Joey shifts in her seat, releasing my hand. I immediately feel the loss. She runs her hands along the front of her skirt, darts a glance at me, and then looks the chancellor in the eye. “Dr. Moreau, I have been experiencing some health challenges. As far as I know, they will rarely, if ever, interfere with my ability to do my work, both in the classroom and, in the event that the council chooses me, on the committee. But occasionally, like yesterday, I am unable to perform to the standard I expect. For this reason, I think Mr. Kaplan would be your logical choice.”
“Joey,” I whisper. She shakes her head without looking at me.
Moreau holds Joey’s gaze. “You are suggesting, I think, that I ought to simply appoint Mr. Kaplan to the position.”
Joey nods. “That is likely your simplest solution.”
Moreau nods and says, “And in most cases, the simplest solution is the best one.”
My heart is tearing in half. I can feel it pulling in two directions: giddiness that Moreau is suggesting I might have won her vote, and sorrow at the thought of doing the job without Joey’s help.
Do I say something modest and unassuming? Should I now point out how much of our success is due to Joey’s thoughtfulness, her careful planning, and her relationships with the students?
I should. But there is an even better reason for me to speak up. Stronger evidence that Moreau should consider as she makes her decision.
I clear my throat. “If all goes according to my current plan, I will have a summertime commitment that will keep me off campus from graduation until the week before classes resume.”
Now Moreau stares at me, grave. “The council meets several times in the summer. Important policies are put into place in those meetings,” she says, all the disappointment apparent in her voice. She looks to Joey again. “Are you also leaving us for the summer?”
Joey shakes her head. “I have no concrete summer plans. I will spend some time with my family, but I ought to be flexible.”
I look at Joey. She looks at me. We both look at Dr. Moreau.
“I will consider this new information and discuss it with the committee.”
Really? Why did I say anything? Even in my attempts to be noble, am I still competing with Joey? And am I losing? She didn’t have to say anything about her illness. It’s not like Dr. Moreau can legally pass her over for the chair position because she’s sick.
But because she did say it, I felt like I had to mention the possibility that I’d be in the city doing the play of my dreams.
And now, thanks to my big mouth, if I do the show, if I even get cast in the show, I will likely be forfeiting my chance to be the arts chair.
It mattered so much to me these past few months. It still matters. The position adds that weight of legitimacy to the job I love, but somehow still feel a bit of shame about. No, I think. Not “somehow.” Definitely. Because Candace Holland handed me that shame. But looking at Joey Harker, sitting here with her across the desk from the Chamberlain chancellor, I know it’s time to let that go. Candace Holland made her choices, and I made mine. Teaching high school kids is a great job. A great career. A real delight. Teaching with Joey? Practically perfect.
“Dr. Moreau,” I say, “I think you know that I would love to serve as the arts chair on the council. But regardless of the committee’s decision, I am honored to be here and to work with these kids.”
Joey looks at me, her eyes shining, a gorgeous smile spreading over her face. Am I imagining it? Or does she look like she’s proud of me?
She leans forward in her chair. “I feel exactly the same way,” she says, and she reaches for my hand again. Right in front of Dr. Moreau. Joey Harker really is the bravest person in the world. I squeeze her fingers gently.
Moreau nods again. I feel it as a dismissal. She says, “I will be in touch,” and reaches across the huge desk and shakes first Joey’s hand and then mine. “And I expect remarkable things from our winter show.”