"Hungry," said a voice from the back. Destiny had slipped in while I was taking attendance, sliding into her seat without making eye contact. She was wearing the same hoodie with the broken zipper that she'd worn yesterday and the day before.
"Excited!" Sofia bounced in her seat.
James, in the front row where I'd learned he needed to sit, squinted at me while thinking hard. "Ready."
"I love that, James." I smiled at him. "Because we're going to start talking about our research projects today."
A collective groan filled the room.
"I know, I know. But you get to pick your own topics. Within reason," I added, catching Tyler's eye. "No, you cannot research why homework should be illegal."
"What about whylesshomework should be legal?"
"Nice try."
This was the part I loved. The back-and-forth. The way their faces lit up when something clicked. The small victories. James was making it through a whole paragraph without getting frustrated. Destiny was raising her hand for the first time all week. Marcus was looking up from his book long enough to help a classmate.
Somewhere around ten o'clock, while my students worked in pairs on their topic proposals, Destiny came to my desk.
"Ms. Cummins? Can I do my project on foster care?"
The question landed like a stone in my chest.
Destiny never asked for anything. Never raised her hand, never came to my desk, never drew attention to herself in any way. She moved through my classroom like she was trying to take up as little space as possible.
And now she was standing here, asking about foster care, wearing the same hoodie she'd worn for three days straight.
She wasn’t asking about a school project. She needed to know what happened next.
What happened to kids like her when someone finally decided…
I kept my face neutral. Kept my voice steady. "Of course you can. Any particular angle?"
She shrugged, but her eyes were intent. "I just want to know. Like, what happens to kids when they leave? Where do they go?"
When they leave.Notif.
She already knew it was coming. I could see it.
I thought of another student, years ago. A boy named Tommy Vickers, who'd sat in this same classroom, in the desk Destiny occupied now. He was always quiet and watchful, but he flinched when anyone moved too fast.
I'd filed reports. I watched him come to school with bruises he couldn't explain, listened to him say he was fine, even when his eyes said something different.
The other kids had been cruel in the way children can be. They targeted his secondhand clothes, his silence, and the way he never had lunch money. I'd moved his seat closer to my desk. Kept granola bars in my drawer for the mornings he came in with hollow eyes. Stayed with him at recess when I saw the older boys circling. I'd tried to reach him.
Then one day, he was gone. He stopped coming to class. I'd asked what happened, where he went, and if he was okay.
Privacy concerns,they'd told me.We can't disclose.
I never found out what happened to Tommy Vickers after. Some nights, I still wondered.
"That's a great topic, Destiny," I said carefully. "I'll help you find some good sources."
She nodded and went back to her seat. I watched her go, feeling the familiar weight of all the things I couldn't fix.
The teacher's lounge at P.S. 147. Beige walls, matching counters, linoleum that had probably been white thirty years ago. A microwave that smelled like someone else's lunch. Acoffee machine that produced something technically qualified as coffee, but only just.
I didn't come here for the ambiance.
