IT WAS PAST ELEVEN by the time I’d finished cleaning and arranging the classroom to my satisfaction. I’d read that Indigos were uncomfortable with the sharp corners and angles of traditional row seating, so I’d positioned three rectangular tables horseshoe fashion, with seven chairs lining the perimeter and my desk facing the top. As far as decorating with construction paper and posters, I declined either. The outdoor view would provide all the décor we needed for now. I’d let the students decide if they wanted to display anything on the walls as time went on. I’d bring in some live plants, though, some spider, Boston, and maidenhair ferns and possibly Christmas cactus and mother-in-law’s tongue—plants that thrived on benign neglect. While debating whether to use an aromatic diffuser with essential oils to eliminate the room’s musty odor or pry open some windows, I heard a rap on the door jamb.
Charles Lacoste. I gave him a welcoming smile, willing to start fresh, let bygones, be bygones. “Come on in.”
He didn’t smile in return, just strode in like a guest speaker heading for the podium. He halted in front of the wall of windows and clasped his hands behind his back. “You’ve got quite a set up here.”
I couldn’t tell by the tone of his voice if he approved of my ‘set up’ or was being sarcastic, so I waited for him to clue me in.
He turned to face me. “Excuse me for saying so, but I was surprised to hear you were hired after last week’s fiasco, let alone be offered this.” He crossed his arms and peered at me over the rims of heavy, out-of-date glasses. His bow tie—a muddy forest green—appeared crooked and sad. “I understand you’ve never taught before.”
“That’s right, except for a year of student teaching.”
“Yet you’ve convinced Dr. Matt that you can take on seven impatient, resistant, tuned-out brats.”
“Actually, hiring me was his idea. He believes I’m suited for the job.”
Lacoste pivoted toward the windows, turning his back on me—again.
Not about to let the burning in my chest escalate into anger, I followed his lead and faced the windows, smiling at the antics of the birds outside. They rode the wind like surfers riding the waves. “You don’t have a very high opinion of my teaching ability.”
His reply, quick, impatient. “What teaching ability?”
To my surprise, a giggle bubbled to the surface. “Some people are naturals, I guess. You know, born with skills that solidify with experience.”
He swung around, his eyes twitching as if taking on a life of their own. “You think this is funny, that all these kids need is some flower child with her head in the clouds to whip them into shape?”
Flower child? Hippies and flower children were of my mother’s generation—and likely his, by the looks of him—though I doubted either of them had been active participants. I held out my hand. “I understand your reservations, Mr. Lacoste, but maybe lack of experience is a prerequisite for the job. I don’t know enough to be scared.”
He gave my hand a half-hearted shake and dropped it. “You are very inexperienced.”
“You bet I am, and I’d appreciate your help, if you’ve come to offer.”
His gaze locked onto the ancient linoleum floor, which had plenty of defects if he cared to look. But his mind seemed focused on mine. “I hardly have time…”
“That’s okay, I understand. This type of class will be a new one, so I’ll be reinventing the wheel, so to speak. But if you come up with something to help the kids, I’m open to suggestions. You’re seasoned and well-respected, and I appreciate that.”
He met my eyes for the first time since entering the room. “I know these kids. They’re easily distracted. They refuse to follow directions. In other words, they’re tough.”
“Yeah, I got that impression on my first day.”
“You need to tow them into line, show them who’s boss. You’re not here to be their friend, but to teach them the body of knowledge they need to prepare for high school, college, and future jobs.”
I thought back to my conversation with Dr. Matt and realized I needed to choose my words with care. Apparently, Charles Lacoste wasn’t aware of the Indigos’ special gifts, and it wasn’t my place to tell him. “Well…not exactly. Mine will be an after-school session to help these kids gain a more solid emotional foundation, which is also a prerequisite for success in high school and beyond.”
Lacoste snorted. “Most of the students you’re referring to have been diagnosed with ADHD. Best leave their emotional foundation to mental health professionals.”
“Consider me a supplement to—”
“The only supplement they need is prescribed medication for focus and control.”
“Prescribed medication?” I heard the pound of foot soldiers in my ears. “Just because they’re unable to conform?” I was going into battle mode and tried to rein myself in. When angry, I often say things I regret later. In fact, I was regretting this conversation already.
“These kids don’t have the mental maturity to know what’s best for them,” he said, “and you’d better come to grips with that, or you’ll be in for more of what you experienced on your first day.”
He pulled something from the pocket of his jacket and held it up between his thumb and index finger. “See this? It’s a two-and-a-half-dollar Indian Head gold piece.”
“It sure is small,” I said.
“It was minted in 1929, the year my grandfather came to this country from France. He gave it to me when I was thirteen, four years before he died.”
“You’re lucky,” I said. “I never knew my grandfather.”
“Grandpa was a good, honest man, who believed he had immigrated to the Promised Land. But he was unschooled and overly influenced by anyone with a high school diploma and the gift of charisma. In other words, he was gullible and lived with his head in the clouds.”
Like me, I suppose.
Lacoste palmed the coin and raised his fist like a salute. “I carry this coin as a reminder of my grandfather’s love…and failure.”
“‘And what if they eat clouds and drink wind,’” I said, quoting Emerson. “‘They have not been without service to the race of man.’”
But Lacoste wasn’t in the listening mood. “Do you know what Lacoste means in French, Ms. Veil?”
Do you know what Veil means in English, Mr. Lacoste?
“It means coast, and I’ve made it my mission here at West Coast Middle School to convince the students that education opens doors and saves lives.”
And I will make it my mission here to lift some veils and rattle some cages.
I wondered if Mr. Lacoste, aka Mr. Coast, knew that surface learning was a key reason Emerson left teaching in the formal classroom. He knew the difference between memorizing and reproducing data and deep learning. “Students need to understand ideas for themselves and apply that understanding to their lives.”
A muscle twitched under Lacoste’s right cheek and his breathing sounded labored. “These kids need structure, not encouragement to fantasize about a perfect world.”
At this point, I could have told him not to worry, that I’d only be here until June and, though I’d like his support and to be friends, in reality, I could do without either. Negativity was such a drag, and I sensed truckloads in this man. As talented as he might be in his particular subject, his attitude was one of lost hope, the very thing we would be fighting against in this classroom.
At least, if I had anything to say about it.
Anyway, it was time for lunch, and I was hungry. Bending like a willow was, in my opinion, highly overrated. “I have a job to do,” I said, “and I plan on doing it. If you have a problem with that, take it up with Dr. Matt.”
Lacoste’s smile was so hostile, it would have made my ex-fiancé proud. “I already did.”