One thing that became clear to me after I had taught at Chelsea for a while is that for the most part my students were likely to grow up and lead lives as successful but also as mundane as those of their parents. That made it all the more thrilling when I saw something extraordinary in a boy Watching the Bryson boy run was such a moment. He was possessed of a fluidity and easy grace that, frankly, I’d never seen in a high school runner. His breathing was ragged, but he was out of condition and had not been coached before—that would be easily rectified. He pulled smoothly to the front of the pack, ahead even of Hanrahan, who was at least two years his senior. He looked as though he could go on forever. Jonathan and I shot each other a look, and a big grin spread across his face. I could not help smiling myself. I admire excellence, even when it shows up in the most unlikely of places. We were running a loop, and Bryson was the first to arrive back where we had begun. He bent over, gasping for air. Jonathan and I ran up to him and Jonathan spoke first.

“Rashid, have you ever run cross-country before?”

Gasp. Gasp. “No, I just … I thought it would be fun.”

Jonathan clapped him on the back. “Well, you got a stride like nobody’s business, son. I’m mighty pleased to have you. Mighty pleased.”

I said nothing but smiled and touched his thin back as well. He looked up and smiled uncertainly. “Welcome aboard,” I said. He nodded and bent back over, attempting once more to catch his breath. My hand rested on his back, which was damp with a boy’s sweat. His breath was ragged. My throat felt oddly tight. Neither of us spoke.

School Days