Just as Ethan is leaving the locker room, his teacher calls his name. He freezes, certain he’s about to get in trouble for being a total fuck-up on the basketball court today. Ever since lunch, he hasn’t been able to think about anything aside from Ma losing her job and drinking again.
When he turns back, Mr. Johnson takes in his scared face and says, “Ethan, it’s okay. I wanted to talk to you about something. You’re not in trouble.”
Ethan relaxes a bit. Mr. Johnson has only been working at his school since winter break, and so far, Ethan likes him. The girls all have crushes on him because he has an English accent and they think he looks like a young Will Smith. Ethan doesn’t see it, though no question his teacher’s chiseled body is something to aspire to.
“I think you should try out for the soccer team. I’ve been watching you run and pass the ball. You’d make a good midfielder. What do you think?”
Ethan stares at him. Nobody ever asked him to join a team before.
“Do you want to play?” Mr. Johnson says.
Part of him really wants to say yes, but he knows he can’t do it. Even before all this started, Ma was against after-school sports. It’s no good taking time away from your schoolwork, she always said. A job is going to interfere with schoolwork too, but it seems he doesn’t have a choice about that. “Sorry, I’m not interested.” He doesn’t say I can’t do it because Mr. Johnson will ask why.
“Really? The team could sure use your help.”
“My homework takes a lot of time.”
“I talked to your teachers. They say you’re doing well, especially in English class. They thought you could handle a sport, no problem.”
“Look, I just don’t want to, okay?” Frustration pours out of his shaking voice.
Mr. Johnson narrows his eyes like he’s trying to read what’s going on in Ethan’s head. “Sure. Your choice. But maybe consider it a little longer? I think you’d have fun. I’ll ask you again in a few days.” He gives the boy a firm pat on his shoulders.
Ethan slips past him out the door, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. Turning back toward the school’s main building, he pushes past the tide of students leaving for the day. By the time he reaches Mr. Flannery’s classroom, the halls are mostly empty.
The door is open. A younger boy who Ethan doesn’t know is cleaning the whiteboard. Mr. Flannery is at his desk, hunched over papers that he flips through rapidly. He scribbles a mark at the end of the first set.
After hesitating for a minute, Ethan steps into the room and asks to speak with him.
Mr. Flannery raises his head and gazes at Ethan with cool gray eyes. “Have a seat.” He glances back at the boy, who has just finished his job. “You may go now.”
The kid grabs his backpack from a table and scurries away before the teacher can change his mind.
Ethan folds into the chair closest to Mr. Flannery. From here he catches a whiff of the cigar smoke that seems to have permanently settled into his teacher’s clothing. It’s very slight and maybe other kids wouldn’t notice, but Ma has always claimed Ethan has a powerful sense of smell.
“How can I help you?” Mr. Flannery says.
Ethan holds his hands together under the desk. “I was wondering if, um, you might know where I can find a job?” He hopes his teacher might know folks with enough money to pay kids to do work for them around their houses.
“A job? Great idea. It’s always best to be productive with your spare time.”
Relief flows through Ethan. He’d been afraid his teacher would try to talk him out of it, and then he would be no help at all. “It might be hard to get one, though,” Ethan says.
“That’s why we have the Internet.” He takes out his phone. “Jobs for eighth-graders… babysitting… what about that?”
Ethan shakes his head. “I don’t have brothers or sisters. I don’t think I could do it.”
Mr. Flannery scrolls down the list. “Lawn mowing… stop me if any of these sound good to you… housecleaner… newspaper delivery… do kids still do that? House-sitting… dog-walking…”
“Dog-walking. I love dogs.” He doesn’t have one, but he’s spent time with a few that belonged to friends. “How do I find someone to hire me?”
Mr. Flannery closes his eyes to think. “There’s a woman in my neighborhood who dotes on her two dogs. I can ask her.”
Ethan shoots to his feet. “Thanks, Mr. Flannery.”
“You’re a very special young man.” He says this in his usual bland tone, but since he rarely praises any of his students, Ethan knows he means it. A warm sensation fills him.
“Not just because your writing is so polished,” Mr. Flannery continues. “I think you have it in you to make something of yourself.”
“I hope so.”
“It won’t be easy. Not around here. Others will try to pull you down to their level. Don’t let that happen. Stay steady on your own path. Leave this place behind as soon as you’re old enough. Don’t let yourself get caught in the cycle of ignorance and poverty and crime.”
Mr. Flannery hasn’t spoken to him quite like this before. Ethan doesn’t really understand what he’s going on about, and he doesn’t care much for the way his teacher has reduced his home city to its worst possible characteristics. He knows there’s also plenty to celebrate about where he lives.
But the important thing is that Mr. Flannery has agreed to get him a job.