Ms. Taylor was the first person killed on March 15.

I didn’t actually know her very well. I saw her in the hallway on my way to class every morning. She was young, only twenty-three, and very pretty with golden-blond hair that fell in loose waves to her shoulders. I remember that she always seemed to wear floral patterns, always in bright, warm colors—reds and oranges and pinks. I planned on taking her class the following year, since I’d need an elective and shop really wasn’t my thing.

Obviously, I never got that chance.

So, since I didn’t know her that well, I emailed Denny and asked if he’d write something for this.

Hey, Lee—

So you want to know more about Ms. Taylor? Let’s see …

Well, I could start with the first day of freshman year. My first day of high school and her first day of teaching. I wasn’t in her class yet, that was the next semester, but I was already a computer nerd. So during lunch, Jared and I had skipped the pizza line to go and investigate the computer lab instead.

Ms. Taylor was in there, of course. She introduced herself when we walked in and gave us permission to use one of the computers.

“Ah, man,” Jared said. “They’re all old. Just like the dinosaurs at the middle school. I was hoping for something better.”

“That sucks,” I said.

“If the school wouldn’t spend so much freaking money on football, they could afford better computers.”

“You’re just mad you didn’t make the team.”

“Shut up,” he huffed. “Besides, it’s fine. Bomb Shelter Four comes out next month and I’ll need the extra hours to play.”

I mostly just sat there while Jared fiddled with the computer. None of them had screen-reader software installed yet. The school wouldn’t even bother until I had a class where it was necessary. That’s how they’d always been. Only accommodating when they absolutely had to.

But then Ms. Taylor was standing beside me. I knew because she said, “Denny, this is Ms. Taylor on your left.”

“Hey, Teach.”

“Mind if I talk to you for a minute?”

“Have I already managed to get in trouble?”

“No. Not at all.” She sat down next to me, on the opposite side as Jared. “Do you think you’ll be spending a lot of time in here?”

“I don’t really know,” I said. “It’ll depend when I take my first class in here. They won’t have software until—”

“Let me rephrase,” she said. “Do you want to spend time in here?”

“Of course he does,” Jared said. “Denny loves computers.”

“That’d be correct.”

“Good,” she said, and I could hear the smile. “Then I need you to do me a favor and tell me exactly what you need installed. Not what they usually install for you—there’s no point if you don’t find it helpful. So tell me what will work best to make these computers accessible, and I’ll make sure it gets done.”

That’s when she became my favorite teacher.

Maybe it’s a small gesture, but I’m so used to people assuming they know what I need better than I do. One of the hazards of being disabled, I guess. So to have a teacher actually ask—and listen—was exciting. And she made good on her word. She got one of the computers set up with a decent screen reader and even had me help show her how it worked. None of my other teachers had cared to learn anything about my assistive tech.

And then, of course, I had her as a teacher for a while that next semester. By then I already had my extremely inappropriate schoolboy crush on her. Even though she did tell really, really awful dad jokes sometimes.

Oh God. Okay, so this was her favorite joke to tell:

“Why didn’t they let the teenage pirate see the movie? Because it was rated arrrrgh!”

I swear she told the class this joke a dozen times, and every time she’d make herself laugh so hard she’d start to snort.

We can’t all be perfect.

Anyway, I don’t know if that’s the kind of story you were looking for. I only really knew her as a teacher, so I don’t know much about her life outside of school. I think her family was from northern Indiana, and she told me once she’d grown up on a farm.

But I know she was the best teacher a fourteen-year-old nerd could have asked for, and that’s how I choose to remember her.

Hope this helped, Lee.

—Denny