He gazed at me, curiosity and something else—was it disappointment?—playing across his face. “Surely, Jana, you know by now that students are not in the habit of confiding in teachers. Not in my experience, anyway. And certainly not someone like Bryson.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Simply that …” He paused, evidently exasperated. “The boy’s fourteen and struggling in my class. Why would he come to me?”

“He sees a lot of you, and … Well, here. Read this. He gave this to me in response to an assignment I’d given them about loss.” I handed him the paper, just stepping in from the doorway and not sitting down. I didn’t know what else to say.

He took the paper and read it quietly. He seemed to keep his head lowered longer than was absolutely necessary to read the entire thing. When he looked up, his face had undergone the most extraordinary change. Any exasperation or confusion had vanished. Instead, he looked as though someone had punched him in the stomach and he didn’t want to give any sign of it. “Well. This is quite a piece. What a tragedy.” He paused. “Why did you come to me?”

“I thought maybe he’d told you. I assume by your reaction that he hasn’t. Fox must know, but I guess he decided not to tell people. I guess. This isn’t answering your question.”

I stood there, still wishing for a cigarette.

“Jana, come in and sit down. You seem very distressed.”

I sat, my hands pressed between my knees like a schoolgirl. “I am. I mean, aren’t you? I’m worried about how this will affect the rest of his year. He’s trying hard in my class, but his work is already slipping a little. How’s he doing with you?”

“Fair. I really thought …” He trailed off. “Well, that doesn’t matter. Why did you think he’d told me?”

“Frankly, there aren’t any other black adults here he might confide in. I thought he might have formed some sort of bond with you. You’re together a lot, after all.” He scowled slightly, a slight line appearing between his brows. “I mean, I don’t think he’d tell you just because you’re black, but I thought he might feel more comfortable….” Now I was trailing off, feeling as though I’d said something horrible when it had seemed so logical to speak to him just a little while ago.

“Ah,” he said. And that was all.

“Is there something you want to say?” I said finally into the charged silence.

“No … no … well, just that that assumption doesn’t seem worthy of you, Jana.”