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True Talents(53)

By:David Lubar


“Yeah, action …” I heard Bloodbath whisper to one of his buddies.

That drew some snickers and laughs from the back of the room.

Mr. Briggs kept talking. “The important thing is for all of you to act the same way you would if nobody was watching. Just be yourselves. I’d appreciate it. And I’m sure the rest of the staff would, too.”

One of the runts raised his hand. “Yes, Michael, what is it?” Mr. Briggs asked.

“I heard they’re going to close Edgeview. Is that true?”

“They just want to see how well we’re doing things,” Mr. Briggs said. “If they feel we aren’t giving you the best education you can get, they might want to make some changes. Even if they decide to make changes, it won’t happen overnight. These things take time.”

He left it at that. But I knew my life was due for another jolt if the inspection didn’t go well. I hung back in the room as the period ended and everyone else filtered out into the hall.

“What is it, Martin?” Mr. Briggs asked.

I wasn’t sure. I wanted to say something nice, but I was afraid it would sound phony. So I asked about something that was on my mind, even though I didn’t expect any real answer. “The school,” I said. “I don’t know if it’s a good place or a bad place.”

“Few things are that simple.” Mr. Briggs stopped and ran his hand through his hair, then took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I should tell you this,” he said, “but you’d probably figure it out sooner or later. Maybe you already figured it out.”

“What?” I had no idea what he meant.

“Edgeview isn’t just the last stop for students.”

I still didn’t get what he was talking about. Instead of explaining, Mr. Briggs gave me his patented you-figure-it-out look.

It hit me. Not just us. Them, too. “Teachers …” I said. Mr. Briggs nodded. Then he smiled an embarrassed grin. “I’ve been kicked out of more than one school, too, Martin. Not for being bad. I just have my own ideas about how to teach. The people who run schools don’t always like that. They don’t like the way I dress.” He glanced down at his Penn State T-shirt and jeans. “They don’t like the way I teach. Sometimes, they don’t like the way I think.”

“So you’ve kind of gotten into trouble, too,” I said. The thought made me smile.

Mr. Briggs nodded.

“What about the rest of them?” I asked. “Are they all here for that kind of reason?”

He shook his head. “I can’t speak for them. But I don’t think Edgeview was anyone’s first choice.”

“Not even Miss Nomad?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Maybe she’s an exception. But that doesn’t mean we aren’t all trying our best. Not one teacher here is giving you anything less than his best efforts. You might not think so, but I promise it’s true.”

“It must be tough,” I said, “ending up in a place like this when you don’t want to be here.”

“Who said I don’t?” Mr. Briggs stared out the window for a minute. “Maybe, at first, I felt I was getting shoved into Edgeview. But now that I’m here, I feel good. I feel good about the work I’m doing, and I feel good about myself. That’s important.” He held out his hand. “Whatever happens, it’s been a pleasure.”

It felt strange to shake his hand. I dropped it after the briefest instant. For once, I had nothing to say. I hurried out to my next class.

That evening, as we hung out in the room, we tried to think of anything else we could do, but we were out of ideas. So we ended up sitting around talking about other stuff.

I realized I’d really miss these guys if the school was closed. They were my friends. And here, at least, you were only considered abnormal if you didn’t get into trouble. Maybe this was where I belonged. Maybe I’d been lying to myself about my behavior. When I’d first met Torchie, I’d thought he was the one who couldn’t see how bad he was. Funny how things change.

“We’ll just have to do our best tomorrow,” I told them as the group broke up for the night.

“Our best can be pretty good,” Flinch said.

I smiled as I watched him leave the room. He was right. Our best really could be good.





INSPECTION

I was awakened by the sound of tires crunching gravel against frozen ground. I watched from the window as they spilled out of their car near the front door. Six of them. From my high, sharp angle, I couldn’t tell much about the inspectors.

They were in the cafeteria at breakfast—a half dozen men and women wearing business clothes and carrying clipboards. It was like a third life-form had invaded our strange little planet of teachers and students. They stood near one wall, watching us and whispering among themselves.