Chapter 2: The Schoolgirl and the Teacher

the morning dragged on for Crystal. Calculus, English Lit, French, and finally American History. She stopped in the restroom and refreshed her lipstick. A bright red gash on her lips, like Taylor Swift. Mr. Stedman was kind of built like Travis Kelce. Maybe they could have their own little romance. It made Crystal’s heart beat a little faster.

She got a seat in the first row, at the end by the windows. She could watch Mr. Stedman without his really seeing how intent she was on him. She could even daydream a little without him noticing. Maybe he’d walk over toward the windows and she’d catch a scent of his aftershave. He was such a hunk.

Mr. Stedman walked around a lot while he lectured. He kept his shirtsleeves rolled up a couple of turns and just a hint of his ink showed out from under them. He was just the kind of bad boy who would have some significant tats. Crystal imagined herself taking off his shirt and tracing the ink on his arm. Was he a Marine? A college athlete? In a motorcycle gang? She imagined all kinds of scenarios in which he would have a tattoo across his broad forearm. Maybe an American flag.

He was really getting into the lecture on the beginning of the civil rights movement in 1954. It all started with the Supreme Court ruling striking down segregation in schools. He was so passionate about the cause. She was sure he wasn’t old enough to have been around for the civil rights movement, but couldn’t help but think he’d bring that passion into the bedroom with him.

He walked around his desk toward the windows and then back across the front of the classroom. She caught a faint whiff of his aftershave and let her eyes drift closed so her senses could just absorb the sensation.

“And to what event do we trace much of the roots of desegregation activism? Crystal?” Mr. Stedman asked, turning to her, and jolting her from her reverie.

“Um ... Uh ... That little girl who went to school in Louisiana?” Crystal stuttered. Oh, great. She did not need to be embarrassed to death in front of her idol.

“An important event, certainly,” Mr. Stedman said. “But Ruby Bridges was only a year old when this event occurred in 1955. Yes, Jeanine?”

“Rosa Parks refusing to give up her seat on the bus,” Jeanine answered.

Great! Just great. That tramp Jeanine was probably trying to impress Mr. Stedman so he’d look at her. She wasn’t nearly as pretty as Crystal was, so she needed a little extra edge.

“Yes. Now we all have heard about Rosa Parks refusing to give up her seat in the white section of the bus, right?” There were nods all around the room. “Wrong! This is an example of how popular mythology supplants history. You see, Rosa Parks was not sitting in the white section of the bus. The white section was full and Rosa refused to give up her seat in the first row of the ‘colored section’ of the bus so a white passenger could have the row. Nor was Parks simply a tired old woman who was going to sit wherever she wanted to. She was forty-two years old and was already a civil rights activist who had recently attended an activist training institute.”

Crystal had to admit that the way Mr. Stedman stated the case was exciting and she could almost become a civil rights activist herself if there was still an issue.

“Rosa Parks said in her autobiography, ‘People always say that I didn’t give up my seat because I was tired, but that isn’t true. I was not tired physically, or no more tired than I usually was at the end of a working day. I was not old, although some people have an image of me as being old then. I was forty-two. No, the only tired I was, was tired of giving in.’ And that is the kind of person who creates change.”

Crystal’s heart was beating a little faster and she wasn’t sure if it was because the story excited her or because she’d embarrassed herself in front of Mr. Stedman. She needed to find a way to make up lost ground and when the bell rang to begin her lunch hour, she remained seated. Mr. Stedman sat behind his desk to arrange some papers.