He nodded solemnly. “You’re wise beyond your years.”
The bell rang, slicing through the noise. Chairs scraped back, and students poured out into the hallway in a rush of chatter and sneakers.
Fernando remained where he was, staring at the half-erased smear on the board. He sighed and picked up the marker again. “Okay,” he muttered to himself. “Chapter six. Fire. Symbolism. You absolutely know this.” He wrote “Fire = ?” on the board.
After another class ended, he finally got a lunch break. Before he could leave to meet the friends he ate lunch with, the principal’s assistant, Lester Sherry, came to his door. “Mr. Medina, the principal needs to speak to you.”
Fernando swallowed hard.This can’t be good. Principal Nester was strict and no-nonsense. She kept a tidy school andexpected much from her teachers. He knew he hadn’t been at his best that morning, but she wouldn’t know that. Right?
He suddenly felt like he was twelve again. “Uh, sure. I’ll head to her office.”
A few moments later, he stood in her doorway, staring at the framed motivational posters as if they might rearrange themselves into something that made sense.
“Come in, Fernando,” Principal Nester said, not looking up from the folder on her desk.
He stepped inside. The office smelled like lemon cleaner and stale coffee. The blinds were half-closed, casting the room in pale afternoon light. He’d been in there a few times before, but it still made him nervous.
“You wanted to see me?”
Nester finally lifted her eyes. Her expression was careful, practiced. “Please, sit.”
He sat.
She folded her hands over the folder. His name was printed across the tab in black marker. He recognized his own handwriting from the supply room—he’d labeled it himself at the beginning of the year, thinking it would sit in a cabinet collecting positive observations and commendations.
“I’ll get straight to the point,” she said. “The district has decided to terminate your employment immediately. Another teacher will take over your classes this year. You are to clear out your desk and leave after classes end today.”
For a second, he genuinely thought he’d misheard her. “Leave? I’ve only been here two months.”
“Yes.”
“My early evaluation was exemplary.”
“Yes.” She inhaled slowly. “This decision isn’t about performance.”
He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Then what is it about?”
“There have been… concerns.”
“From who?”
“The board.”
He waited.
“Regarding your family history.”
“My family history,” he repeated. He closed his eyes and thought about the classroom he’d put so much effort into. The mismatched beanbags he’d bought with his own money. The shelf of dog-eared novels. The sign over the board that read Stories Matter.
“What concerns?” he pressed, anger building. He wanted to hear her say it.
Principal Nester hesitated, then chose her words carefully. “It’s been brought to the district’s attention that your past in New Mexico was quite sordid. We expect more from our teachers, as you well know. Your relation to Diego Medina is unacceptable. If parents were to find out, they would be outraged.”
“I have nothing to do with his crimes.”
“The board is under pressure, Fernando.”
“Pressure,” he echoed.
