what became of the new kid

"You know what I think?" She doesn't pause. "I think he's one of those kids who works full-time to help support his family."

It's an accusation, not a compliment.

"Actually, he quit." I'd count it progress if she could see this kid as an individual screw-up, not a hook to hang her assumptions. I clarify that it's his job he's walked away from, not school. Not yet, anyway. She looks at me as if I have answers, as if I'll take this off her hands.

No luck there, lady. I haven't a clue. Maybe he stays because it's easier than working. Maybe he stays to meet girls. He and I have had the same talk so many times it's no longer a conversation, just a ritual exchange of shrugs, arguments, and questions.

"I want to graduate," he always says. He says it as if he's casting a spell, making a wish for the diploma instead of the effort. I lay out the facts, again. Point out the rows of zeros. Try to reconcile his words to his actions. Begin to give up, to be honest. I expect more from 19.

At the end of the semester his frustrated history teacher returned, and handed me a Christmas dish towel. I suppose it was a gift, not a symbol. Anyway, it's his mess, not mine. I insist.