Chapter 39
The dreaded day has come. The school board meets in one hour to decide the fate of my beloved program, which means my stomach is tied up in knots.
Of course, I’m attending. I’ve been pep talking myself all day about holding my temper.
I will not be combative. I will take the decision like an adult.
I will not use a paintbrush as a shiv and stab Principal Stanback with it.
I’ve also jotted down a few words I’d like to say, if given the opportunity to defend my program.
Upon pulling into the parking lot, I’m struck by how many cars are present.
I don’t make a habit of attending board meetings, so I can’t say with certainty how many usually attend, but this feels like a lot.
Practically every parking spot is taken.
I climb from my car and make my way to the building, coming to a halt when I swing open the gymnasium door.
Dozens of eyes turn to greet me. Those of my colleagues, parents of my students, and my students themselves.
Abby is even seated next to Amelia and her mom.
My eyes instantly narrow. I thought they were studying together, and here they are, secretly attending this meeting.
Slowly, I scan the room, trying to take in who all is here, but when they land on Tyler, my shoulders sag in relief.
He’s standing, leaning against the back wall, arms folded across his broad chest, jaw set, lips in a thin line.
He looks determined, like a man on a mission.
And I am so glad to have him in my corner today.
Truth be told, he doesn’t look great. He looks like someone who has scarcely eaten and slept even less.
Facial hair thickened to a scruff and dark circles under his eyes, he looks very much the same way I probably look.
My heart sinks at what my actions have done to him, while my mind goes to Cassie’s words the other day.
Even when I’ve treated him horribly, he’s still here, still showing up for what’s important to me.
His eyes are on me when I lift my gaze to his.
Offering him a weak smile, my stomach flip flops with how much I miss being around him.
The last few days I’ve been a version of myself that I hate, but some deep soul searching over the weekend helped and I feel myself rounding a corner.
I even scheduled a therapy appointment for next week.
In another time and place, without dozens of people surrounding us, I’d cradle his face in my hands and beg his forgiveness.
But right now I’ve got an art program to fight for.
This is all so overwhelming. But a shot of optimism races through me. Surely, with this many here, they won’t defund my program. Right?
There’s not an empty seat in the room, so I step over to where Tyler is standing and his eyes widen, brows lifting.
“This is unexpected,” I murmur.
Tyler shrugs. “I think it’s the opposite. Of course people showed up like this for you, Jo.”
Jerry, the school board president, stands to call the meeting to order and the secretary reads the minutes from last month’s meeting along with the agenda for tonight. Thank the gods, budget cuts are first on the agenda. I can get an answer and quit worrying.
Jerry clears his throat and begins the meeting.
“First on the agenda, is something we never want to talk about. Everyone here knows cuts are never easy, but sometimes necessary.”
He goes over a few, which the members vote on, but I can hardly concentrate on what they’re saying with the blood rushing through my ears.
“Next up is the after-school art program.” He adjusts his reading glasses. “ArtStrong, led by the school art teacher, Ms. Thomas. All in favor—”
“With all due respect,” I say, stepping forward, “I’d like to speak.”
He assesses me, then nods. “Very well.”
I step up to the podium, unfolding my speech with trembling fingers.
“Everyone in this room knows me. I’ve taught here for fourteen years.
It has been an honor and privilege watching students learn to love art.
Not only do I know my students by name, but I also know them by their fears, their doubts, their inner thoughts.
I know their favorite color and what they doodle on notebook paper when they think nobody’s watching. ”
I pause for a beat, making eye contact with each member of the school board.
“This vote you’ll be making won’t only be about whether my program stays or goes. This is about whether you believe that expressing yourself creatively is essential for a young person’s survival. Because for some of my students, it is. Thank you.”
I quickly make my way back to stand next to Tyler. He leans in and whispers, “I am so proud of you, Jo.”
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 say get 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 to feel 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, lifting me 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, but two other 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.”
Silently, I absorb this information with Tyler watching me warily. If hush money was involved, how on earth did Tyler gather this information. And how does he know it’s true? At last, I find my tongue and ask.
Tyler’s expression turns from concerned to proud. “I’m sure I’ve made many mistakes throughout Austin’s career. But the best decision he and I made was hiring Kate Green as his publicist. You will never meet a person who can dig up dirt as well as she can. She found all this.”
“And you trust that it’s true?”
“Yeah, Kate does her homework. Trust me.” His words almost sound like an afterthought as he starts slowly shaking his head, swallowing hard.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re doing it. When you were twenty-two, you told me you wanted to leave your mark, make a difference.” My nose starts to sting as he continues. “What I heard in there? You’re changing those kids’ lives, Jo.”
Tyler’s gaze holds me captive, and with my heart in my throat, I wrap my arms around his torso, letting his solid form ground me. He catches up quickly, pulling me closer to drop a kiss to the top of my head.
“Thank you, Tyler. Thank you for, well, for being you. For seeing me. I know things are weird right now, but you have no clue what it means having you here to witness that.”
Tyler holds me in his arms for several heartbeats until eventually, we break the hug. Leaning back, Tyler’s eyes roam my face and one hand goes to twist one of my curls. “Glad to see the curls have returned.”
Huffing a short laugh, I admit, “I hated my hair that day. I was being petty.”
“Jo, I hope we can talk about what’s happening here soon.” He scrubs a hand over his stubbled face. “Nothing feels right. You’ve got to feel it, too.”
Pressing a hand to his heart, I nod. “We’ll talk soon. Good night, Tyler.”
“Night, Jo.”
I watch his retreating form as he walks across the parking lot, climbs in his vehicle, and drives away.
Abby is quiet, sending texts on the way home, so I’m surprised when, right as I’m about to cut the engine, she says, “I know you said this is adult stuff, and I may only be thirteen. But I really hope you figure out whatever this is you’re doing and invite Tyler over again.
You were happier that way. We all were.”