Page 94 of Yes No Maybe

“Shit!” My expletive makes the students laugh. Julio retrieves paper towels from the freshly stocked classroom pantry while Ashley grabs the trashcan.

“You okay, Ms. Mackey?” Julio asks while we clean up the mess.

“Fine, thanks. Just reliving my teenage clumsiness, I guess.”

But turning to their expectant faces, regret crashes over me. I feel like a hypocrite for my anger over Dean’s lies when I do the same thing and a fraud for making them believe it was my fault. What happened to mewasn’tmy fault. Just like it wasn’t Mom’s fault. Or anyone else’s excepthis. Lying and shouldering the blame isn’t fair to anyone, especially not me.

I hug my materials to my chest and lean against my desk again. “Actually, that’s not the real story.”

The room goes silent. I forego my usualall-is-wellsmile and take a long breath. “It’s been a strange summer. I’ve been reminded that teenagers can handle anything,” I say, thinking of Sara, my fifteen-year-old self, and the faces before me, “and that our stories are meant to be shared…whenwe’re ready to share them. I’m not there yet. But I can’t go another minute perpetuating a lie I never should’ve started. My injuries weren’t sustained in a kitchen accident but during an assault by an angry, disturbed person, and nothing about it wasmyfault.”

Their stunned, gaping faces cue me to move on quickly—this isn’t how I want our year to begin. Even so, my back straightens, and my shoulders align like something heavy that I didn’t realize I carried has been lifted. A genuine smile emerges, moving out behind my fake ones like the sun from behind clouds. “It feels good to say that out loud. I hope you’ll forgive me, and we can put Mac-n-Cheese Mackey behind us, huh?”

“I never liked that nickname anyway,” Julio says. “And there’s nothing to forgive.”

“Oh, my God, Ms. Mackey. You truth-bombed us,” Ashley says, green eyes wide. “I, for one, love your honesty.”

“It’s like you’re coming out of the closet,” Eddie says with a wink. “There’s no shame in that.”

“Thanks for making it easy on me.” I take my notes and picture book to the winged chair. “Now that we’ve established that things will be different this year, let’s talk about our Inspiration Project. I’m ditching my lesson plans, and we’re reading for pleasure.”

After explaining the plan and how they’ll be graded, I tap the armrest of the wingback chair. “Every day, in this chair, someone will share something that speaks to them. Weekly writing assignments will allow you to elaborate on your reading experience and our classroom discussions. I encourage you to make bold, personal choices that challenge and exciteyou.”

“Does it have to be published?” Julio asks.

The question surprises me. “Um, no. If you want to read the work of an‘inglorious Milton,’then so be it.” No one gets my joke. “But you may need to provide me with a copy.”

“Can it be a comic book?” Benny smirks deviously.

“Sure, if you can talk and write about it. Whatever you choose to read, you must share the journey it takes you on. I’m readingThe Other Usby Jack Graham. So, this week, your assignment is to choose your first read and explain why you picked it. Leading up to your decisions, we’ll talk about books that have meant something to us in the past.”

I hold up the blue and white picture book in my lap. “This is one of my favorite books from childhood. I was an army brat to a single mother. We moved a lot. This story gave me comfort and a dream for the future when I’d have my own little house.”

One I won’t have much longer, I think sadly, clearing my throat.

I read the story aloud, showing the pictures on each page. I thought this might be a dumb idea—seventeen and eighteen-year-olds aren’t toddlers, and reading them a picture book might be insultingly simple.

But they’re transfixed. They even applaud at the end.

“It’s because they moved the house, right?” Julio asks. “That’s why you loved it?”

“Yes, I wanted a house that moved with us, to have something that was always the same.”

“I like the part where the house felt out of place and neglected in the city,” Eddie says thoughtfully. “I think people feel like that—alone in a crowded place.”

“It’s also about finding the place you truly belong.” Mia Danvers pushes her glasses up on her nose. “The house didn’t belong in the city. It wasn’t right for her.”

“Or perhaps itwasright for her, but her environment changed beyond her control,” I say. “Themes matter, even in picture books, and it can be unique to the person reading it, too. A sense of belonging for Mia, alone in a crowd for Eddie, and the value of a comfortable, reliable home for me.”

“Wow… that’s actually… deep,” Ashley says with her valley girl twang. “Can we bring in our favorite picture books to share this week while we’re deciding?”

Twenty hopeful and engaged faces lock on mine, forcing me to smile. “Absolutely.”

At the day’s end, Sara meets me for a ride home. I share what I told my students earlier in the day—she’s already heard—and she’s just as understanding. It’s weird—I expected the day to be full of questions about my revised story. But that didn’t happen. Telling one group sufficed for telling everyone, and the rest respected my privacy.

“They’re more interested in what’s going on with Mr. Maddix,” Sara reveals. “Avoiding the question makes everyone talk.”

Our phones chime in unison. ADaisy Chaintext alert begins with a series of shocked, heartbroken, and mind-blown emojis preceding a close-up picture of aFor Salesign perched on a lawn (presumably mine) with a second sign behind it.

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