Lead Me Home (7 page)

The teachers’ lounge was as lively as the hallway had been.

Shiloh entered just as someone shared something funny, and everyone was in stitches. They looked her way, and a petite Asian lady with thick, shiny black hair approached her with an extended hand.

“You must be Shiloh, Thelma Helmsley’s sub. I’m Eva, and I teach world history. I wasn’t here when our principal introduced you at the faculty and staff meeting last week; welcome. If you have any questions or need helping figuring out something about the school or with the students, I’ll be happy to help.”

Shiloh smiled and shook her hand. The tiny lady was only as tall as Shiloh’s shoulder, but she didn’t seem fazed by her petite stature or by Shiloh’s height.

“Thanks for the warm welcome, Eva. It’s great to meet you.”

“Come on in and find a seat. Greg here—Mr. Chartowsky to the students—was just regaling us with stories about his weekend outing on Lake Michigan. Apparently his tiny boat tipped over on a first date with his dream woman, and she swam to shore, soaking wet and mad.”

Shiloh looked from Eva to Greg, unsure of how to react.

Greg chimed in. “Yes, that really happened, and I’m still trying to get back in her good graces. But you don’t want to hear all of that on your first official day here. Welcome, Shiloh. How’s it going?”

Shiloh glanced at her watch. “Given that it’s just 10:30, so far so good. The students have been attentive and really into their music.
Surprising for a first day of school, especially just after the Labor Day holiday. Seems like all of them actually practiced over the summer.”

Eva nodded. “I’m sure they did. This is a school full of dedicated kids. They like to play and goof off like everybody else their age, but on the other hand, they take what they do seriously. You’ve landed in a good place. Any students stand out yet?”

Shiloh sat next to Greg and grabbed a banana from the bowl on the table in front of her. “I had two students in the class that just ended that I’d like to know more about. Do you know Monica and Phaedra, two sophomores?”

“Yes,” said Eva. “I had them in my history class last year. According to Thelma, both of them are gifted. Phaedra is the outgoing risk-taker, on that sax and otherwise. Monica is pretty quiet. She’s a good girl. Her mom died a little over two years ago, and she’s being raised by her dad, with help from her grandmother. Pretty mature for her age.”

Learning about her students’ backgrounds was helpful. Shiloh knew that inevitably, it would make teaching them easier.

An African American woman with a short, layered hairstyle that reminded Shiloh of her sister Dayna’s former ‘do, stepped into the lounge. Her bright red lipstick, large hoop earrings, and colorful flowing skirt were a magnet for attention. She waved hello to everyone, then paused when she saw Shiloh.

“Welcome again, Shiloh. We met last week during the staff meeting, but I’m sure your mind is full of various names and faces. I’m Kristina Banks, or Kris for short, and I teach orchestra. I left right after our meeting last Monday for a last-minute vacation, and wasn’t around when you and everyone else were organizing your classrooms. Just in case you weren’t told, the orchestra practice room is right next to the band room; holler if you need me.”

Shiloh grinned. How did this vivacious lady think anyone could forget her? “I remember you, Kris,” Shiloh said. “Especially since you and, temporarily I, comprise the music department. Things are going well so far, but thanks for your support. I’m sure I’ll have questions for you over the next eight weeks. How long have you been here?”

“Ten years, and I love it,” Kris said. “The kids are great, the faculty is great, and so are the parents. The pay could always be better, but what teacher doesn’t complain about that? How long have you been teaching?”

Shiloh hesitated. “I’m … I haven’t been in a classroom setting, but I have taught one-on-one lessons for years.”

Kris raised an eyebrow. “I see. Well … I hope this works out for you. Welcome again.” She sauntered over to the refrigerator and retrieved a Diet Coke. “My morning caffeine fix is necessary,” she said, and filled a mug she was carrying with ice from the teachers’ lounge freezer.

Shiloh fixed a smile on her face, but she wished she were invisible. That had not gone well. What was she going to say when they asked where she’d received her degree, or how long she’d had her teaching license?

She spent the rest of the break listening to her new colleagues trade stories about their Labor Day activities, praying that they’d stay on topic, rather than inquiring further about her background and training. When the bell finally rang, Shiloh hoped her relief wasn’t palpable. Everyone finished what they were doing and left quickly. Shiloh headed for her classroom, too. She didn’t have to teach another class, but she was required to be present during this period in case a student came in seeking additional help.

When she reached the band room, she sagged in relief.

That bothered her, though. Why was she so concerned about
fitting in and wanting them to like her? Why was she allowing concerns like this to mar her first day with her students? Shiloh made a mental note to call Dr. Carter this evening to make sure her teaching colleagues would be okay with her lack of credentials if they found out, especially since she was subbing at a magnet school. She didn’t want any surprises or drama. If her lack of a degree and teaching experience were going to be a problem, better to end this now before she, or her students, got attached.

Part of her wished she could snap her fingers and zap herself to the safety of her home. Usually on a weekday morning she’d be in her sunroom practicing the flute, or completing some of her household chores. That was familiar. That felt comfortable. Being in the classroom with the students had been exhilarating, but teacher politics might be the end of her.

Lack of sleep left Shiloh less perky this morning than she had been on Day One.

She had tossed and turned most of the night, fretting over her inadequacies. What if her informal teaching style meant she wasn’t giving students what they needed? What if the other teachers protested her presence? Not only would she be embarrassed, so would Randy.

She wanted to talk with him about her concerns, but feared he’d tell her she should have thought about all of that before taking the position. Yesterday, he and the boys had celebrated her first day of teaching by preparing dinner and surprising her with a cake. Their thoughtfulness made her feel special, but the butterflies remained, even after a brief chat with Dr. Carter, who assured her that she had received a full endorsement from officials at the state Board of Education.

“Dr. Singleton, Sherman Park’s principal, is well aware that you are two years away from completing your bachelor’s degree,” Dr. Carter told her. “She also knows you are a talented musician with one-on-one teaching experience, and that you have a way of connecting with students. You aren’t the first non-degreed person we’ve had in the classroom. We don’t do it often, but on occasion, there’s good reason for exceptions, and with the school year so close to starting, we needed your help.”

He reminded her that he’d already received a glowing letter of reference from the current dean of the music education department at
Birmingham-Southern, who had reviewed her undergraduate records and reported that she left the college in good standing, with high honors. A letter was also en route from the university in Paris, where Shiloh spent the summer after her sophomore year, studying with master flutists.

“How many people can say they’ve done something spectacular like that?” Dr. Carter asked. “Don’t worry about anything; you’re good to go.”

Shiloh clung to those words this morning, half an hour before the first period, as she wrote scales on the chalkboard that she wanted her students to practice as a warm-up. Mrs. Helmsley had provided a range of ideas, and this was one of them.

There was a light tap at the door, and Monica poked her head inside. “Good morning. You’re here early.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Griffin,” Monica said. “May I come in?”

“Sure. Grab a seat and give me a minute.”

Shiloh scribbled the rest of the musical notes on the board before sitting next to the girl, in the front row of the C-shaped setup.

“I just wanted to follow up on what I mentioned yesterday, about becoming a professional flutist, and ask how to go about doing that. I know I should go to a school with a good music program, and I’ve looked at a few online, but I have no clue which ones are really good, outside of the famous ones we all know about, like Juilliard and Berkeley. My private teacher keeps talking about those, and I’ll probably apply, but I wondered if you could give me some guidance on some other good programs, too.”

“Have you talked to your guidance counselor?” At Lem’s high school, part of the guidance counselor’s job was to help juniors and seniors plan for college; Shiloh was certain the counselors at a magnet school like Sherman Park would offer that kind of assistance, and more.

Monica nodded. “Yes, but he doesn’t take my flute idea seriously. He keeps telling me to stop treating a hobby as a career path, plus I’m just in tenth grade, so he says I’m rushing things. But when I search online, I see there are flutists playing in orchestras, collaborating with recording artists, and performing in other arenas. I really want to do something like that, and I’m afraid if I wait until my junior or senior year to get focused, I won’t be adequately prepared.”

Shiloh was impressed again by this soft-spoken girl, and by her tenacity. Monica was right. The professional musician world was competitive, and it required a lot of focus and sacrifice. She sat back and folded her arms.

“I see you have your flute,” she said to Monica. “Would you play something for me?”

“Sure.”

Monica opened the flute case and quickly assembled the instrument. After a few puffs to tune it, she closed her eyes and launched into a fast-paced version of an R&B jazzy classic, “Just the Two of Us.”

Shiloh’s eyes widened. This girl had to be kidding. She waited until Monica reached the end of the piece and was preparing to play something else, before stopping her.

“Where did you learn that?”

Monica gave her a shy smile. “I taught myself. Actually, Phaedra and I both did. We play this song together at different events people invite us to. It’s great to combine my flute with her saxophone on this number.”

Shiloh was floored, but Monica seemed to be just warming up. “The next piece I’ll play is something Mrs. Helmsley gave the class to learn.”

Monica launched into “November Song,” and her delivery was flawless. Shiloh shook her head. This girl had “it.” Beneath the big hair and tiny frame resided a gift.

“Wow, young lady. I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you think I could play professionally?”

Before Shiloh could enumerate to herself all the reasons to be cautious in encouraging the girl, she blurted a response—the kind she had longed to receive years ago, when she felt just like Monica—passionate about music and eager to make it her career.

“Absolutely. You have the talent. But making it a career is going to take a lot of drive and hard work. Hours of practice. More private lessons. That’s what you have to ask if you’re ready for. I’m not an expert since I’ve never played professionally, but I’ll do what I can to guide you in the right direction.”

Monica’s eyes lit up and a grin spread across her face. “Thank you, Mrs. Griffin. I’m so glad you came this year. I’m so happy right now.”

Shiloh held up a finger. “Remember what I just told you; it’s going to take a lot of effort to get where you say you want to go. It’s not all glamorous and fun. Keep that in mind, okay? Why don’t you continue to research careers for a professional flutist, and also review all of the pros and cons? You’re wise to start looking at colleges offering what you want to study so you can apply early. I’ve got a few good ones in mind to share with you, but I will explore a little more before giving you my recommendations.”

Shiloh couldn’t believe Sherman Park’s guidance counselor had not given the girl more help. But maybe it was because Monica was still a sophomore, with quite a few seniors in need of assistance first.

“Where did you attend college?” Monica asked.

Shiloh hesitated, not because she was ashamed of having studied at Birmingham-Southern; to the contrary. It was noted as one of the best liberal arts colleges in the nation. But mentioning the university triggered a lot of regret, and a flood of memories she still yearned to forget.

Right now, she wanted to stay in this moment with young Monica, and steer this girl down a path on which her musical talent
could shine. She told Monica about Birmingham-Southern, while simultaneously praying that the girl would consider Alabama too far from Milwaukee to put on her list of options. The college wasn’t the problem, nor were the people. It was a personal symbol of pain for Shiloh, and admittedly, she couldn’t separate her reality—or someone else’s—from that fact.

“If you start working on your applications and preparing audition pieces with your private teacher, you should be okay. You plan on taking the SAT or ACT, right?”

Monica nodded. “I’ll take the SAT this fall, just to see how I do, and again next fall, to see how the scores compare. That still gives me my senior year to take it a final time.”

Shiloh patted Monica’s hand. She barely knew the girl but was already falling in love with her.

“You’ll be fine. Do some research and narrow your list of potential colleges and let me know what you come up with. I’ll help you find an audition piece that will blow an audition panel away, if you nail it. Since you play by ear too, you may want to prepare a traditional piece, which I’ll help you find, as well as something contemporary—maybe a jazz or classical piece—that showcases the range of your talent.”

The bell rang and Monica disassembled her flute with record speed so she could be on time for her first-period class. “Is it okay to leave my flute here, since I’ll be back in a couple of hours?”

Shiloh nodded and pointed to her desk in the corner of the room. “Put it over there. See you soon.”

Monica seemed giddy as she dashed out of the room. Shiloh felt a part of her heart go with the motherless girl. Whatever Monica’s hopes and dreams, Shiloh was now invested in helping birth them.