I swallow hard and fight the tears that threaten to spring to my eyes.
“All in favor—” Jerry begins again, and this time one of my students, Ethan, stands.
“May I speak?” he asks.
A member of the board rolls their eyes, and the president rolls his hand as if to sayget on with it.
Ethan steps up to the podium and unfolds his own slip of paper.
“Two years ago was the year I didn’t wanna die, but I also didn’t wanna keep living if it meant I had to suffer through one more day of bullying. My parents were on the verge of divorce. And I was angry at the world. I had outbursts in class and got suspended over and over. Then one day, the counselor”—he glances over at Angie, who I just realized is also here, and then back at the board members—“well, she told me she noticed my sketches on the back of my notebook. I like to draw comics. She told me about this program, and it changed my life. My mom got me in therapy, but Ms. Thomas showed me how to quiet my mind. On nice days, she’d take us outside and we’d spend an hour nature journaling. Something about watching the birds and the squirrels made all the noise inside go silent, replaced with something like peace. I know that sounds weird, and I can’t explain it. But, yeah. That’s what Ms. Thomas has done for me.”
Ethan steps away and back to his seat. Jerry looks around the room and says, “Before I’m interrupted again, would anyone else like to speak.”
Several hands shoot straight up and the board members all exchange uncertain glances at one another.
“You and you,” he says, pointing to Amelia and Charlie. “And that’s all we have time for.”
Amelia takes her turn at the podium, turning back once to glance at Abby who gives her a thumbs-up.
“My parents recently got divorced and I felt like my entire world was falling apart. Mom moved us here to be near my grandparents, and I didn’t know a soul. She kept telling me I was strong, but I never felt strong. All I felt was confusion and loneliness. On my first day here, Mom signed me up for Ms. Thomas’s program. I used to love drawing, but hadn’t done it in a while. I don’t know how to explain what Ms. Thomas’s projects do, but it’s like something magical happens. Like with each assignment something inside of me heals and I do begin tofeel as strong as my mom thinks I am. ArtStrong gave me a place to put my hurt, and I really needed a place like that to exist.”
Sweet Charlie steps forward next, and anytime I think about his story, it cuts me to the quick. Before he’s even opened his mouth, I’m full on crying, tears are streaming down my face, and I’m wiping my snotty nose with the back of my hand. Reaching for Tyler, I thread out fingers together and he gives mine a reassuring squeeze.
“Last year, my big brother was killed by a drunk driver. I’m sure you all know that. It was his freshman year of college.” Charlie pauses and gathers a deep breath. “Mom avoided talking about him and Dad followed her lead. I don’t understand why, when someone dies, people avoid talking about that person. All I wanted to do was talk about my brother, keep the memories of him alive. And when I’d try to talk to my friends about him, I could tell they were uncomfortable and glad when we changed the subject. I started going to the counselor and she suggested Ms. Thomas’s program. That’s where I learned that I could talk through art. And Ms. Thomas would listen anytime I wanted to talk out loud. I drew sketch after sketch of my brother, every memory I could think of. Ms. Thomas would let me describe each one to her and to the class. Without her, I might have lost all these memories of my brother.”
There’s not a dry eye in the room, even Tyler’s dabbing at the corner of one eye.
Jerry even wipes on his own with a handkerchief before he stands.
“Although this needs a vote, I think we know how this will go. All in favor of cutting the ArtStrong program, say aye.”
The room is so silent you could hear a pin drop.
“All right, all opposed to cutting ArtStrong—say nay.”
One after the other, the board members say nay.
Then it hits me—we won. Holy shit, we won!
The room erupts into chaos as everyone leaps to their feet, hugging and high-fiving. Tyler’s arms wrap around me, liftingme clear off the floor while my students crowd around us. He sets me down to celebrate with them, but I don’t have nearly enough arms to return all the hugs. The only person in the room not celebrating is Principal Stanback, his face beet red, nostrils flaring.
“Did you organize this?” I ask, turning to look up at Tyler.
“Nope. This is all Abby. With Amelia’s help.” He pauses, brandishing a thick envelope from his pocket. “This is my doing, though.”
Tyler steps from me and walks to where the board still sits. He hands the envelope to the board president, and I strain my ears to hear him say, “You’ll most likely be voting on a new principal at next month’s meeting.” Then he steps away, turns to glare at Principal Stanback, and heads my way.
Everyone who came to support me files out of the room, leaving the rest of the board meeting in pandemonium. Parents and students are talking to me all at once, and I do my best to keep up, but my thoughts are hung up on what could have possibly been in that envelope. I talk with some parents in the parking lot for a few more minutes, but finally we all part ways.
Crossing the lot to my car, I see Tyler leaning against the door waiting. Abby is already seated in the front seat, but I lower my voice in case.
“What was that all about?” I tilt my head toward the building.
“Seems that dear old principal had a few skeletons in his closet. Before he moved back here to take the coaching position, he was asked to resign from not one, buttwoother school systems for inappropriate behavior toward fellow teachers.”
“So then…why did we hire him here?”
“Looks like his parents paid everyone a hefty sum of hush money. You won’t have to deal with him anymore.”
