Chapter Forty-Four

It was 8:00 a.m. again, and the first tardy bell would be ringing. Nick went to his knees at the windowsill. “If not this, then what, Lord?”

He couldn’t imagine a future without students strutting into his class, masking the fact that they were only kids who needed somebody to care.

The doorbell rang and he sighed, wondering if he should let the visitor move on. But he gathered himself and descended the stairs. He didn’t bother to comb his hair, and he was re-wearing yesterday’s T-shirt.

Downstairs, Nick closed and opened his eyes, as if the sight outside might go away like the bizarre dream it appeared to be. Outside his window, a crowd of kids had gathered, and more wound down the driveway. Cars lined the curb. He smoothed a hand through his hair and opened the door. Ryan Brannigan stood in front of him, but there were more than a hundred kids behind him. At least half, maybe more, of all his students.

Ryan stepped forward. “Mr. F., the sub isn’t teaching us anything. We decided if you couldn’t come to the mountain, we’d bring the mountain to you.”

Nick stepped onto the porch. His students. The greater part of his classes somehow had transported themselves ten miles down the road. For him. They’d come for him. But he had to say the practical thing. “Look, guys,” he said loudly enough for them all to hear, “I can’t tell you how much this means to me. But I can’t let you do this.”

They turned belligerent faces toward him.

“If what I taught you means anything, then you know you have to stay in school. You have to get your diploma, and you can’t do it by skipping class.”

Behind Ryan, Teresa Muñoz stepped forward. “We’re not skipping class, Mr. Foster. We’re having a walkout.”

“It amounts to the same thing.”

“That ain’t true,” she protested. “You said sometimes you got to stand up for something. Like Atticus Finch in the mockingbird book, right? Well, we say it ain’t right for them to take your job away for protecting someone. And we’re going to stand up and take the consequences.”

How could he argue with that? He’d be arguing with himself. He pushed open the door and stood out of the way. Students crammed into his living room, onto the stairs, into his kitchen, and still there wasn’t enough room. The rest crowded onto the porch and the sidewalk.

Elena called from the stairs. “So what are we going to learn today, Mr. F?”

He opened his palms. “I don’t have a lesson prepped.”

They laughed, because they all knew he never followed the lesson anyway. He looked toward the books on his coffee table to scan them for ideas, when he noticed some of the kids weren’t current students. Some of them were too old.

First, he recognized Jade Miller who left his class, what—four, five years ago? She grinned when his gaze landed on her. “I thought you might have more to say than my professors at Georgetown, Mr. F.”

He looked out the open door. Amy Romero, who provided him with boxes of books from the bookstore she managed now, waved from the sidewalk. Robert Balderas, who was a reporter on the local news, spoke to someone in the doorway. Some of the students went back fourteen years, to the beginning of his teaching career. His kids had grown up. They’d rallied for him, even flown in from other parts of the country for him. He raked a hand across his jaw. He couldn’t take it in.

And then someone walked through the crowd who was too old to have ever attended his class. Students stepped aside and made way for him to take the stool at Nick’s feet. “I thought also I might learn from you today, Nicu. I would make a better student than a father, it seems.”

Something caught in Nick’s throat. Was that an apology from his father?

“And I have heard, of course, that you are an excellent teacher.”

And a compliment?

He looked into the kitchen where Sierra and Carlos huddled in a corner. He looked around, hoping for another who’d never attended his class, but April was nowhere to be seen.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said in a choked voice.

“That’s a first,” someone called from the kitchen, and everyone laughed.

“You guys are the best. You’re ready to teach the lesson yourselves.” He looked over the crowd. “Who set this up?”

Dad nodded toward Sierra. “It was her idea. She has been on the telephone constantly this week.”

Sierra withdrew into the corner as all eyes turned to her. He thought of the determination, the conversations it must have taken to get all these people here. And for a girl like Sierra. “Turned a corner,” April had said. “A core of steel,” Nick had said. She’d proven them right.

“Thank you, guys.” He gave them a rueful smile. “A few days ago I told God I’d walk away from teaching if that was His will, and I meant it. But I won’t say it doesn’t burn. Teaching … it’s a grueling job, but it’s who I am. I can’t picture myself doing anything else.”

He let his gaze sweep the crowd. “I wouldn’t change a thing. Seeing every one of you guys here, knowing what you’ve made of your lives, or will …”—he looked at Sierra—“and seeing her safe. I’d do it ten times over.”

He said nothing about what a tough lady Liza was. Having a school walkout would hardly sway her in his favor. But they’d taken a risk for him, and he wanted them to feel their power, if just for a day.

He gave his kids the floor. The lesson of the day turned out to be what his kids had learned in his class. Some touched on a favorite novel or how they learned to appreciate the power of putting their thoughts on paper. Others talked about sticking it out when life got tough.

Katie Stelling stood up and told how, at fifteen, pregnant and ready to drop out of school, she’d found herself in his classroom. She was a second-grade teacher now.

Marc Hernandez, an IT student in college, thanked Nick for helping him get diagnosed with dyslexia. He’d been lost in a sea of underachieving students, and, before Nick, all of his teachers assumed he was just one more kid who didn’t see the value in school.

Still others spoke of lessons he didn’t realize he’d taught.

Jesse spoke through the open window. “Mr. F. taught me you got to know people. You got to look them in the eye and let them know you see who they are before they’ll listen to you.”

All day long students came and went, keeping the downstairs full and the sidewalks jammed. Early on, pizzas were delivered, and a few people showed up with takeout, but when word got out about the gathering, the family of one of his students drove up with a catering van and set up a makeshift buffet outside his window. There were tacos, quesadillas, and sopapillas. No one went hungry.

It was after four when Robert Balderas stepped into the living room. “Mr. F., you’ll be on television tonight. We’ve recorded a special. It’s airing just before prime time.”

Nick took a step back, alarm creeping up his spine. “Robert, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I can’t let you do it. This isn’t about going head-to-head with my school. It wouldn’t help anybody—not the school, and not me.”

Robert blinked, but he stayed where he was. “The special’s taped and set to air, Mr. F. It would be impossible to pull it at the last second like this. Besides, it’s about time Houston knows what you do for the kids who come through your classes.”

Robert inclined his head toward the doorway, and a cameraman walked in. “We left a thirty-second spot open for your comment.”

Nick put his hands behind his back. He needed to make this good. He cleared his throat.

The cameraman put up his fingers, going from three to two to one, and Robert spoke into Robert’s microphone. “Mr. Foster, what is your response to your suspension and possible termination?”

Nick ignored the camera and looked at Robert. “I’m not going to hide the fact that I violated the school rules. I put the school at risk for legal action and loss of reputation. I didn’t keep the principal informed. She was entirely within her rights to suspend me. My only complaint is facing termination on ethical grounds. I believe it was ethical to leave my class in order to protect a student from an assault and to keep her identity private so that her mother could be with her when she informed the authorities.” He turned to the camera. “That’s all I have to say.”

Robert and his cameraman left, and over the next hour, Nick’s townhouse emptied until only the instigators were left: his old man, Sierra, and Carlos. Nick collapsed onto the sofa. The joy and strain of the day almost made him feel as if he were back in the classroom.

He leaned back against the cushions, ready to relax, until Sierra stood and silently crossed to him with several papers in her hand.

He unfolded them. The first page was an email from the editor of the local newspaper to Sierra. The short note stated that her submission would run in the personal interest section tomorrow.

The second page, written in Sierra’s clear, poetic style, told how a teacher she didn’t know had pulled her into his classroom and told her she was capable of more and then gave her a second chance to turn in her homework to her teacher. She told how Nick got her talking about what interested her when she flunked her finals, how he protected her from a boy who was threatening her in a stairwell, and last, how he rescued her from a flooding bayou and convinced her that she had the strength to live the life she’d been given.

She wrote it as a story, full of images and dialogue. And she made him out to be the hero of this story. Sierra Wright had found her voice.

He found his own voice surprisingly steady when he spoke. “I expect to see more writing like this from you, Sierra. This is only the first time I’ll see your name in print.”

 

April’s absence grated on him. She should be here. As it neared six, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He leaned against the kitchen counter and called her at work. “April. Your daughter pulled off quite a show today.”

“So I hear,” she said softly. “I’ve been dying to know how it went all day.”

His throat was parched. He took the cap off a water bottle and took a sip. “Why don’t you come over and find out. There’s going to be a special on TV. We’d like you to be here with us when it comes on.” He let the line go quiet. “I would like you to be here.”

It took her a few beats to answer. “I’ll be there.”

The special was just beginning when she walked in. Some of the tension drained from him as April found a seat next to his dad. The room was complete. Excitement brightened Sierra’s face and April’s lit up in response. It was only his old man whose face was drawn as he flexed and unflexed his fingers.

On TV, Robert interviewed his students and colleagues. Former gang members-turned-graduate students and failing students-turned-entrepreneurs told of what Nick’s classes meant to them. Teresa, Ryan, and Jesse talked about what a typical day in his classroom was like. Robert included a few video clips of him teaching and working with students. Nick recognized a few segments—one had been taken during student presentations last year; another had been filmed by the school when he’d been nominated for teacher of the year. Interspersed with the classroom segments were views of crowded hallways and the run-down streets outside.

A short segment at the end discussed Nick’s suspension, concluding with a clip of Nick’s students crowding into his townhouse that morning to support him. In a voice-over, Robert told how, as a student, he sat at the back of his classes unnoticed—until Nick. “Nobody disappeared in Mr. Foster’s class. He knew who we were, every one of us.”

 

Nick flicked the TV off with the remote. It was Nick and almost two hundred students a year. He put his heart into his work, but he didn’t think he was the superteacher portrayed on the show.

No doubt the segment would have Liza breathing dragon’s fire. He tried to focus on Liza’s fury. He tried to stamp down the thin ray of hope lighting up inside him, but it was all too possible the news segment could have an effect higher up the district chain, and he knew it.

Nick leaned back, looking at the small gathering. A light came to April’s eyes as she focused on her daughter. Sierra held Carlos’s hand. Her gaze was still locked on the darkened TV, as if the story still played out to its ultimate conclusion on the screen.

April leaned forward. “So do you think you’ll get your job back?”

“It’s hard to say. The TV special might strike the right note with someone in the district.”

“At the very least, all of Houston knows you lost your job for a good cause, and you’re the best teacher in town. You’ll have job offers from nearby districts.”

“Mr. Foster,” Carlos said, “all those kids lining up for you and that show on TV—there aren’t so many great teachers like that. The school has to pay attention.”

Sierra took his hand between both of hers, a smile on her face. Even Dad nodded.

“Maybe,” Nick said, trying to keep his expectations from running past reality

“You’re not just a good teacher, Nick. You’re a gifted one. You will have a job come fall.”

Golden words from the lady with the golden smile. Even the sun seemed to shine brighter at her words.

April picked up her purse, and Nick couldn’t shake off a wave of disappointment. He wanted her here. It was right to be surrounded by the four people in his living room. But Dad looked bone weary.

“I’ll drop you off at your house, Luca,” April said.

Dad didn’t respond.

Nick shot his father a worried glance. “Thanks for coming, Dad, and for your words. They meant a lot to me.”

Energy came over Dad’s face then, but it was a raw energy that set Nick back. “It was not enough. The words I said to you, Nicu, they were not enough.”

Nick moved to the ottoman across from Dad. “It’s all I ever asked.”

April motioned to Sierra and Carlos and started to ease toward the door, away from the private moment. But Dad called her back. “Please do not leave, April. I am only able to say what I say now because of you. You will help me if I go astray.”

April came closer and put her hand on Dad’s shoulder. Dad raised his hand to keep it there.

He turned to Nick. “I am not good at speaking. I want you to listen.”

“I’m listening.”

Dad’s eyes cleared. “I am very proud of the man you have become. You are a fine son, a fine teacher, and much more. But instead of telling you, I have driven you to anger. I am like the sparrows that live in my yard. They can sing only one song. I could only sing the song of death I learned as a young man. Even for my own son, whom I loved, I could not learn another song. I have sinned against you, Nicu, and I ask for your forgiveness.”

Nick drew in a sharp breath. He thought he was too old and sure of himself to need his father to say he believed in him. But the words rocked through him like a gale-force wind.

“Tată.” The Romanian word slipped out. He had never called his father Tată. As a child he would have called him Tati—Daddy.

Dad looked up at him, stunned.

Nick forced the words out. “Tată,binenţeles că te iert.”

Sierra translated quietly for April and Carlos. “He said, ‘Dad, of course, I forgive you.’”

Dad looked at April. “My son,” he said. “My son has not spoken to me in Romanian since he was four years old. It is the only forgiveness I need.”