Page 83 of Deeply Examined

He continues, “I’m here to talk to you about your future.”

The kids exchange glances, some skeptical, some intrigued.

“Our future?” Beck’s head swivels between West and me, trying to read the situation. His forehead puckers with concern, and I’m reminded that his parents went through a nasty divorce last year. I smooth the tension off my face, not wanting to trigger his anxiety.

“That’s right. After I talk to you today, I want each of you to deeply examine your life.” West makes deliberate eye contact with each kid, one by one. “Figure out where you are now and where you want to end up. You’re all unfinished books. Your pages are blank. Write whatever story you want. For me, my goal was to go away to college, then to medical school. You may wish for something totally different, and that’s okay. Just be realistic about the amount of work involved and, if it’s worth it, put in that effort.”

A low groan from the back of the room, probably Nick. He hates it when he thinks someone is talking down to him. My theory is confirmed when his voice, squeaky from puberty, comes from behind me. “If this is one of those ‘you can be anything you can dream of’ speeches, you’re talking to the wrong people, mister. Most of us won’t ever leave this neighborhood.”

West sizes up Nick, taking in how he holds Cheri’s hand like she’s the only thing keeping him steady. “You must be Nick, right? And that’s your girlfriend, Cheri?”

I suck in a breath, impressed he remembered.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” Nick’s eyes narrow with suspicion as he grips Cheri’s hand tighter.

“Your teacher told me.”

Great, now the entire class stares at me, trying to figure out my connection with West. I don’t talk too much about my personal life, but I’d mentioned my boyfriend a couple of times. The girls catch on first. I can see it as they put two and two together. My private life just became front-page news.

Ari pipes up with, “What would someone likeyouknow about getting out of here?” He makes a point of staring at West’s expensive watch.

West is unfazed by the antagonism in Ari’s question. Leisurely, he crosses one ankle over the other. “I know because Iwasyou. I came from this school, graduated a few years ahead of Ms. Jones.”

His eyes roam the room, lingering on the security bars that cover the windows. A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Didn’t think I’d ever leave this neighborhood. Hell, I didn’t think I’d survive it.”

Now he’s got their attention…and mine too.

“You lived here, big deal.” Nick curls his upper lip. “Doubt you had to deal with the shit we’ve had to go through.”

“Nick!” I reprimand him sharply. “Language!”

He drops his tough-guy act. “Sorry, Ms. Jones.”

“No. It’s okay. I get it,” West tells Nick, then lifts his gaze to include the rest of the room. “I’d be suspicious too, if I were you. But I’m telling the truth. Not only did I go here, I came from a pretty crappy situation.” West pauses and swallows hard, then drags in a deep breath like he’s gathering his strength. I’ve never seen him apprehensive before, but he is now. Whatever he’s about to say, it’s going to cost him.

“You see, I was raised by a single mom. She was…troubled. Some days, she was the best mom in the world. She’d smother me with kisses, buy me toys, and make pancakes for dinner just because I asked.” His lips press together. “But then there were the other days.”

A slow blink, like he’s bracing himself.

“She could be abusive. When I made her mad, she had a special punishment. She’d lock me in the hall closet. If I cried, she’d say, ‘Why are you making such a fuss? It was only for a minute.’”

His voice shifts on the last part, mimicking her tone—high, dismissive, almost amused. My stomach churns uneasily. Nausea rises up the back of my throat.

“I was terrified of that closet.” He stares at the floor for a second before looking up again. “It smelled like mold and mothballs, and when she shut the door the darkness swallowed me whole. I’d lose track of time in there. So I started counting. Just to have something to hold on to.”

Horror pierces through me at those words.Oh, God. That’s why he does it. That’s why he always counts when he’s stressed or scared.

West lets out a tight breath, shaking his head. “As I got older, I’d count just to see if she was right. If it really was a minute. Sometimes, I’d get to ten and she’d let me out. Other times, I’d hit a hundred. A thousand. Ten thousand. I’d count until I lost my voice, and still, the door wouldn’t open…”

Kieke, my most empathetic student, clutches her chest. “She left you in there?”

West nods once. “It was the worst kind of punishment. Not because of the dark, or the cold, or the way the walls felt like they were pressing in. It was because when she finally let me out, she’d act like nothing had happened. Like I was crazy for being afraid.” His voice tightens, and he swallows hard. “That kind of thing…it messes with your head.”

I take a subconscious step toward him, then stop myself. It’s quiet in the classroom. I hear every inhalation and exhalation of my students. Even Nick, perpetually unimpressed, appears shaken.

West blows his breath out slowly. There’s tension in his shoulders, the weight of the story pressing down on him. “They took me away when I was twelve.” His eyes flick to me. “A teacher saw the bruises and called child protective services. It took two grown men to drag me away.” His voice tightens, becomes raspy with old pain. “I knew what would happen. She killed herself that same night.”

A choked noise comes from one of the girls. My hands clench and unclench.

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