her, even for background?"
"I know what I'm doing." Ellen braked, checking the car on the way downhill. "Let me handle my end. You handle yours."
"Have it your way, but make that deadline."
"I will."
"Good-bye." Sarah hung up, and Ellen hit the gas. She had to make the deadline, or she was out of a job. She pressed the button for information, then took the ramp to the expressway.
Heading east under a threatening sky.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Ellen got ahold of Lateefs teacher, Vanessa James, while her class was down the hall at the library. Tall and rail-thin, the teacher munched on a green apple as she moved quickly around the classroom, picking up stray books and crayons, straightening undersized chairs, and restoring a knit hat to its cubbyhole.
Vanessa asked, "It's all right with Laticia if we talk, right?"
"Yes, I called her on the way over. Sorry it's such short notice."
"No problem." Vanessa wore a long red sweater with black slacks and low heels. She had large eyes, a smile slick with lip gloss, and her hair straightened into a stiff bob, which showed off tiny diamond earrings winking in her earlobes. "We have fifteen minutes until they get back. What do you want to know?"
"Just a few things." Ellen slid her notebook from her purse and flipped over the cover, pen at the ready. "What kind of kid was Lateef?"
"Right to it, huh?" Vanessa paused in mid-bite, the apple at her mouth, her gaze suddenly pained. "Teef was like a light. You could say he was a class clown, but that wouldn't do him justice. He was the one who made everybody laugh. But he was a leader."
"Is there any example you can recall?"
"It hurts my heart to think about it." Vanessa tossed the apple into a scuffed brown wastebasket, where it made a loud clunk. "Okay,
here's one. On picture day, he combed his hair flat as he could, which wasn't much, and he said he was Donald Trump. The photographer told him to cut it out, and he said, "You're fired."" Her pretty face relaxed into a smile, which vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "All the kids looked up to him. We just finished our unit on African-American history. It's part of the new core curriculum in social studies the SRC set up."
"SRC?"
"School Reform Commission. For Dr. King's birthday, Lateef was voted to be Dr. King. He memorized a few lines of I Have a Dream," and he did a great job. He liked to be in front of the class." Vanessa paused at the memory. "He was quick as a whip. We do basic addition and subtraction, but he could have moved on to the third-grade curriculum, fractions and geometry. He was good on sentence structure, too; we have to get them ready for the PSSA'S."
"What's that?"
"State tests. On our report cards, I have to pick from a lot of categories, like "eager to try new things."" Vanessa chuckled softly. "Lateef was my category buster. He was his own little category."
Ellen made rapid notes. "So how did the class deal with his murder?"
Vanessa shook her head, with a sigh. For a second, she seemed to focus on the large bulletin board on the wall, which was covered with red construction-paper hearts, each with a fold down the center. At the top of the board, gold glitter read, Get Ready For Valentine's Day In2But!
Ellen waited for the teacher to respond. Experience had taught her that silence could be the hardest question to answer.
"These kids, they're used to death. We lost two kids already this school year, and it's only February." Vanessa kept her face to the bulletin board. "But Lateef, everybody knew him. Everybody felt him. The District sent us grief counselors. That child was too full of life not to be missed."
"Do the kids talk about it?"
"Some of them, and some of them cry. They'll never be the same. They're not innocent, like children are supposed to be." Vanessa turned to her, her lips forming a tight line. "What I see is a real deep sadness, and it goes all the way inside. These kids, they're heartsick. And those are the lucky ones."
Ellen didn't
"I know what I'm doing." Ellen braked, checking the car on the way downhill. "Let me handle my end. You handle yours."
"Have it your way, but make that deadline."
"I will."
"Good-bye." Sarah hung up, and Ellen hit the gas. She had to make the deadline, or she was out of a job. She pressed the button for information, then took the ramp to the expressway.
Heading east under a threatening sky.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Ellen got ahold of Lateefs teacher, Vanessa James, while her class was down the hall at the library. Tall and rail-thin, the teacher munched on a green apple as she moved quickly around the classroom, picking up stray books and crayons, straightening undersized chairs, and restoring a knit hat to its cubbyhole.
Vanessa asked, "It's all right with Laticia if we talk, right?"
"Yes, I called her on the way over. Sorry it's such short notice."
"No problem." Vanessa wore a long red sweater with black slacks and low heels. She had large eyes, a smile slick with lip gloss, and her hair straightened into a stiff bob, which showed off tiny diamond earrings winking in her earlobes. "We have fifteen minutes until they get back. What do you want to know?"
"Just a few things." Ellen slid her notebook from her purse and flipped over the cover, pen at the ready. "What kind of kid was Lateef?"
"Right to it, huh?" Vanessa paused in mid-bite, the apple at her mouth, her gaze suddenly pained. "Teef was like a light. You could say he was a class clown, but that wouldn't do him justice. He was the one who made everybody laugh. But he was a leader."
"Is there any example you can recall?"
"It hurts my heart to think about it." Vanessa tossed the apple into a scuffed brown wastebasket, where it made a loud clunk. "Okay,
here's one. On picture day, he combed his hair flat as he could, which wasn't much, and he said he was Donald Trump. The photographer told him to cut it out, and he said, "You're fired."" Her pretty face relaxed into a smile, which vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "All the kids looked up to him. We just finished our unit on African-American history. It's part of the new core curriculum in social studies the SRC set up."
"SRC?"
"School Reform Commission. For Dr. King's birthday, Lateef was voted to be Dr. King. He memorized a few lines of I Have a Dream," and he did a great job. He liked to be in front of the class." Vanessa paused at the memory. "He was quick as a whip. We do basic addition and subtraction, but he could have moved on to the third-grade curriculum, fractions and geometry. He was good on sentence structure, too; we have to get them ready for the PSSA'S."
"What's that?"
"State tests. On our report cards, I have to pick from a lot of categories, like "eager to try new things."" Vanessa chuckled softly. "Lateef was my category buster. He was his own little category."
Ellen made rapid notes. "So how did the class deal with his murder?"
Vanessa shook her head, with a sigh. For a second, she seemed to focus on the large bulletin board on the wall, which was covered with red construction-paper hearts, each with a fold down the center. At the top of the board, gold glitter read, Get Ready For Valentine's Day In2But!
Ellen waited for the teacher to respond. Experience had taught her that silence could be the hardest question to answer.
"These kids, they're used to death. We lost two kids already this school year, and it's only February." Vanessa kept her face to the bulletin board. "But Lateef, everybody knew him. Everybody felt him. The District sent us grief counselors. That child was too full of life not to be missed."
"Do the kids talk about it?"
"Some of them, and some of them cry. They'll never be the same. They're not innocent, like children are supposed to be." Vanessa turned to her, her lips forming a tight line. "What I see is a real deep sadness, and it goes all the way inside. These kids, they're heartsick. And those are the lucky ones."
Ellen didn't
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