Chapter 1

Bob Hawkins sat at his desk, staring at the list of students for his history summer school class. He sighed. As usual, he had all the "losers" to deal with for two months when most of the other teachers were going to Mexico, or on extended camping treks in Yellowstone or whatever. He sighed again. It had to be done. The mortgage on his house strained his resources, but he wasn't about to get rid of the relatively opulent place. It sat on one point eight acres, which provided him with all the room he needed for his gardening obsession.

His eyes ran down the list again. It would be all right. These would no doubt be like the last bunch, and the bunch before that. He knew how to deal with them. It was a lot of work and called for a lot of patience, but experience had taught him what worked with kids like these, and while fashion and the language of teenagers always changed, what motivated them didn't.

He frowned again, but it had nothing to do with the list of students who had to pass his class to graduate. They were the ones under the real stress. He was known not to cut anybody any slack in his class. You learned the material and passed the tests ... or you didn't.

His frown had to do with the fact that this year he was also being saddled with a student teacher during summer school. He'd skated on that little duty in the past, but it was his turn and complaining wouldn't cut any mustard with Horace Grimes, the principal. Horace usually left him alone, for the most part, and Bob wanted it to stay that way. It was going to be a pain in the ass, but it was only for two months. It was actually seventy days, but it was easier to think of it as just two months, during which he'd have some gung-ho, recently indoctrinated, by-the-book, starry-eyed kid under his feet while he used relatively unorthodox techniques to get kids to learn.

At least it was only during summer school. During the fall semester he'd be back to what he loved most—inspiring young minds to remember facts, figures and the true import of history that would repeat itself unless they stopped it from doing so.

But first there was summer school to get through. He reached for the pile of lesson plans he'd be using with the kids who, for this or that reason, resisted learning.

As she opened one of the big double doors, Cecelia Carter realized she was nervous. That irritated her, because it seemed silly to be nervous.

While she hadn't exactly been filled with trepidation at being assigned to Harper High for her student teaching, she had to admit it was a bit unsettling. She was the first student teacher in a pilot program that took place during summer school. It hadn't been done before, and she felt like the success of the program rested entirely on her shoulders. But worst of all was the instant she walked through the front doors, she felt seventeen again. Everything was exactly the same as it had been when she'd walked out those doors for the last time after graduation.

On her way to the office, she stopped at the trophy case in the main hall. There was the trophy from when the Harper Penguins took state in her senior year. It had seemed excruciatingly important, back then. The trophy looked a little tarnished now and smaller somehow, than she remembered it. Her eyes fell to the photograph of the team, with the cheerleaders lined up on their knees in the front. There she was, in the middle with Mandy McKinley. She recognized all the smiling faces, though they had faded in her memory like the image had faded a bit on the paper. As she saw the various faces again she wondered what had happened in their lives since high school.

She knew about only a few of them. She had stopped by Mandy's trailer each of the few times she'd come home from college to see her parents. Mandy now sported the last name of Dunham, had three kids and smoked like a chimney. She'd gained at least fifty pounds and cursed like a sailor. She claimed to be happy. Jeff Dunham, whose smiling face was right above Mandy's in the photograph, was a salesman for a water softening company and was gone a lot, but Mandy said they were getting along OK. There had been no talk about how their plans to go off to college together had been derailed when Mandy came up pregnant just before graduation. At least Jeff stood by her, forgoing his football scholarship to marry her and be there when she needed him.

As she looked at the trim, fit, non-smoker kneeling next to her own young image in the photograph, Cecelia couldn't get Mandy's overweight, smoking, harassed present day appearance out of her mind. "There, but for the grace of God and a firm resolve to keep my legs closed, go I," said Cecelia under her breath.

She shivered and then went on to the office. She pushed open the same door that led to the same office she had been in dozens of times in what seemed both like the distant past ... and just yesterday. There, behind the counter was the same Mrs. Miller, who looked up and smiled the same smile. Cecelia knew exactly what she'd say. Mrs. Miller didn't disappoint.

"Good morning. How may I help you?"

It was probably the umpteenth time Mrs. Miller had said that to Cecelia. Mrs. Miller treated every visitor to the office the same way, whether student, parent, teacher or whatever.

"I've been assigned here for student teaching," said Cecelia.

"Welcome back," said Mrs. Miller with a bright smile. "It's so nice to see you again."

Cecelia was surprised that the woman remembered her, but it made her feel good, too.

"Thanks. It's good to be back." Cecelia looked around. "I think," she added. "I'm a little nervous, to be honest."

"You'll do fine," said the woman. "Let's get you in to see Mr. Grimes so you can get started."

Cecelia also remembered Mr. Grimes well. It occurred to her that she had no idea what either Mrs. Miller's or Mr. Grimes' first names were. That was something students had no need to know. He looked the same too, with thin black hair combed over his bald pate and owlish eyes behind thick spectacle lenses. He looked up and actually smiled!

"Cee Cee!" he said happily. "I was so glad to hear you'd been assigned to Harper High."

She kept her face straight. Cee Cee had been the nickname her girlfriends had given her in the eighth grade, based on the first letters of her first and last name. She'd been quite happy with it initially. It sounded hip and bouncy, at first. But then her body blossomed and she became a cheerleader. For the boys, her nickname had taken on an unwelcome new meaning as they joyously greeted her in the halls or wherever. The vast majority of them looked first at one of her breasts, and then at the other, during those greetings. It had been a ritual, and they always laughed after performing it. Why they thought addressing each breast by part of her nickname was funny or cute, she didn't know, but they all did.

She flushed slightly, hoping Mr. Grimes was unaware that the nickname had been adopted by teenage boys to refer to her cup size. She'd been stuck with it, and almost everybody, including teachers and staff, had used it. At least Mr. Grimes hadn't looked at her chest as he greeted her.

"I go by Cecelia now," she blurted.

"Of course," said the principal, his face resuming its slightly pinched look. "In public, however, we'll refer to you as Miss Carter, or Ms., if you prefer."

"Either is fine," said Cecelia, feeling foolish. He'd given her a friendly greeting and she'd thrown it back in his face. She tried to soften that rejection. "I'm just trying to act a bit more grown up than when I left."

She was rewarded with a slight smile. "As it should be! And you HAVE grown up. That is certain. And I really am sorry. It was just habit. I should have known better. I expect that nickname caused you some discomfort, back then."

Cecelia felt her cheeks get warm. He DID know!

"Kids," she said hastily. "They can be the cruelest members of the human race."

"You've got that right," said Grimes firmly. "Please, sit down. I'm sure you're chomping at the bit to get to some real teaching. We really are delighted to have you back. You were an outstanding student, and I'm sure you'll be an outstanding teacher as well."

"Student teacher," Cecelia corrected, and then felt foolish again.

"Humility can be a valuable asset," said the man, his face stern. "But from our perspective," he said, opening a file, "and from the reports on how you've done in school, we're going to treat you just like any of the other teachers." He closed the file. "Student teaching is a formality, really. It does help some folks weed themselves out of the teaching profession. They find out it isn't what they expected it to be, or that they're not well suited to perform that very important task. But we don't expect that to happen to you. We have a great deal of faith in you and high hopes for your success. As you said, you're all grown up now, so let's have no more talk about you being 'just' a student teacher."