by Jerry Cole
It was a fairly typical school. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't amazing. He had probably driven or walked past it a thousand times as he played with his friends, as he picked up his mother from one of the many jobs she tirelessly worked to keep him and his siblings in education, as he attended college, and as he began his job hunt.
Now, as he walked in through the gates, it meant so much to him. It meant opportunity. It was a breath of fresh air in his musky old room of a life. It was the first real job he could have, the first real job anyone in his family had had, and a new world of possibilities for himself and his family. If he got this, he could help his mother to cover fees to get Janet, aged eight, into the music lessons she so badly wanted; to make sure Jack, aged six, always had new clothes and schoolbooks, and to help Veronica, the oldest sister at the age of thirteen, save up for her own college tuition, as she was the only one out of the four of them who would almost certainly not get a scholarship, due to her mild autism preventing her from participating in the sports and other extra-curriculars which were essential to getting further support.
Nate had not had the most forgiving upbringing. His father had left when his third sibling had been born. Four kids were too many, especially when one had special needs. As far back as he could remember, they had been mostly on their own. He and Veronica were the only two who remembered their father and, of the two, he was the only one who remembered what it had actually been like. The money was better, sure, but the fighting and the daily struggles were etched in his mind in a way that they were not etched into his siblings' memories.
Because of all this, Nate was not exactly unhappy to see his old man leave. He was old enough to realize the age difference, and the difference in appearance, between himself and his siblings. He was old enough to realize that they were treated a little better than he was, that when Mr. and Mrs. Thompson argued about not having enough money for four children, he was the one his father wanted to send away.
It was obvious enough to him that he did not have the same connection with his father, that the man who was raising him was doing so grudgingly. Nate even had vague memories of a time before his father's presence, long before his siblings were born.
It was only when he set off for college that his mother told him his own father was another man, long since gone, dead in an altercation on the outskirts of town that ended in a fatal shooting. But Nate had always known.
He remembered his mother crying over him. He remembered her defending him against Mr. Thompson, saying he too was her child and he deserved more love and respect. He remembered Mr. Thompson shouting at his mother about how much more care Veronica needed to keep her doing well at school, how expensive her therapeutic classes were, and how ridiculous it was to keep Nate and have Janet when Veronica needed so much love, attention, and money compared to a more normal girl.
That said, Nate never resented Mr. Thompson for this. He knew how hard it was to raise children, he saw how stressed they were, how stretched their budget was, how tired both his parents were. The treatment he received from his step-father was not warm, but it was not abusive. Even when they discussed sending him away to live with an aunt or his grandmother, it was never in front of him. Even when they shouted, it was when they thought he was out playing with his friends. Even when they cried, he knew it was because they were reaching their limits.
Then Jack had been born and Mr. Thompson was gone.
Mrs. Thompson's birth control had failed, and by the time her bump was large enough to be obvious, she was too far gone to have an abortion.
Mr. Thompson said one of the children would have to go to a relative or into foster care, or else he would leave.
Mrs. Thompson said he could leave, and she would manage on her own.
She had cried all night.
Jack had been born a month premature from the stress, and his two week stint in the NICU destroyed their remaining savings and left Nate alone with Janet and Veronica most days. He had been given a scholarship to a community college, but deferred it by a year, until his baby brother was home, his mother was able to get back to work, and they qualified for child care assistance.
Nate, at eighteen, then nineteen, had been old enough to help out with the younger kids. He had taken that role eagerly, loving every minute of raising his siblings. He had always helped out when his parents were late home from work, he had always felt competent and happy to work with his little sisters, and the delay to his education and the addition of Jack hardly bothered him.
What did bother him was how the other kids had mocked him. Of course they had. It was an insular neighborhood, where most people only escaped in shackles or a body bag. A young black man, still a teenager, spending his days changing diapers and his nights catching up on his Spanish lessons stuck out like a sore thumb.
When at age twelve they came round to play and he couldn't come out because he had to change diapers, they laughed. When at age sixteen the other kids heard him say he had to go home from school early to take Veronica to her therapeutic classes, they scoffed. When at age seventeen he had brought Janet to the high school daycare for a few weeks until she was accepted into a childcare program, his classmates had called him a girl.
What was worse, Nate was totally and unapologetically gay. When he came out at age seventeen, his mother was not too happy at first, but he was still her little boy and she accepted him. The neighborhood, not so much. As his family slowly learned that he was still the same Nate, the other kids decided that his sexuality worsened his predicament.
Not only was he seen as a boy being forced to do girly things like change Janet's diapers and paint Veronica's nails, he wanted to, because he was gay. They became convinced that he was corrupted to the core and incapable of being a normal, masculine boy.
Nate persevered, though. He did all he could to help raise his siblings, protect their home, and complete his education. He ignored what the other kids, and sometimes teachers, had to say. He got his scholarship and worked hard to get good grades in college, studying mathematics. Then, there was no additional scholarship money to continue his education, no local job openings, and no training prospects within the city.
His options were to stay local and just rot away at home, to take a minimum wage or tip-based job halfway across the city to contribute to his household income, or to leave his mother and siblings to cope on their own and chase education and work much, much farther away.
He had thought he'd met a dead end.
Then, Mrs. Heeley had extended a helping hand, glimmering and resplendent like the golden palms of God, to lift him toward opportunity.
She had been a friend of his mother's for a long time and they often vented to one another about the trials of their lives growing up in such a harsh environment.
When Mrs. Heeley heard of Nate's predicament, she informed his mother and him of a program where young people with degrees in a specialized field could be trained in education. His bachelor’s in mathematics was not enough to get him trained at a high school, but if he took on an traineeship at an academy school, he would have his foot in the door. He had put in his application and the rest was history.
This was it. Here, at Reagan Primary Academy, he could prove himself and begin a career in teaching. Although it had not been his original goal, the prospect thrilled Nate. He had loved raising his siblings, especially helping Veronica to see her full potential. He had always appreciated the extra work his better teachers had put in, and the love and care they showed him when he had to stay behind, waiting for his mother to finish work.
Now he could be that inspirational figure forever.
A large African-American woman emerged from the building, dressed in a stunning bright yellow blouse, impeccable jewelry and a broad smile on her face. Her eyes landed on Nate and she walked toward him with the determination of a general.
"Mr. Thompson!" Mrs. Heeley said, greeting him with a light, one-armed hug. "So glad to see you. I'd like to show you the school. Good yo
u're early."
He nodded, feeling a little overwhelmed. She had a strong personality. This he already knew from what his mother had said. But it was so much more than he had expected. Her energy, her smile and her positivity were infectious and, once he adjusted to it, he was glad she would be his guide. He had a good feel for people, and he could tell that Mrs. Heeley had as much love for education, for the kids and for her employees as Nate did for his own family.
"What sort of a name is Reagan for a school anyway?" Nate asked, trying to break the ice. "It sounds so... somber, doesn't it?"
"Outdated," she said with a nod. "I know. And so dull for little children. I thought something more cheerful, like Treetops, or Liberty, or Sunshine, would be more appropriate for an academy school. Not to mention the pretentiousness of 'Primary.' The parents say it's confusing, because they didn't really know the term. It's alienating."
Nate was a little taken aback by Mrs. Heeley’s sudden and open criticism of the school's name. "If nobody likes it, why hasn't it been changed?"
Mrs. Heeley laughed. "If you can get the school board to ever change a damn thing around here, then you're a miracle worker. We're one of the better schools and they still don't care."
Nate had heard that story a thousand times before. A government agency that was either so overworked or so corrupt that minor concerns of the people were unimportant. Why change the name of a school, when the money could be spent on remedial courses for kids with special needs, or on a new car for the school superintendent?
Nate could recall so many times he had been excited about news that "millions will be invested in downtown Riverdale," only for none of that money to actually touch the lives of anyone in the poorer neighborhoods.
"I guess the money is pretty hard to track?" Nate asked.
"No, the money is going somewhere, but not into the schools. Not the ones better than we are, or the worse ones, or any," she said. "It just goes into the pet projects of the board. You know, their kids' schools, extra-curricular activities for rich kids. This program you're in is one of the rare cases where some money from the school board actually reached a person from a poorer background. And you don’t know how hard I had to fight to get that."
Nate just nodded. She was one of the most informed, eloquent, passionate people he had ever met. He found himself flooded with motivation and a desire to not let her down. As they walked into the teachers' lounge, Nate was slightly surprised by the absolute opposite energy coming from a young man who was waiting in there.
His blond hair was spiked up with far too much gel, he was wearing a jet black button-down shirt that had been rolled up at the sleeves to reveal tattoos everywhere, and although he only wore two piercings, Nate could see he had enough holes in his face for at least half a dozen more. Rather than suit pants, he wore distressed jeans, and although his shoes were leather, they were a brown military style boot instead of a conventional work shoe. He was leaning back against a table, holding a huge mug of coffee, scowling, sizing Nate up.
"Mr. Thompson, this is Mr. Walker. He is the head of the math department and currently the only other math teacher," she explained.
Nate nodded and smiled. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Walker," he said, holding his hand out.
The corner of Mr. Walker's mouth twitched, like he was going to smile but had stopped himself. Putting down the mug of coffee, he shook Nate's outstretched hand. "Likewise, Mr. Thompson," he said.
Mr. Walker's grip was firm, and Nate could feel a roughness to Mr. Walker's palms that Nate normally associated with manual workers and musicians, not teachers and office staff. As Mr. Walker released Nate's hand, Nate noticed how sinewy and muscular his forearms were, how adorably quirky each tattoo was, themed around music, math and animals.
Rather than step back, Mr. Walker remained there, scrutinizing Nate. He was barely a few years older, but he looked at least ten years older, in Nate's eyes. This close, Nate could see the fine stress-lines on Mr. Walker's forehead and cheeks, smell a rich cologne on his skin and clothes, see the glowing chestnut color of his eyes, and the faint misting of blond stubble on his chin.
Nate wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. This guy was fucking gorgeous. He was hands-down, one of the fittest men Nate had ever seen. As they looked into one another's eyes, Nate noticed a pink flush spread briefly over Mr. Walker's cheeks and ears.
"Nice to meet you," Mr. Walker said as they wandered down the corridor. "You can call me Victor, by the way, I don't like formality."
Nate laughed. "I can tell. You look like a very unconventional man. My first name is Nathaniel, but everyone calls me Nate."
"I guess you're fresh out of teacher’s training?" Victor said with a faint smile. "Or out of college? BA in Education?"
Nate shook his head. "Nope. Just a bachelor’s in mathematics."
Victor froze on the spot. "Only that?"
"I'm in a program to learn teaching in the field. I think that's why I'm working with you," Nate explained with a grin.
Victor smiled awkwardly back. "Very well, let's get you into your first classroom, then."
Chapter Three
Well, this was a fucking joke if ever there was one. This guy was totally unqualified to teach anywhere. Why had Mrs. Heeley taken him on? Nate said it was some sort of a teaching program, but how could the school even afford to take on a new trainee? And what was going to happen when he became a fully qualified teacher? Or, indeed, how much would it cost the school if Nate couldn't become a fully qualified teacher? After all, people without a background in education couldn't just walk up and become teachers.
Unable to focus, Victor set the assignment and, leaving Nate to watch over the class, went to Mrs. Heeley's office. This would serve two purposes. First of all, it would give him a chance to speak to her, alone, where Nate, or any other nosy teacher, couldn't gang up against him. He could express his concerns freely, to someone who at least half the time actually listened to him.
Secondly, it would allow him his first opportunity to get rid of the guy. If the students did not respect him, or he did not know enough to support them, Victor might come back to utter chaos, and Nate might be put off for life and quit.
"What do you mean by giving me a guy without any qualifications to train?" Victor asked as soon as he walked into the office, closing the door behind himself.
"That is what the program is, Mr. Walker. It is to train people who do not have the funds, connections or whatever else to complete their education," Mrs. Heeley replied, not even looking up, as though she had guessed that he would be doing this.
"You could have told me," Victor said again. "I had no idea!"
She looked up. "Mr. Walker, you do not need to know the details behind another teacher's career. Some people come from disadvantaged backgrounds, others are being assisted, others, like yourself, effectively bought their way in. It is all personal, and it is up to me to decide if a candidate is suitable."
"But he has no experience at all!" Victor protested.
"That doesn't mean he's a bad teacher, Mr. Walker," she said with a sigh. "And I would really like you to stop questioning my judgment. I have given him this opportunity because I believe he will seize it. You don’t know how hard I had to fight to give him access to the program, and I am not about to waste it because in your wholly unprofessional experience as a teacher of four years, you believe he is not qualified."
Victor froze. He knew he was overstepping his boundaries. He also knew that Mrs. Heeley knew what she was doing. At the same time, he couldn't help but feel a bit frustrated at the prospect of having to train an entirely unqualified teacher.
Victor rolled his eyes. "Well how am I qualified to train him, then? I'm just a damn teacher, not a pro. As you said, I only have four years professional experience."
"Which is not enough to lecture your principal, but more than enough to show Mr. Thompson the ropes. He is a smart, hard-working young man, and if you support him and show him everything you learned du
ring teacher training, he will turn out to be a great teacher," she replied.
Victor shrugged a little. "I have never done this before. Perhaps if he were aware of the fundamentals, I could help him, but as it stands this is more than a teacher induction, this is..."
"A traineeship. Nothing more, nothing less. Victor Walker, you have been a teacher here long enough to prove to me that you are more than able to train Mr. Thompson," she said. "Must you continue to argue with me when you could be out in the classroom doing your job, not only teaching, but also supporting Mr. Thompson, who no doubt is struggling with the class you just abandoned."
"I thought you said he was smart and hard-working. I am sure he can handle a few minutes with the students," Victor said.
"It is his first day, Mr. Walker!" Mrs. Heeley all but shouted. "What is it about this arrangement that you do not understand? I have seen preschoolers more able to handle new concepts than this. You are beginning to irritate me."
Realizing he was going too far, Victor shrugged. "I suppose you're right. I just... I don't adapt well to change, that’s all. I'll get used to him."
She breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Sometimes, Mr. Walker, I have no idea what to do with you. You are an excellent teacher but eccentric does not begin to describe you."
"I'm an original," he said with a smile.
She furrowed her brow. "Life isn't a movie, Mr. Walker. I am a very patient woman, but you are fortunate I have not yet fired you."
"I do everything by the books, I just look odd," he replied.
"And you challenge authority, and you scare the parents," she replied with another sigh. "I suppose where you grew up, all this was fine if you had enough money to buy your way out of it. But this is the real world now, most of us have to fit in, and you cannot always push the limits of what is normal."
"You say all that and yet you've put me with a clean-cut, goodie-two-shoes, hard-working newbie?" he asked.