While at school, Willow kept a low profile. She found it difficult to concentrate in her classes. She wanted to spend more time at the hospital, but realized it would appear quite suspicious if she went from room to room, looking for someone to help. Although she could not risk revealing her secret, she felt it pointless to attempt chin-ups in gym class while some poor child may be fighting for their life in a hospital wing.
She planned on trying to visit her mother at the hospital at least once a week, hoping to help anyone she could while no one else was watching. She knew this would not be easy.
Willow had to pretend she wasn’t disappointed when her mother told her and Wyatt she would do her best not to take shifts that coincided with her children being home, so they could spend more time together as a family.
Aside from being preoccupied at school with the constant reflection upon her covert tactics at the hospital, Willow found it awkward sitting in Miss Protts’ class, feeling as if she had let her teacher down at the previous assembly. Miss Protts did not bring up the on-stage incident, and by the middle of the school week, Willow decided it was time she spoke to her.
At the end of class, everyone dashed out, including Razzel. Willow alerted her ahead of time that she planned on staying behind to speak with Miss Protts. Razzel did not agree with this decision… “Are you crazy, Will? Let it go. Why poke an angry dog?”
Willow approached the front of the classroom cautiously as she watched Miss Protts methodically gather her belongings. Just as Willow was about to clear her throat to get her teacher’s attention…
“What is it, Krimble?” Miss Protts muttered, not bothering to look up from her task.
“Um, hi, Miss Protts. I just wanted to say … about last week, in the assembly - ”
“Save it, Krimble!” Miss Protts shoved a stack of homework assignments into her bag. “I haven’t got the time or the energy. My day’s over; punchin’ out.”
“But I just wanted to explain why I - ”
“Explain what? How you let those silk snoots get the better of you?” Miss Protts finally fixed her squinted grey eyes, through her thick lenses, upon the student before her. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve actually believed in a student, Krimble?”
Willow wanted to speak, but no response in her mind seemed adequate.
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Page 51
“We teachers bust our hump five days a week in this broken-down edifice, hoping that we’ll actually make a difference in someone’s life, only to be disappointed time and time again.”
Willow opened her mouth halfway, then closed it again.
“There’s nothing more frustrating than explaining the tragic struggle of a famous writer’s life, leading them to their poignant scroll, only to have a student check their watch and sigh. And those are the students that manage to stay awake!”
Miss Protts slammed her clenched fists on her desk and leaned over it to get closer to her pupil.
“Then, every once in a while, you come across someone who actually gets it. A kid that hears you when you speak; someone who knows how to listen, not just through the two holes on either side of their head, but with every other sense given to them. A student whose eyes light up while you’re quoting Tennyson … Chaucer … Poe ...” Miss Protts straightened up, retrieving her jacket from the back of her chair. She began putting it on, as her gaze seemed to shift toward her smudged chalkboard script.
“Sometimes you come across a kid that makes you feel you can actually retire knowing you brought something new to them, something they’ll take home with them, once they exit these four gum-stained walls.”
“Miss Protts, I - ”
“Save the apology Krimble,” Miss Protts cut in, her tone a bit softer than what most students had come to expect of her. “Lord knows I know what it’s like to be embarrassed by peers.” She adjusted her jacket and shirt collar. “You don’t need my forgiveness. Apologize to yourself.” She grabbed her handbag and threw it over her shoulder.
“You wanna make it up to me, Krimble? Promise me you won’t ever lose it.”
“Lose it, Miss Protts?”
“Your passion. You have an amazing gift inside of you, Krimble. Don’t ever let anyone stop you from using it.”
Willow was taken aback. For a brief moment, she thought Miss Protts knew her secret.
“You’re a talented writer, young lady. Don’t hide behind your words; share them. And don’t ever let anyone trip you up again!”
Miss Protts grabbed the door handle and was about to make her exit.
“Miss Protts!”
The English teacher froze, her hand still clasping the rusting brass knob of the scraped and weathered oak door. Although she stood at attention, her gaze was fixed straight ahead.
“Thank you,” said Willow. “You’ve taught me so much more than just great poetry.”
In that moment, Willow bore witness to one of the rarest occurrences in Ginkelman history: Not daring to face her student, Miss Protts gave the slightest of grins, followed by a slow nod, just before she pulled the door open and exited.
Next Chapter
She planned on trying to visit her mother at the hospital at least once a week, hoping to help anyone she could while no one else was watching. She knew this would not be easy.
Willow had to pretend she wasn’t disappointed when her mother told her and Wyatt she would do her best not to take shifts that coincided with her children being home, so they could spend more time together as a family.
Aside from being preoccupied at school with the constant reflection upon her covert tactics at the hospital, Willow found it awkward sitting in Miss Protts’ class, feeling as if she had let her teacher down at the previous assembly. Miss Protts did not bring up the on-stage incident, and by the middle of the school week, Willow decided it was time she spoke to her.
At the end of class, everyone dashed out, including Razzel. Willow alerted her ahead of time that she planned on staying behind to speak with Miss Protts. Razzel did not agree with this decision… “Are you crazy, Will? Let it go. Why poke an angry dog?”
Willow approached the front of the classroom cautiously as she watched Miss Protts methodically gather her belongings. Just as Willow was about to clear her throat to get her teacher’s attention…
“What is it, Krimble?” Miss Protts muttered, not bothering to look up from her task.
“Um, hi, Miss Protts. I just wanted to say … about last week, in the assembly - ”
“Save it, Krimble!” Miss Protts shoved a stack of homework assignments into her bag. “I haven’t got the time or the energy. My day’s over; punchin’ out.”
“But I just wanted to explain why I - ”
“Explain what? How you let those silk snoots get the better of you?” Miss Protts finally fixed her squinted grey eyes, through her thick lenses, upon the student before her. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve actually believed in a student, Krimble?”
Willow wanted to speak, but no response in her mind seemed adequate.
___________________________________
Page 51
“We teachers bust our hump five days a week in this broken-down edifice, hoping that we’ll actually make a difference in someone’s life, only to be disappointed time and time again.”
Willow opened her mouth halfway, then closed it again.
“There’s nothing more frustrating than explaining the tragic struggle of a famous writer’s life, leading them to their poignant scroll, only to have a student check their watch and sigh. And those are the students that manage to stay awake!”
Miss Protts slammed her clenched fists on her desk and leaned over it to get closer to her pupil.
“Then, every once in a while, you come across someone who actually gets it. A kid that hears you when you speak; someone who knows how to listen, not just through the two holes on either side of their head, but with every other sense given to them. A student whose eyes light up while you’re quoting Tennyson … Chaucer … Poe ...” Miss Protts straightened up, retrieving her jacket from the back of her chair. She began putting it on, as her gaze seemed to shift toward her smudged chalkboard script.
“Sometimes you come across a kid that makes you feel you can actually retire knowing you brought something new to them, something they’ll take home with them, once they exit these four gum-stained walls.”
“Miss Protts, I - ”
“Save the apology Krimble,” Miss Protts cut in, her tone a bit softer than what most students had come to expect of her. “Lord knows I know what it’s like to be embarrassed by peers.” She adjusted her jacket and shirt collar. “You don’t need my forgiveness. Apologize to yourself.” She grabbed her handbag and threw it over her shoulder.
“You wanna make it up to me, Krimble? Promise me you won’t ever lose it.”
“Lose it, Miss Protts?”
“Your passion. You have an amazing gift inside of you, Krimble. Don’t ever let anyone stop you from using it.”
Willow was taken aback. For a brief moment, she thought Miss Protts knew her secret.
“You’re a talented writer, young lady. Don’t hide behind your words; share them. And don’t ever let anyone trip you up again!”
Miss Protts grabbed the door handle and was about to make her exit.
“Miss Protts!”
The English teacher froze, her hand still clasping the rusting brass knob of the scraped and weathered oak door. Although she stood at attention, her gaze was fixed straight ahead.
“Thank you,” said Willow. “You’ve taught me so much more than just great poetry.”
In that moment, Willow bore witness to one of the rarest occurrences in Ginkelman history: Not daring to face her student, Miss Protts gave the slightest of grins, followed by a slow nod, just before she pulled the door open and exited.
Next Chapter
