Touched by Angels (Angels Everywhere #3)(2)

“She’s a fool, that’s why,” someone answered for her.

“That’s not true,” Brynn countered. “As I explained earlier, we’re involved in an experimental program that’s being sponsored by the federal government. I was asked to participate.”

“Why’d you do it?”

The questions were making her decidedly uncomfortable. “Part of the agreement would be that a portion of my student loan would be forgiven.”

“Forgiven?”

“That’s the word the government used.”

“Where’d you teach before?” a Chinese girl asked, her gaze shyly meeting Brynn’s.

“St. Mary Academy. It’s a private school for girls near Rochester.”

“La de da,” one of the boys said in a high-pitched voice. He stood, dropped his wrists, and pranced around his desk.

“Hey, could you set me up with one of those nice Catholic girls?”

Brynn didn’t bother to answer.

“Do you color your hair or is it naturally red?”

“It’s auburn,” Brynn corrected, “and it’s as natural as it comes.”

“What do you think, dummy, with a name like Cassidy? She’s Irish, can’t you tell?”

“Dummy?” Brynn repeated, and then added in a Home Alone voice, “I don’t think so. If he were dumb, he wouldn’t be a high school senior. This brings up something I consider vital to this class. Respect. I won’t tolerate any name calling, racial slurs, or put-downs.”

“You been in girls’ school too long, Teach. That’s just the way we talk. If Malcolm here wants to call Denzil a nigger, he’s got a right ’cause he’s a nigger himself.”

“Not in this classroom he won’t. The only thing I’ll ask of you in the way of deportment is mutual respect.”

“I don’t even know you, how am I supposed to respect you?”

It was a good question and one Brynn couldn’t slough off.

“Especially if the only reason you decided to take this job was so you could be forgiven for something you did to the government.”

“That’s not the only reason I took the job,” Brynn pressed, “I want to teach you to dream.”

“Excuse me?” A girl with her hair woven into tiny braids all over her head sat upright. “You’re making us sound like babies.”

“I’m not suggesting naps,” Brynn explained. “How many of you know what you’re going to do after you graduate from high school?”

One hand went up, from the same Hispanic youth who’d helped her earlier.

“Your name is?”

“Emilio Alcantara.”

“Hello, Emilio. Tell me what your dreams are.”

“I got plenty of those. I dream about Michelle and Nikki and . . .” His friends made several catcalls, and Brynn smiled and shook her head.

“I’m talking about the future. After high school, five years down the road. We all need a dream, something to pin our hopes on, something that gives us a reason to wake up in the morning.”

“You mean a dream like Martin Luther King?”

“Yes,” she said enthusiastically. “An ambition to do something, travel somewhere, or be something.”

“Why?” The boy who asked had caught her attention earlier. He seemed indifferent to everything that was going on around him. A couple of the kids had said something to him, but he’d ignored them as if they weren’t there or, more appropriately, as if he weren’t entirely there himself. Briefly she wondered if he were on drugs.

“Why?” Brynn repeated. “Because dreaming is a necessary part of life, like eating or sleeping. Sometimes we just forget about it, is all. We’ll be exploring more about this later, but I guarantee you one thing, by the end of this quarter, there’ll be plenty for you to think and dream about.”

“You know,” said the girl who’d claimed the desk closest to the door, “you might be all right, but it’s going to take some doing, getting used to a teacher who doesn’t look any older than one of us.”

“She isn’t married, either. Say, Teach, do you want me to set you up?” Emilio asked. “I got an older brother who could use a chick like you.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Brynn answered, reaching for her attendance book. “Now that you know about me, it’s time for me to learn something about each one of you.”

“But we don’t know you!” two or three protested in turn.

Brynn held the book against her breast and sighed. “What other information do you need?”

Questions were tossed at her in every which direction. She put a stop to them with a wave of her hand. “Listen, I’ll give you the basics and then we’ll have to get started. My first name is Brynn.”

“How many kids in your family?”

“Eight.”

“Eight!”

“She’s Irish and Catholic, ain’t she?”

Brynn ignored the comment. “I’m the fourth oldest and the first girl. My oldest brother is thirty-three and my youngest sister is sixteen.” She lowered the grade book and called out, “Yolanda Aguilar.”

“Here.” The Hispanic girl raised her hand and waved enthusiastically.