Each Tiny Spark: List 4

“Pour the Mistolin into the bucket,” she says, pointing to the floor cleaner that smells like lavender and really tart limes.

Tears stream down my face. It’s slick, like the rain that makes it hard for tires to get traction on a road.

“Many parents have called to complain saying the project is too controversial. That it’s causing their kids to act out disrespectfully.”

“They are gathering, analyzing, and synthesizing information related to social studies topics and applying that information to contemporary problems.”

“They are gathering, analyzing, and synthesizing information related to social studies topics and applying that information to contemporary problems.”

“I appreciate you adhering to school district standards, Mike,” Principal Andrews tells Mr. Richt, “and the creative nature of the project. But students fighting in the hallways and yelling at each other is not how they should process information. Come up with something else. Something not controversial, okay? I don’t want to have to write you up again.”

Would anyone riding those trains know anything about what goes on here? Would they bother to look for Park View if they visited—get to know the people who help make this place so vibrant?

“But my hands are tied. I am required to oblige, but I am also required to teach you and I have elected to do so in this manner. Okay?”

She moves to the door and walks through it, leaving me in the office by myself. So much for trying to make amends.

Agustín comes out of one of the stalls, carrying two empty gallons of synthetic oil.

“Can you tell us how you feel about the pending school redistricting that will affect students in both Merryville and Park View schools?”

If everyone in this whole town looked out for one another, like as one big neighborhood, then we’d be stronger. It doesn’t all have to be one homogenous population. It can be varied. That’s what makes a community great.

Sometimes your community looks out for you. Like Mrs. Jenkins and her “check-ins” or Mrs. Liz showing me how to find information in the library. Sometimes people help in more subtle ways, like Mr. Richt and his social studies lessons.

You have to examine the pieces that are warped or corroded or missing.

You have to grind out the corrosion. You must take a dead blow hammer and smash the warped parts into place.

Dad pours so much Mistolin, it nearly sends us all out of the dining room from the potent lavender-lime.

They morph into different shapes over time, but somehow, they’ll all fit.

You’re thriving here. Why would I take that away?

When I’m done, I spritz on some body splash and bring my things back to my bathroom.

“The thing is, I severed myself from my family so I could fight. Sometimes I didn’t want to hear from back home. When you’re out there and you’re seeing action, getting fired on from all directions, you just assume that that moment could be your last. You feel a kind of numbness inside.”