I set my chin on my fist, riveted.
“When someone is told from a young age that theycan’tdo something, it gets difficult to change that mentality when they’re older. What we’re seeing is students making progress and doing well, but not believing that they are. It’s causing a high turnover rate.”
Her eyes dart to me. I give her a small, encouraging smile.
She returns it with a faint smile of her own. Her voice carries steadily through the room.
“I think students who are wavering in confidence should have some kind of affirmative project.”
“What kind of project?” I ask.
“It could be a small five minute performance for their families or their schools. A concert at a hospital. Somewhere theyseethe impact their music is making.”
“That’s a waste of time and resources,” Miss Cottingham interjects. “We can’t go around worrying about every student who lacks confidence. That’s not our job. Our job is to teach them music.”
“We can put all the information in their heads and strap more and more MTBs to their bodies to help them, but it won’t change anything if they don’t believe they can do it.”
Mumbles of agreement echo through the room.
But Dejonae is not done.
She plants a hand on her hip. “If our job was only to teach music, then why did most of you leave your previous positions to come and work here? Wasn’t it to inspire? Wasn’t it to encourage the belief that music belongs to the deaf community too?”
Pride swells in me, causing my chest to inflate.
Dejonae has never backed down from a challenge, whether it is a simple game or a challenge of her authority. Even if her responsibilities are on a smaller scale compared to mine, there is much I am learning from her conflict management skills.
The meeting reaches a smooth conclusion with a few instructions from me and clarifications from the other members.
I text Dejonae to stay behind.
Everyone files toward the door while she remains seated, pretending to fiddle around with her bag.
I push my chair back and walk to the door. After the last person leaves, I secure it shut and turn to her with a heavy look.
“If you had something to say, you could have said it in your office.”
“My office has too many windows and I do not trust the blinds.” I gesture to the bright overhead lights, the quiet air conditioning unit and the exposed brick walls of the conference room. “Look. No windows.”
“I knew you would do this eventually.” She tosses her head.
I advance on her. “Do what?”
“Abuse your power.”
I drop my arms over her chair, caging her in. “What do you have against me seeing your parents?”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’tknow.Maybe the fact that you’re older and you have a daughter and it’s kind of a lot to take in.”
“You have not mentioned me at all?”
“This is our dirty little secret, remember?” She fiddles with one of my shirt buttons.
I narrow my eyes.
I am tired of keeping us a secret. If I had my way, I would announce it dryly and succinctly, as I do everything that is important to me.
“Dejonae,” I say softly, straightening up and leaning against the table, “do you doubt me when I say that I am devoted to you?”