This did not faze me, as I knew who was in charge. I also knew that it was important to finesse the delivery of my disappointing news. My plan was to simply tell them the truth. Leave enough time for the impact to land. Then, when the bell rings, exit fast. Easy.

But after checking the clock, I saw that I’d left too much time. “Hey,” I said, as if hit with a terrific idea. “Let’s talk. What’s on your mind?”

Nothing, it seemed. No one spoke up.

“We’ve got a few minutes left. What do you want to talk about?” The only sound was Bea slumping down farther in her chair. “Come on, now’s your chance. Ask me anything. Max? Joni?”

A short, fleshy arm rose slowly, the plump hand and stubby fingers stretched high.

“Anybody?”

The lone arm in the air started to wave back and forth like a metronome picking up speed, making it even harder for me to ignore that front-row sitter, that extra-credit doer, that proverbial burr in my ass.

“Yes, Bea?”

“What’s the most important thing you ever learned?”

I have a weakness for the sincere question. And Bea Myerly seemed sincere.

“That’s a pretty broad question, Bea. Could you be more specific?”

She smiled. “Yes, in fact, I’m glad for the opportunity. What’s the most important thing you learned in high school?”

“That’s easy. There’s really only one useful thing I learned in high school. I use it all the time. And it may actually be the only thing I truly believe.”

I had their attention now.

“Wow, Mr. Welch. Will you please tell us?”

“Sorry, can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“Oh, no. If I told you, I’d lose my job.”

“That’s not fair!” Bea shrieked.

“And that was the second most important lesson—life is not fair.”

Bea and the others were not pleased.

“Okay, look, after you graduate, I’ll tell you.”

More groans.

Bea: “But we don’t graduate for another year!”

The others: “Tell us! You won’t lose your job! We won’t tell anyone!”

I checked the clock. Under a minute left. How to segue, oh boy. Then it came to me. Perfect, I thought. I’ll drop it in a subordinate clause.

I couldn’t have planned it better.

“How will I know you won’t tell anyone? Next year, while I’m away on a leave of absence, I won’t be able to keep tabs on—”

Before any of the others could register a reaction or ask who was taking my place, Bea let out a gasp. One loud gasp, like a cannonball in the gut.

I looked around at the others. They needed more time to process. That was when Bea let her head drop. It thudded on her textbook. Well, it was embarrassing—she let out a cry so loud, so long, that none of the other students could express their own feelings.

The bell rang, and while the other students gathered their things and hurried off to their next classes, Bea Myerly didn’t move and cried well into the next period, which, of course, was my free period.