Page 17 of For Your Own Good
“Then who’s on the list?”
Ingrid sighs and scrolls through her tablet. “Daniels, Jawicki, Parker, Jackson, and Timberg are being considered. And, of course, Crutcher will speak. He’s Teacher of the Year.”
Yes, he is. One of the great honors of the position is speaking at every school event and fundraiser, which means Sonia will have to listen to him ad nauseum.
Perfect.
“Decorations,” she says.
This one is always a little touchy, given that it’s a memorial. No one wants to feel like they’re at a funeral. However, it also can’t look like a party.
The head of the decorations subcommittee lists everything they’reconsidering, from a scroll-like guest book for everyone to sign to table decorations in the shape of the school’s mascot, the bobcat. For the centerpieces, they want to use cartoonish-looking bobcats dressed up in tuxedos.
“I vote no on that,” Ingrid says. “If we must have bobcats, they should be wearing the school jersey or something of the like.”
For once, Sonia agrees with her. “This isn’t a formal event. I don’t think tuxedos are necessary.”
“No tuxedos,” says the subcommittee chair. She makes a big deal of scratching that off her list. “Anything else we want?”
“Just keep it subtle,” Ingrid says. “Let’s not embarrass ourselves.”
“Or the school,” Sonia says.
“Yes. Of course.”
The meeting ends without much fanfare, as all their meetings do. Sonia goes straight to her classroom and uses her stress ball. She knew chairing the event would be difficult. Over the past few years, the annual memorial has become a huge event at the school—and, as a result, a huge fundraiser.
No one had expected that. The first memorial was held because the last headmaster had killed himself.
He was found by the custodian in the middle of the night. Sonia shudders every time she thinks of poor old Joe, who was just doing his job when he’d found the headmaster hanging from the ceiling fan in his office.
11
TEDDY’S MEMORIAL SPEECHhas been written for months. He wrote it in the summer, right after learning he was named Teacher of the Year. Every morning since, he has reviewed it, tweaked it. So far he has completely rewritten it three times.
Last year, Gabriel Stein was Teacher of the Year, and he gave a horrible speech. Too long, too sad, too much of everything. He evencried, for God’s sake.
Teddy isn’t about to repeat the same mistake.
This morning, he thinks the speech is coming along well. Eloquent without being too wordy. Compassionate without being depressing. Most of all, it sounds important. As it should, because he has a responsibility to the students and to the school. His words carry weight. They mean something. And that isn’t something he takes lightly.
He walks outside, drawing in a deep breath of fresh air. The weatheris perfect for fall—sunny with a light breeze. When he starts his car, the voice of his favorite talk show host fills the air.
It’s a good day.
It gets even better during second period. It’s his favorite class.
“All right,” he says, settling everyone down. “It’s time for our next book.”
“Do we get to vote?” someone says.
“Hand,” Teddy says.
The student raises his hand. Teddy nods at him.
“Do we get to vote?”
“No.”
