Too Good to Be True(69)

“But they happened in different centuries,” said Adelaide Compton.

“I’m aware of that,” I said, a bit too sharply. “I feel that teaching by theme and not simply by timeline is the way to go. In some cases, anyway.”

“You want to teach a class called ‘The Abuse of Power’?” asked Randall Withington, who’d been a U.S. senator for our fair state some time ago. His already-florid face seemed a bit more mottled than usual.

“I think it’s a very important aspect of history, yes,” I said, cringing internally. Senator Withington had been ousted on charges of corruption and, er, abuse of power.

“Well, this is all very interesting,” said Hunter Graystone III, who was Hunter IV’s father and a Manning alumnus.

He indicated my fifty-four-page document—curriculum for all four years, required courses, electives, credits, budget, field trips, staffing suggestions, teaching strategies, the role of parents, meshing the history curriculum with other subjects. I’d color-coded it, included pictures, graphs, charts, had it printed up and bound at Kinko’s.

Mr. Graystone had yet to open it. Damn it. I’d given Hunter a B on his midterm (quite fair, let me tell you), and Mr.

Graystone had reminded me of this very fact when I introduced myself a half hour ago. “Why don’t you just sum things up for us, Ms. Emerson?”

Dr. Eckhart looked up—not asleep, thank goodness—and gave me a little nod of encouragement.

“Sure,” I said, trying to smile. “Well, here it is in a nutshell.” Taking a deep breath, I decided to give it all I had, my blank-faced audience aside. “I want Manning students to understand the impact of history on where we are today. I want the past to come alive for them, so they can appreciate the sacrifices that have gotten us to this point.” I looked around at each board member in turn, willing them to feel my love for the subject. “I want our students to learn from the past in a way much more profound than memorizing dates. I want them to feel how the whole world shifted because of the act of a single person, whether it was Henry VIII creating a new religion or Dr.

King calling for equality on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.”

“And who is Dr. King?” Adelaide asked, frowning.

My mouth dropped open. “Martin Luther King, Jr.? The civil rights activist?”

“Of course. Right. Go on.”

Taking a steadying breath, I continued. “So many kids today see themselves as isolated from even the recent past, disconnected from their country’s policies, living in a world where there are too many distractions from true knowledge. Text messaging, video games, online chatting…they all detract from living in this world and understanding it. These kids have to see where we’ve been and how we got here. They have to! Because it’s our past that determines our future—as individuals, as a nation, as a world. They have to understand the past, because these kids are the future.”

My heart pounded, my face was hot, my hands shook. I took a shaking breath and folded my sweaty hands together. I was finished.

No one said anything. Not a word. Nothing, and not in a good way. Nope, it was fair to say there was the proverbial sound of crickets.

“So…you believe the children are our future,” Theo said, suppressing a grin.

I closed my eyes briefly. “Yes,” I said. “They are. Hopefully, they’ll have the ability to think when the fates call on them to act. So.” I stood up and gathered my papers. “Thank you all so much for your time.”

“That was…very interesting,” Adelaide said. “Er…good luck.”

I was assured that I’d be notified if I got through the next round. They were, of course, looking outside Manning, yadda yadda ding dong, blah blah blah. As for making it to the next round, my chances were dubious. Dubious at best.

Apparently, word of my impassioned speech got out, because when I ran into Ava later that day in the Lehring staff room, she smiled coyly. “Hello, Grace,” she said. Blink…blink…here it comes…and, yes, blink. “How was your presentation to the board?”

“It was great,” I lied. “Very positive.”

“Good for you,” she murmured, washing out her coffee cup, singing as she did. “‘I believe the children are our future…teach them well and let them lead the way—’”

I gritted my teeth. “How did yours go, Ava? Did the push-up bra sway the board in your favor, do you think?”

“Oh, Grace, I feel sorry for you,” she said, pouring herself some more coffee. “It’s not my cle**age they loved, hon. It’s my way with people. Anyway. Best of luck.”

At that moment, Kiki stuck her head in the door. “Grace, got a minute? Oh, hi, Ava, how are you?”

“I’m fantastic, thanks,” Ava half whispered. Blink. Blink. And blink again.

“You okay?” Kiki asked when I came into the hall and closed the door behind me.

“I’m crappy, actually,” I said.

“What happened?”

“My presentation didn’t go very well,” I admitted. All that work reduced to a Whitney Houston song. To my irritable disgust, my throat tightened with tears.

“I’m sorry, kid.” She patted my arm. “Listen, do you want to go to Julian’s Singles’ Dance Night this Friday? Take your mind off your troubles? I still haven’t met someone. God knows why. I’ve been trying those methods from Lou like they were sent from Mount Sinai, you know?”