomplish anything.
Daniel slouched over onto his desk, his head resting on his arms.
Henry blew out his breath in a weary sigh. “That’s enough for today, Daniel. We’ll meet again Wednesday afternoon.”
The boy was silent as he stood, retrieved his fallen pencil, and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Henry watched him leave, then sank into his chair and pressed his forehead into his hand, massaging his temples with his thumb and forefinger. This wasn’t a problem he could tackle on his own. He simply lacked the experience and discernment to know what approach might get through to Daniel. He’d tried on his own, and nothing was working. It was time to ask for help.
Daniel was Henry’s last student of the day, and as he walked toward his apartment, he noticed Eliza and Flip sitting at a picnic table outside the administration building with two girls he recognized from his morning class. On the table, there was a large basket that appeared to be full of peaches. From Henry’s viewpoint, it was hard to tell. Eliza looked up and waved him over.
It was peaches—one basket on the table and another on the porch beside Eliza. Two large silver bowls also sat on the table, one full of sliced fruit, the other full of discarded peels and pits. The group had obviously been working hard. The growing pile of fruit in the center of the table was impressive.
“Flip brought them up from South Carolina this morning,” Eliza said by way of explanation. “And they’re glorious—perfectly ripe. Do you want one?” Eliza motioned with her paring knife to the basket on the porch. “Take as many as you like.”
“Thank you,” Henry said. “I love peaches.” He bent down to the basket and picked out several peaches, slipping them into the outside pocket of his leather school bag.
“Belinda says if we get them all sliced, she’ll make cobbler for the Fourth of July picnic tomorrow.” Henry looked at the girl who spoke. She was a new student; she had only been at Rockbridge a couple of weeks. He waited for her name to come to him. Janie. He smiled.
“Cobbler will be wonderful.”
“Mr. Jacobson, I just finished reading The Book Thief.” This time, it was the other student who spoke—Brooke.
“And what did you think of it?”
“I thought it was terrible and sad and beautiful and brilliant all at the same time.”
Henry nodded. “I felt the same way the first time I read it. We’ll have a class discussion at the end of the week. But if you’d like to start thinking about your essay, remind me in class tomorrow, and I’ll give you the prompts. There are four you can choose from.”
“All right,” Brooke said. “Ms. Redding, are we almost done? My fingers are numb.”
“Mine too,” Janie said.
“I think we’re just about finished up. Girls, take this bowl in to Belinda and see if she thinks it’s enough for cobbler.”
The pair scrambled off the picnic bench and hefted the large silver bowl between them.
“Careful,” Flip said. “Here, I’ll come with you to open the door.” He rose and moved ahead of the girls. “Later, Liza,” he called over his shoulder.
Eliza cut one last peach in half and removed the pit, then offered half to Henry. “Want to sit awhile? You look tired.”
“It’s been a long afternoon.” He took the peach from her hand. It really was perfectly ripe. It tasted like summer, and a wave of nostalgia washed over him. Suddenly, Henry was back at his mother’s kitchen table with a fresh tomato sandwich and a large bowl of sliced peaches drizzled with cream and sprinkled with cinnamon. Eliza passed him a paper towel, which he used to wipe up the juice dripping down the side of his hand.
“Want to talk about it?”
He didn’t, really. At least, normally he wouldn’t. But he needed help, and Dr. Adler had suggested Eliza as a useful resource. He felt surprisingly comfortable sitting across from her. Her look of hopeful expectance put him at ease and he knew he could trust her capabilities as a counselor. She was the perfect person to ask for advice.
“It’s one of my students—Daniel. He and I aren’t exactly seeing eye to eye.” Henry went on to tell her about their struggles and the frustrations he felt over their lack of progress.
“Is he doing well in his other classes?” Eliza asked.
“He’s doing the work, which is a far cry better than what he’s doing for me. I feel utterly powerless to get through to him. We can’t keep sitting in silence; I know that much. But he seems so determined to ignore me, so . . .” Henry struggled to find the right word. “So indifferent.”
“I don’t think I’ve met Daniel,” Eliza said. “What’s he like?”
Henry paused. Even with firsthand experience, he didn’t know much about Daniel’s personality. In Henry’s classroom, Daniel was stubbornly silent, generally short-tempered, and completely unwilling to comply with even a little of what Henry requested. “I wish I could say. He won’t give me anything to go on in the classroom. What is it about my class, about me, that rubs him the wrong way?”
“With these kids, Henry, it’s so hard to know. What does he say when you ask him to complete an assignment?”
“That he doesn’t feel like writing anything down. It’s mostly the writing he refuses to do. Grammar, short-answer stuff—he’ll do it. But he won’t write.”
“He doesn’t feel like it,” Eliza repeated. “That hardly seems like a good enough reason.”
“It’s not,” Henry said. “But he won’t budge. I keep telling him we’re all required to do unpleasant things. That’s what life is about sometimes. But it’s an argument that hasn’t gotten me anywhere.”
“If Daniel is doing the work in his other classes, there must be some particular reason, something specific that’s causing him to withdraw. I don’t think it’s you, Henry. What if it’s the subject material?”
“In what respect? Why would an English class make someone withdraw?”
“What if Daniel doesn’t hate writing at all? What if he really loves it and that’s the problem?”
Henry looked at her quizzically. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“I’m just theorizing here, but what if he’s holding back because he doesn’t want to share a part of himself that he feels so passionately about? Could it be possible that Daniel is afraid that if he writes for you, he’ll be giving you a window into the one part of him he feels is his own? When kids come here, they often feel like their entire life has been taken away from them. It takes them awhile to see how much Rockbridge can help. I imagine Daniel isn’t there yet. In his eyes, we’re still the bad guys trying to rob him of his freedom and his happiness and every other good thing.”
Henry was starting to understand. “So maybe he’s resisting because writing feels too personal.”
Eliza shrugged. “It’s a possibility. Or maybe he’s just a punk kid who likes to see your ears turn red when he gets under your skin.”
Henry’s hands reflexively flew to his ears. “Are they red?”
Eliza laughed. “Not so much anymore, but I could tell you’d been through something when you first sat down.”
Henry
knew it was the added pressure he felt to succeed that made it so easy for Daniel to irritate him. Of course he wanted Daniel to progress for his own benefit, but he was invested for personal reasons as well. “I wish I knew what to do,” he said more to himself than to Eliza.
“Henry, whatever the reason for Daniel’s defiance, I don’t think he’s going to respond until he decides he can trust you.”
“How can he trust me when he won’t speak to me?” Henry couldn’t help but feel defensive. The longer they discussed his dilemma, the less he felt capable of handling it. “I’m not his counselor. I’m just an English teacher. Building trust, forging relationships—that’s your department. I do grammar. I talk books and poetry. That’s what I’m good at.”
“If that’s all you’re good at, you’re working at the wrong school.”
Henry tensed. She couldn’t know about his conversation with Dr. Adler. She couldn’t know about the pressure he felt looming over him, threatening his position at Rockbridge and his ability to stay close to AJ. Her comment wasn’t based on anything but her own observations, which perhaps made it sting even more. He stood. “I think I’m going to head home now.”
Eliza stood up too. “Henry, wait. That came out sounding harsher than I intended. I don’t think you’re working at the wrong school. I think you can do this. You can get Daniel to trust you. You just can’t limit yourself. If you’re going to reach these kids, you have to stretch, to try to see things in a different way. It isn’t all black and white, right and wrong. You might just have to be inventive, creative, intuitive. That’s all I was trying to say.”
“It’s fine,” Henry said curtly. He reached down and picked up his bag. “I’m sorry, Eliza. You haven’t said anything wrong. I think I’m just tired.” He turned to walk away, then turned back. Eliza still stood at the table, her arms folded, her eyes full of concern. “Thank you for your help,” he said.
As he walked to his apartment, Henry was embarrassed by how much Eliza’s words had impacted him. She hadn’t said anything that wasn’t right, but her inadvertent reminder that, yes, it was a very real possibility he wasn’t cut out to work at Rockbridge shook him, and it caused him to be more defensive than Eliza had deserved. Once inside, Henry crossed through his kitchen and collapsed on his living room sofa.
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