One girl, two stories.

"They told me again today not to let anyone in the halls." This is the new attendance secretary, apologizing again for doing her job, for asking that young family to wait on the couches.

"Oh, no. I think that's a good idea, actually. I'm not trying to subvert. I'm just saying someone eventually will come and be surprised at the new rules. Just call and let me know. But I'm not expecting anyone. Sooner or later, probably. Who knows."

I cut through the commons, unlock my door. I sit down at my desk, and the phone rings.

"Are you serious?" I get up and re-lock my classroom.

At the door to the attendance office is a teenager bearing flowers and a box of dollar-store tissues. She knows I always forget to buy them. She greets me with a hug, updates me on the scant three months since graduation. Tells of new jobs, a break-up, another worrisome operation for her father. The move she did not make. The sad evidence that her sweet brother is dealing south of the border. We exchange phone numbers and say, again, goodbye.

Or.

At the door to the attendance office is a teenager at loose ends. She is not in college. She is not headed out of town. Today, she is not working, and she has cut the boyfriend free. So, here she stands, sincerely strategic, on the outside looking in.

"Let's go down to your room," she says, and starts to walk away.

"New rules," I say, holding my flowers-- her ticket in, as previously conceived. Her face falls a little when she realizes she won't be holding court, won't be seeing her friends, won't be back where she knows how to be. But, she stays and makes do with an audience of one for the few minutes I have. Promises to visit. We'll see.

I listen to her stilettos click across the lobby and to the front doors as I lean in to the attendance secretary. I have seconds to get to class, and I am holding a grocery store bouquet and a dollar box of tissues.

"This is the story of my life, " I say. I am smiling.