Alice Austen Lived Here: Chapters 10–16

A smattering of cheers speckled the room.

The room filled with the screeches and thunks of thirty-two middle school students rearranging themselves, along with hopeless cries from Watras that this process did not require extensive use of the mouth muscles.

He wouldn’t let students volunteer to go first like any other teacher would. He wanted everyone to be ready on day one and somehow he thought that the best way to accomplish this was to put everyone’s name in a glass fishbowl and, in his words, let fate set the agenda.

That was another terrible thing about Watras: If you handed in homework or a project with bent or ragged edges, he would take points off, even if he hadn’t collected it on the first day.

Sure enough, when Watras pulled our names out of the bowl first, TJ slipped a plastic folder out of the back of their binder and presented a pristine set of pages.

When Gertrude was 75, she got severe bronchitis and couldn't take care of Alice anymore.

Alice moved to an assisted living facility and died in 1952.

Their presentation on Aaron Burr annoyed Sarah, but Sonia pointed out that Burr had died on Staten Island, so he had local relevance, and that while Lin-Manuel Miranda had made him out to be the enemy, he was actually an important historical figure.

“Alice Austen, right?” Watras said it like he was performing a feat of memory, but TJ was holding the report in their hand, with their drawing of The Darned Club facing him.

“It’s simply that the sculpture you designed doesn’t represent Staten Island at the time in the way I was hoping for. You did a great job with your art, TJ, but I just couldn’t see it in front of Borough Hall. Perhaps if you had used imagery from one of Austen’s street scenes. Newsboys with papers for sale, immigrants in shawls. Something like that might have been more evocative of the era.”

“No, wait. Social studies.”
“US History.”
“Same difference.” I’m pretty sure that was one of the most annoying things a person could say. If you are acknowledging that there’s a difference between two things, they’re no longer the same.

A 93 is a great grade, as Mom reminded me whenever she saw me sulking, which was a lot.

“Thanks,” I said self-consciously.

“I’m not supposed to do anything except what I believe is right.” She flashed a devious grin.

A quick wave of anger splashed over me, then subsided back into sadness.

If I had thought there would be half a chance she would do it, I would have asked my mom to ask Jess to text me, but I had a feeling that would result in some sort of meaningful and annoying conversation about initiative or whatever, and then I’d still have to talk to Jess myself.

We will reach out to you soon with logistics for meeting with the judges.

I just thought I was going to ruffle a few feathers, but here we are.

When we walked into Watras’s class the next day, the whiteboard was more obnoxious than ever.

Jess’s berry crisp with ice cream made me understand why cartoon characters floated toward pies when their wafting scent formed a beckoning finger.

Jess’s berry crisp with ice cream made me understand why cartoon characters floated toward pies when their wafting scent formed a beckoning finger.

TJ’s granddad from New Jersey had driven in too and was waiting there in his pin-striped suit, feathered fedora, and silver-tipped cane.

Still, I kept checking behind me, half expecting to find them there with diamond-sharp piercing glares, but all that I could see was a growing crowd.

I’ve spoken with you individually, but once again, congratulations to you all. The judges have already reviewed your statue images and your written reports and found them to be exemplary, which is why you were invited here today.

They spoke quietly about Robert Gould Shaw, a white Union officer from the Civil War who led an all-Black regiment of soldiers and advocated for their equal treatment by the Army.

However, Borough Hall is only providing one plinth, and so the judges here had to make a tough decision.

Ms. Austen was chosen for her local importance and lifelong island residency, and the statue design representing her with three other women in such an affectionate pose makes it both about Alice and about something much bigger than Alice.

“This is the moment you worked for! Take your kudos!”

Judy stepped away from the podium.

Handshake after handshake, and far too many palms on shoulders, as the accolades piled up. Eventually, the crowd began to shrink as people peeled off after their donation of appreciation, and we began to see individuals in the smattering of people who remained.