Between baby-stuff expeditions and working on the cradle, thoughts of Zander dogged Ryan’s thoughts all weekend. It was late on Sunday when Ryan had the brilliant idea to contact Zander’s bus driver, who had to know where he picked up and dropped off the child every day.
In a place like the Shore where everybody knew somebody who knew everybody else, he finally managed to get the bus driver’s number. And learned that Zander lived in public housing. A drug-infested, crime-ridden neighborhood the tourists never saw. A pocket of rural poverty and multigenerational despair.
Many of the residents, like Zander’s family, had once been migrant workers at one of the large agribusinesses. And at some point, found year-round work on the Shore.
“The grandma used to wait at the bus stop for him,” Bennie Hollingsworth said over the phone. “She’s a Haitian lady. But I don’t see her anymore. And if anybody’s there at all to meet him, it’s the uncle.” Bennie’s voice altered. “That guy’s kind of scary.”
Ryan’s gut knotted.
“Poor kid. Not much chance of a better future.” Bennie sighed. “I heard his mom is serving time for drug possession with intent to sell.”
His spirits sank further.
“Mr. Savage? If you don’t mind me saying so, I don’t think it would be a good idea to pay the Benoits a visit tonight. It’s already dark, and you’re an outsider. Even in daylight, don’t go without law enforcement.”
So first thing Monday morning, Ryan waited at the bus lane at school, anxious to touch base with Zander. To find out why he didn’t show on Friday. But most of all, to make sure the little guy was okay.
And if Zander didn’t make it to school, Ryan had a substitute on standby so he could go look for him. But to Ryan’s immense relief, the child in his ragged jacket stepped off the bus. “Zander, my man.”
The little boy’s head snapped up. But the scowl etched on his forehead eased a fraction at the sight of Ryan waiting for him.
“We missed you at the tree lighting.” Ryan looked him over. “Did something come up?”
His heart sank at the flash of belligerence in Zander’s eyes. “I ain’t got time for baby stuff like that. I had to take care of my grandma.” His chin wobbled momentarily before resuming its rock hard appearance. “My uncle needed my help.”
“It wasn’t the same without you.”
Zander snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“I mean it.”
“People say a lot of things.” Zander’s lip curled. “Save it for somebody who needs that baby stuff. Can I go now?”
Ryan moved aside as the third grader stomped inside the building. He had a bad feeling about the boy. The child was like a time bomb waiting to blow. All that was needed was the match. Maybe only a spark. And then kaboom.
He shook his head as he headed toward his fifth-grade classroom. Ryan had foolishly believed he and Zander had reached an understanding. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this mentoring thing.
Zander’s problems were beyond the scope of his ability to solve. Someone else would have to take up where Ryan left off. Someone smarter and more savvy.
The morning flew by for Ryan. And then it was time for his favorite portion of the day—science.
He pointed to the word he’d written on the whiteboard. “A mixture is a combo of two or more substances that do not lose their characteristics when combined.”
At the sound of restless bodies, he faced the class. “Can anyone think of an example of a mixture in real life?”
He could have heard a pin drop in the sudden, profound silence. There were surreptitious glances at the wall clock. Only a few minutes remained until lunch. A kid’s stomach growled.
“Anyone?”
He could think of a perfect example from real life. His life. Teachers had to be a unique mixture—one part entertainer, one part counselor and one part air traffic controller.
A glazed look had overtaken the features of his students. Flashing like a neon sign—starvation imminent. They were fading fast. He’d better do something quick or lose their attention for good.
“No one can name even one example of a mixture?” Pretending disappointment, he propped his hands on his hips. “Well, if no one knows the answer, then don’t plan on leaving the classroom for lunch.”
There were round-eyed stares and gasps of horror. But now for the surprise.
“Okay, write this down. Here’s an example of a mixture from everyday life.” Walking across the classroom, he yanked open the door and took the three pizza boxes out of the arms of the delivery boy. “Pizza anyone?”
The room went slightly wild.
“Is that for us, Mr. Savage?”
“What kind is it, Mr. Savage?”
He smiled. “Yes. Yes. And pepperoni.” He turned to the delivery boy. “What do I owe you?”
“You’re set, Mr. Savage.” The delivery guy patted his uniform shirt. “I got the money from the secretary at the front office.”
He waited until everyone was about to bring a slice to their mouths when—
“But wait!” He smacked his hand to his forehead. “What was I thinking? We can’t eat pizza.”
Someone groaned.
“We can’t eat pizza without something to drink, too.” He cocked his head. “Does anyone have a solution?”
Quick grins. By now, the kids were beginning to catch on to his game. They studied solutions yesterday.
The Evans kid raised his hand. “What we need, Mr. Savage, is something liquid. Where a solute has dissolved into another substance called the solvent.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Which together become a solution.”
Ryan fingered his chin. “Anybody have an example of this solution thingy Evans mentioned?”
“Please...” Max Scott slumped in his chair. “Somebody? Anybody? The pizza’s getting cold.”
Everyone laughed. Izzie Clark raised her hand. “Like lemonade, Mr. Savage?”
He pretended to consider her suggestion. “That might work. Or would this do?” He whipped out a pitcher of cherry Kool-Aid from the supply closet. There were cheers.
“Finally...” Max moaned. “Somebody pass out the cups before he decides to go into the next unit.”
“Actually, there was one other example I thought of... A great example of a mixture. And something to enjoy watching while we eat.”
He plucked the towel off the small bowl on his desk. “A goldfish in a bowl.”
There were gasps and a buzz of excitement. He loved to see the joy of learning light their eyes.
He’d put off telling them that he wasn’t coming back after winter break. He was going to miss them. But he had to make his announcement soon. His chest tightened. The final days before winter break were ticking down.
And yet again, doubts clouded the goal he’d set for himself—to be in the lab come January. Was he doing the right thing in walking away from teaching? Walking away from his kids?
Walking away from Anna? He squared his shoulders. He couldn’t turn back the clock on either his job or Anna.
The fifth-grade classroom now belonged to the new guy in the process of moving to the Shore to take Ryan’s place. As for Anna?
She’d never belonged to him. The pressure inside his chest intensified. And she never would.
Everyone had settled down to inhaling lunch when a knock sounded on the door, and Principal Carden strode into the classroom. “Mr. Savage, I’m afraid I need your help with a situation.”
“Of course, sir.”
Mr. Carden motioned. “I’ve asked Mrs. Murphy to take over until you return.” The guidance counselor stepped inside the room.
Ryan glanced at the sea of faces, who never missed a trick. “I expect a good report when I return. Mrs. Murphy?” He picked a sheaf of papers off his desk. “My lesson plan for after lunch.”
Principal Carden gently closed the door behind them. “Sorry to disrupt your class, Ryan, but we had a situation erupt in the lunchroom a few minutes ago.”
“Sure. Okay. What’s up?”
But Mr. Carden walked past the cafeteria. “It’s Zander Benoit.”
Ryan slumped. “What did he do?”
“Apparently, there was an altercation in the lunchroom with another student. Zander decked the kid and laid him out on the floor.” Mr. Carden shook his head. “Then Zander took off.”
Ryan’s mouth thinned. “Where is he? Is he hurt?”
“He fled to the media center. And since you’ve developed a rapport with him...” Mr. Carden frowned. “Zander’s under one of the tables and refuses to come out.”
“I’ll talk to him, see if I can get him to de-escalate.”
“This is the final straw for him, Ryan. I hoped the after-school program would help us to avoid taking a more drastic step. But if he can’t get his anger and aggression under control, we’re going to have to remove him from the regular classroom.”
Ryan clenched his jaw. For Zander, placing him in a self-contained class for kids with emotional and behavioral problems would be the equivalent of writing him off. The kid had so much potential.
Mr. Carden stepped away as Anna hurried toward him.
“I’m so glad I caught you. The kindergarten aide took my class.” She panted for breath. “I wanted to make sure you knew. I saw everything in the cafeteria. It wasn’t Zander’s fault. The other kid started the fight.”
He scrubbed the back of his neck. “It doesn’t matter who started the fight. Zander shouldn’t have reacted the way he did.” Discouragement swirled in his gut. “I believed we were finally getting through to him.”
She touched Ryan’s arm. “I think you are getting through to him. I talked to Zander’s teacher. The other kid had been ragging Zander. He made sure everyone knew Zander’s mom was in prison.”
Ryan sighed.
She raised her chin. “The kid called Zander a stupid loser from a stupid family who weren’t smart enough to not get nabbed by the police.”
Ryan closed his eyes. “Poor little guy.”
“What will you say to him?”
Ryan opened his eyes. “I have no idea.”
Anna squeezed his hand. “I’m praying for you as you talk to him. For wisdom.”
He stared at her hand and gently pulled away. “Thanks. I need all the help I can get.” The no-touch policy wasn’t working as well as he’d hoped. But now was not the time to dwell on that.
Inside the media center, Ryan paused to pray for Zander and himself. That somehow God would give him the words he needed to get through to the third grader.
Since meeting Zander, he’d done some online research about children with behavioral issues. The experts advised caring, supportive adults to concentrate on building rapport. And when an incident erupted, to work with the child on identifying the problem or trigger. Easier said than done.
He found Zander underneath the table where they usually worked together on math. Careful to respect Zander’s personal space, he took a deep breath and crouched down. “Zan, my man.”
The child looked up, his black lashes spiky with tears. The fear, pain and rage in the eight-year-old’s gaze was like a punch in Ryan’s gut.
“I heard what happened.”
Zander’s face scrunched. “So they sent you to kick my butt out the door?” His eyes welled, and he studied the carpet.
“I totally get why you freaked, man. I wanted to do the same thing when my dad died. I was so angry. And mixed up. And sad.”
Zander scuffed the carpet with his shoe.
“I had to leave my girlfriend, my job and my apartment because my family needed me to come home and help. But now, I’m sorry for the way I acted.”
Zander didn’t say anything, but Ryan had his attention.
“Although it seemed horrible at the time, it brought me back to Kiptohanock. Where I had the chance to meet you. And I wouldn’t trade the last few years here at school for anything.”
Ryan blinked. He’d not expected that to come out of his mouth.
Zander’s eyes narrowed. “Fo’ real?”
“For real. But I get you being mad.” He extended his hands in front of him, inches apart. “So how angry do you really feel? This much?” He opened his arms wider. “Or this much?”
Zander shook his head and spread his arms as wide as the space allowed. “This much.”
Ryan gestured. “Mind if I join you?”
Zander made an elaborate shrug. “Knock yourself out, Mr. Savage.”
Getting on his knees, Ryan crawled inside and banged his head on the underside of the table. “Ow!”
Zander grinned.
“I live to amuse you kids.” Ryan gave him a sheepish grin. “Dudes like us, sometimes we get mad.”
Zander made a face. “’Cause people like Brandon are idiots.”
“Question is—when people say and do things that hurt us—how can we avoid going ballistic?” Ryan cocked his head. “And avoid suspension.”
Zander scowled. “I don’t know.”
Step Two—replacing inappropriate behavior with a better coping strategy. And Ryan suddenly remembered reading an article about energy therapy with troubled children.
“This is going to sound insane, man, but just do what I’m doing.” Ryan tapped the tip of his nose with his index finger in a steady rhythm. 1-2-3-4. 1-2-3-4.
Zander’s gaze went wide. “That’s stupid, Mr. Savage.”
Ryan raised his eyebrow. “Stupid?”
Zander flushed. “Not stupid. Sorry.”
“Try it. Maybe not on your nose, but somewhere else on your body. Whatcha got to lose?”
Zander narrowed his eyes, but tapped his finger on his forehead. 1-2-3-4. 1-2-3-4.
Ryan decided to mix it up. He transferred the beat to his chest. And changed the rhythm.
Tongue rolling in his cheek, Zander matched him beat for beat. Ryan beat out a complex rhythm from one of his favorite jazz tunes.
Copying the rhythm, Zander laughed out loud. And head bobbing, he thrust out his skinny chest, switching the beat to a complicated hip-hop rap.
Ryan threw out his hands in surrender. “How much anger are you feeling now, Zan?”
Zander held his hands only a few inches apart.
Step Three—create an action plan. “So next time somebody mouths off, instead of whacking ’em...?” He held his breath.
Zander pursed his lips. “Do the tapping thing?”
Ryan pretended to consider it. “That’s workable. If you’re willing to do it instead of flipping out because you’re mad.”
Step Four—reinforce the commitment to the plan by letting the child own the behavior and the solution.
“Okay.”
Ryan smiled. “I’ll let your teacher and Principal Carden know about the plan you’ve made.”
Zander scooted out from underneath the table and waited for Ryan, whose older knee joints took longer to clear the table. Getting to his feet, he was surprised when Zander threw his arms around his waist.
“Thanks, Mr. Savage. You’re the smartest, best teacher in the whole world. It’s going to be the greatest year ever.”
His eyelids burned as he returned Zander’s hug. How would Zander react when he learned Ryan was leaving? The pressure inside his chest increased dramatically. Would Zander regress and act out again if Ryan wasn’t there to support him?
The struggle between fulfilling his career goals and the call of his heart nearly split Ryan in two.