New Haven is about an hour away from the school. At first, Fox and I spoke easily as he drove. We discussed various issues that had come up in the first few weeks of the school year. We agreed that this fall’s crop of students were a little more raucous and less academically well prepared than their predecessors had been. We shared the kind of chat that teachers always have about students—this one isn’t working as well as he might, this one is not as bright as he seemed at the interview, whereas this one is considerably brighter, isn’t it amazing how this one is becoming such a leader? But after a while, there came a lengthy pause in the conversation. Jana’s plea for young Mr. Bryson came into my mind, and I admit to a few moments of discomfort. We had driven a few more miles before I spoke.

“Has Miss Hansen approached you about the Bryson boy?” I finally said, straining for an air of ease.

“I’m glad you brought that up, Jerry,” Fox replied. “I probably should have told all of his teachers beforehand. His parents were very reluctant to share the information, as was he. We decided to respect their wishes. Probably a mistake.” He sighed. “In any event, Rashid hasn’t really gone off the rails, but Jana is concerned. Do you know the whole story?”

“Miss Hansen just showed me an essay of his that indicated his brother had been killed.”

“Yes. Well, if you saw that, you know the story. His brother was an exceptional young man, by all accounts. Had gotten a full scholarship to Mt. Herndon in upstate New York and showed signs of becoming a really remarkable writer. I think it was an attempted robbery that he was caught in. He wasn’t involved, of course. We checked that out. The boy died on the street, I believe. Damned shame.”

“Yes, awful.” I paused, the words we checked that out echoing in my mind, then spoke again. “Well, what do you think is advisable?”

“To tell the truth, I think if we come on too strong, we’ll scare Rashid right off. It’s an enormous tragedy, and for him to have chosen to reveal it to Jana is quite a breakthrough. My impulse is to keep the door open, extend a hand as it were, but then let him come to us. Perhaps you might be able to build some trust with him as well.” His eyes did not leave the road as he said this, but he spoke carefully, almost as if he was afraid of my reaction.

“I had thought perhaps I might try. He’s rather difficult to reach in my class, though. Keeps to himself. Hasn’t volunteered much.”