There was a lot of waiting, a lot of squinting of the eyes to ignore the bold stares and foolish grins of the white students, who were also in line; but eventually the business was over, they were all assigned to their classes, assigned to their seats, given their lists.

After what seemed like hours, Joey, Joseph Dupuy, and Archie Vaughan were seated in a large, green room. It smelled of dust and chalk, very much the way the room at Lincoln High had smelled. At the front was the teacher’s desk, and behind it, the large blackboard—now hopelessly gray. Battered erasers lay on their five felt spines, along with new chalk. There was a bowl of flowers on a table by the window, which was open.

The teacher rose and smiled at the group. Joey tried not to think of the others, of the white children, or even of his situation; he looked ahead, trying to force everything but the first day at school from his head. He sat at attention.

“I am Miss Angoff,” the teacher said, in a rather high-pitched voice. “You will learn English in this room, which will also serve as your base of operations, so to speak. Will those of you who have been with me previously please raise your hands?”

There was a showing of hands.

“Those who are new? Your hands, please?”

Joey raised his; Archie and Joseph followed suit. There were seven others.

“Now may I have your names? Beginning with the first row, left.”

The new students spoke their names: Edward Haycraft, Julius Matthews, Neil Jay Hummert, Lucy Egan, George Lee Robinson, Ina Peters, Archibald Vaughan, Daniel Humboldt, Joseph Dupuy (“Doo-pwee,” he said, carefully; and there was a ripple of laughter), Joseph Green.

“I am very glad to meet you,” Miss Angoff said. “I hope you’ll be glad to have met me.” She took great care not to gaze at any student in particular. “I think we have a mutual obligation, class—and those of you who have heard this little speech will, I hope, bear with me. I mean to say, you all expect certain things of me. You expect me to be a good teacher, to know my subject, to express myself in such a way that you will all learn. On the other hand, I expect you to be good students. You’re young, as I once was, and attention tends to wander, I know; therefore, I don’t require you to concentrate solely on your lessons. That would be asking too much.”

Another ripple of laughter—nervous, dutiful.