She hadn’t gotten a notice about any of this. She pulled up her email again, but before she could scan her trash and junk folders, the sound of the band became so loud that she realized they were playing right at her classroom door.
Olivia came into the room carrying a huge bouquet of flowers, followed by a camera crew and a reporter.
What was going on?
Darby froze.
The band picked up the beat.
Was this Samesh’s doing?
Another grand gesture?
Darby shrank in her chair.
Her students beamed and clapped along to the music.
Are they in on it?
When the band finished their rendition of “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town,” Oliva raced toward her desk and thrust the flowers at Darby.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Reynolds.”
Darby was aware of the camera in her face and the smiling reporter looming nearby with a microphone aimed at her.
“Congratulations for what?”
Darby braced herself, not sure how to respond, as she fully anticipated Samesh to sweep in behind the band. Had he used his contacts in the city to give her some kind of award? He wasn’t going to do something radical, like propose, was he?
But he didn’t appear from the shadows. Instead, Olivia retrieved a certificate from behind her back. “We wrote a letter about you, Mrs. Reynolds. All of us.” She paused and looked at the class. “You have done so much for us, and we wanted to return the favor and let the world know what an amazing teacher you are.”
“What?” Darby’s hand went to her heart.
“Can I read you the letter?” Olivia unfolded a creamy sheet of paper.
Darby fought back tears and leaned against her desk chair. “Please.”
“Navigating high school is terrifying at best,” Olivia began, her hands shaking slightly as she read the letter. “We’re supposed to have a plan. We’re supposed to know what’s next and be excited about venturing into adulthood—college, careers, the military. Pick your path and launch into a brand-new world. But how? That’s what most of my friends and I agonize over every day. What if we make the wrong choice? What if we pick the wrong path? What if we have no idea what we want to do next?” Olivia paused to compose herself.
Darby reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a fresh box of tissues.
“That’s where our teacher Mrs. Reynolds comes in,” Olivia continued, her voice growing stronger and more solid. “We’ve tackled big issues in Mrs. Reynolds’ English class—wars, famines, injustice, indifference, systemic racism, family trauma, and so much more. You might think that this is daunting and overwhelming, but it puts our issues in perspective. The stories she’s introduced us to show us that struggle is universal, inescapable, and important for growth. Mrs. Reynolds makes space for us to feel uncomfortable and sit with what ‘sobers’ us, as she wisely likes to say.”
Darby smiled with pride as she wiped tears away with a tissue. Olivia’s words hit at a different level. They felt personal, as if her own words were being reflected back on her. Darby had been sitting with what sobered her for the last couple of years.
Was it time to let some of that go and focus on transforming her grief into growth?
“Her English class has taught me so much more than how to use an Oxford comma or cite a source. In Mrs. Reynolds’ class, I’ve learned I’m part of something bigger wherever my life path takes me. I’m taking her lessons and the stories we’ve read with me as a reminder that there will be times when I experience hardship and struggle, that change is unavoidable, and thatsomehow, someway, my challenges will forever help shape and become a part of me.”
Oliva folded the letter and approached Darby’s desk.
Darby was a blubbering mess. There weren’t enough tissues for her happy tears. She stood to hug Olivia. “You have touched my heart. What a lovely gift.”
Olivia hugged her tight until she broke away; she exclaimed, “You won, Mrs. Reynolds. You’ve been chosen teacher of the year for the entire state of Oregon. You get an award, and the school gets ten thousand dollars in your name.”
Darby’s principal stepped forward, holding an oversized check, the kind seen in TV commercials.
“What? This can’t be real.” Darby tried to take it all in. Her eyes, scanning the crowded classroom, searching, hoping…
