Meet Jane Austen and her three friends — Megan Thyme, Daisy Rhyme, and Alexandria Lions — dedicated educators. Jane, passionate about teaching and journalism, faces a crisis when Adrian Darcy threatens to dismantle the school's thriving journalism program. Determined to save it, Jane enlists her friends' support, but each are grappling with personal challenges of their own.
Megan, a math teacher, struggles to balance her marriage with her devotion to her friends. Daisy, an elementary school teacher, waits anxiously for a proposal from her boyfriend while coping with unexpected tragedy. Meanwhile, Alexandria, a middle school social studies teacher, fights tirelessly against injustice, risking her own dreams to protect others.
As pressures mount and friendships are tested, these four women must navigate love, loss, and the complexities of their careers. With resilience and unwavering friendship, they discover that sometimes the greatest lessons are learned outside the classroom.
"The Teacher Chronicles" is a heartwarming tale of friendship, courage, and a communities' power in the face of adversity."
“I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me.”
- Pride and Prejudice
Jane stared at the coffee dripping slowly into her insulated, travel mug sitting underneath the spout. Her thoughts followed in slow concession, struggling to form coherent thoughts this early in the morning. Jane wouldn’t say she was addicted to caffeine, but mornings like today proved her wrong. Whether she liked it or not her mind needed the fragrant, dark, brew to help her mind snap into action.
It was only Monday, and she foresaw a busy week ahead, both at work and home. The pile of ungraded papers were judging her from the darkness of her bag. She left them there when she came home Friday night. She’d thrown them in her bag with high hopes of giving them the attention they deserved, but those were dashed by the time she arrived home, overcome with ideas for her novel that kept her busy all weekend. A novel she liked to believe would one day grace the shelves of bookstores across the nation. Jane wasn’t sure how it would land there since she kept it safely on a jump drive tucked away in her desk drawer, wary to let others even have a peek at words.
She’d been working on the manuscript over the past two year, but had finally set herself a deadline to finish it by the end of this year. However, despite the bursts of creative energy, it was still far from where she felt comfortable enough to let it see the light of day. Her novel often caused sleepless nights. Resulting in mornings like today, waking up zombie-like, face plastered to her keyboard, long before her alarm was set to go off to start the day. It always took a minute to realize where she was and why, and instead of flopping on the couch for a few extra hours of comfortable sleep, she’d headed to the coffee maker. Why sleep when she could add to her word count before going to work?
BEEP.
Jane jumped a little, startled out of her daze. She inhaled the strong scent of espresso and sighed, already feeling the healing affects only coffee can provide. After adding a healthy amount of flavored syrup and stevia she took a deep drink, the coffee hot enough to singe her tongue sending the heat all the way down to her toes. She climbed the stairs up to the small, finished attic, where she’d created a makeshift study, somewhere she could go and focus on her writing. Her desk, an old secretary once belonging to her grandmother, sat in the corner, highlighted by the bluish light of twilight seeping in through the window off to its right. Books overflowed the built-in shelves on either side of the small room, ranging in genres and age, and an overstuffed armchair she’d found at a yard sale sat in the corner opposite her desk. Jane loved this room the most in what she called The Cottage; she liked the old tradition of naming residents.
She remembered when she began looking to get out of her tiny apartment, thinking she wouldn’t be able to find anything affordable that would suit even her very few needs. She’d just given up hope of finding anything affordable when the real-estate agent called. She had a new listing she thought would be perfect for Jane: it was small but it was older house, giving it the character Jane desired, and it was located in the heart of town. Jane remembered driving up to the yellow, 1940s cottage style house and falling in love with the wisteria snaking up one side, and the tulips blooming along the sidewalk.
The outside charmed her, but it had been the attic that sold her. The real-estate agent hadn’t been able to tell her much about the previous owner, but Jane had a feeling they’d been a writer by the old black typewriter they’d left on the desk under the window. Jane saw the typewriter, the sun glinting on its dusty, black surface, and could picture herself writing or relaxing with a good book after a long day of teaching or on the weekends when she needed to escape the rest of the world. She made an offer that day and two weeks later her real-estate agent handed her the keys.
Jane gave the old black typewriter a loving pat before sitting down at her desk, thankful for the way God had given this house to her right when she was losing hope. It would also serve as her reminder that she was right where she was supposed to be, doing what she loved, even if she never let her writings go further than this attic.
She sat down at her laptop, took a sip of her coffee, turned on her writing playlist, allowing herself to settle into the comfortable atmosphere. She’d created this writing routine years ago to help her shut out the real world and lose herself in one of her own design, created slowly, word by word. Jane took a deep breath, and readied her fingers to fly across the keyboard. She stared at the document on her screen, trying to recall what she’d been planning to write where she left off.
SILENCE.
It rattled around her brain, almost more distracting than a dozen high schoolers asking her a million questions at once. Jane had never realized how loud silence could be until she’d started seriously working on writing her novel. She quickly made a productive writing playlist after a terrible writing session of dealing with the clanging silence ringing throughout her brain. Since then, she always had her playlist up and queued, ready for when inspiration might strike. However, this time, the music couldn’t even drown out the silence currently throwing a rave inside her head. What made it worse, it wasn’t a regular silence, it was a silence produced by every writer’s arch nemesis, Writer’s Block. Like a cancer, it ate away at creativity, killed the imagination and kept the stories in her head from finding life on the page. She forced herself to sit there for another five minutes, trying to obliterate the Writer’s Block with all her might, but it was too strong for her tired mind this morning.
“Fine.” she groaned. “I’ll grade papers.”
She pushed away from her desk and trudged back downstairs where she’d unceremoniously dumped her large bag full of ungraded papers. Jane lugged the bag behind her, the straps on the turquoise fabric straining against the weight of papers, and plopped on the couch, deciding to at least find comfort while forcing her way through piles of essays focused on comparing an author of the student’s choice, from the Georgian Era, with an author of the 21st century. Jane loved teaching 9th grade English, but it became harder every year to get students interested in the curriculum. She understood her high school students wouldn’t all share her deep love for English Literature or Austen’s novels, but it didn’t stop her from trying to make readers out of each one of them by the time they left her class. The lack of originality in their topics for this essay did not thrill her, but she appreciated their effort. She pictured the next few hours filled with reading papers comparing Jane Austen and Stephenie Myer.
RING. RING.
Jane jolted awake with a scream. Papers were scattered around the floor and coffee table, having fallen out of her bag and off her lap. The red pen she’d been holding had also fallen to floor but not before leaving its mark on her favorite blanket.
“Oh no, no, no,” she muttered, frustrated with herself for not being able to stay awake. She knew it had been a bad idea to sit on the couch, it’s soft and inviting cushions were to strong for her to resist.
Jane’s hand groped clumsily, searching for the source of terror filling her ear. Her hands found her phone, clicked the button on the side, her eyes blinking open just long enough to see the time. It took a minute for her mind to register what her eyes had seen.
7:00 A.M.
Her stomach dropped; her heart raced; she had less than fifteen minutes to make it to school on time. Typically, fifteen minutes would be more than enough time to make it the few blocks it took her to drive to school. But she hadn’t thought to get dressed for work before sitting down on the evil, ever so comfy couch. She hated arriving late. Jane preferred going early to prepare her classroom, giving her time to make sure she had all the papers necessary for the day. Dealing with the fact she’d be late; she forced her laptop down into her school bag and rushed to her room to throw on a decent outfit that didn’t give away her lack of preparation, and makeup to hide the dark circles growing under her eyes. She dashed through the kitchen, snagged a bagel, threw a scarf over her shoulders and grabbed her keys before darting out the front door. The January air sent a chill through her, and she pulled the scarf tighter around her neck.
“This isn’t happening,” she moaned. Her car had fallen victim to the overnight cold snap, and it took her five extra minutes of her limited time to clear enough of the frost for her to safely drive.
All she could picture was her principal’s disapproving look as she saw Jane arriving late. Jane’s principal was a woman who either loved or hated you. Though if you saw her walking in the hallways doing her rounds, you’d think she hated everyone. Jane was grateful she’d stayed on her good side, but she knew very well Mrs. Matthews didn’t tolerate tardiness. Jane arrived with no time to spare, easing into the parking lot to make her arrival less conspicuous and not like every one of her nerves was on edge.
She power-walked inside, one hand full with her bags and the other gripping her coffee mug, careful to hold the steaming cup steady, knowing she wouldn’t survive the day without her caffeine fix. Jane avoided looking at the main office, making it to her room a minute before the bell rang for homeroom. She unceremoniously dropped her bags with a deep sigh, and took a bracing breath, trying to control her racing heart, trying not to worry about the lack of air reaching her lungs. Jane sent up a prayer that her breathing didn’t sound like a Darth Vader, and opened the door as her students made their way to her end of the hallway.
Many didn’t understand why she jumped at the chance of moving to a room in the old part of the school, but she loved it. Her room was curved from where it sat in, what the students called, the ‘turret’ of the building. Its large windows overlooked an open field on the south side. When the sun streamed in through them it gave her enough natural light, she rarely had to use the harsh fluorescent lighting.
During the first month and last month of school when the afternoons were warm, she could open the windows and let the fresh air wake up her students who were struggling to focus. And during band season the sounds of trumpets and drums would drift up to her room during her planning and create the perfect amount of background music. She’d set up her room by pods, with four desks to a pod. Posters adorned of various book quotes and works of art adorned the classroom walls, lit by the patio string lights hanging above them. Plants sat neatly on any open shelf she could find, all brought to her by various students, some who weren’t even in her class but had heard about the crazy English teacher who loved succulents and books. Jane had learned if her students felt safe and comfortable they were more apt to provide active participation.
She greeted the students as they filtered into the hallway and her classroom. Her ears tuned to the morning radio of student conversations. She found their teenage conversation amusing- though sometimes disturbing. She often shook her head listening to them talk about their drama. Many of the lockers in the hallway were situated near her classroom, making her little corner a hub for many students. She knew most of them by name, and always made sure to ask about things they’d mentioned days or weeks ago to show them someone was listening, someone cared. Jane witnessed students breeze through the halls of Barboursville High School, unnoticed by their peers because they weren’t part of any extracurricular groups, made average grades, or didn’t act out. She knew first-hand because she’d been one of them. When she began working at her alma mater, she made herself a promise to know as many of the students as possible, that way if nothing else she could say hello to them in the hallway.
The bell rang, and Jane was just about to close the door when she caught sight of an agitated looking teacher stalking angrily towards her.
“Uh oh,” Jane mumbled to herself as she poked her head back into the room, “Ellie, please take attendance and the lunch count.”
Stepping back out into the hallway, Jane pulled the door closed behind her, and waved to the teacher now just a few feet away. If she saw this look on any other teacher’s face coming toward her first thing in the morning, she’d rack her brain for something she’d done wrong.
“I’m glad to see you’re not dead,” the teacher greeted bluntly.
Mrs. Thyme, Megan, taught 9th grade math and was one of Jane’s best friends. The two went from college straight into these jobs, thrilled when the two positions opened at the same time. Every morning Megan waited for Jane, they’d catch up, vent, or just stare off into space too tired and overwhelmed to hold a decent conversation. If, for some reason, one of them knew they’d be late or absent, they were supposed to notify the other, which Jane had forgotten to do this morning. In her defense, she didn’t have the time to even think when she woke up late, drooling on her laptop. However, she could tell Megan wasn’t in the mood for any excuses.
“And a good morning to you too, Mrs. Thyme.”
“Yeah, no, it hasn’t been a good morning because we all thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere. I had Alex looking to see if there had been any arrests or reported kidnappings.” Her tone was lovingly sarcastic but laced with real concern.
Jane rolled her eyes. Of course, Megan called their other friends, both of whom were also teachers in the county. Jane couldn’t complain over her friends caring, but sometimes they leaned toward the dramatic side with their reactions.
“Why didn’t you just call or text me?” Jane asked.
“We did! We called, texted, and I think Alex even sent a carrier pigeon. You never answered! When Daisy drove by The Cottage, she said the lights were all off.”
Daisy, the elementary teacher of the group, lived down the road from Jane and was always on hand when she needed her.
“Well, I obviously didn’t get them, or I would have let you know I was fine. I simply fell asleep on the couch this morning while attempting to grade papers.”
Her stomach clenched as she realized she’d left the very papers in question at home, still scattered haphazardly on the floor.
“You need to be getting more rest. You’re not doing your body any favors by depriving it of the thing every teacher needs most. Plus, you need to have your phone on a higher volume so you can hear our frantic calls and texts next time.” Megan’s face pinched in concern, and Jane felt bad causing her friend to worry.
“I promise, next time I’m about to, unknowingly, fall asleep on the couch in the morning, I’ll make sure to text you all first,” Jane said placating.
“That’s all we ask,” Megan retorted with a smirk. “Oh, and nice hair,” she said pointing to Jane’s messy bun.
Jane touched her hair and remembered she’d stuck a pencil and a pen in it for safe keeping. Megan rolled her eyes and walked off laughing.
Jane let out a half sigh, half laugh, and slipped back into her homeroom, thankful for friends who cared., and praying the rest of the day would be uphill from here.
If only she had known an avalanche was headed straight for her.
It started in her second class of the day, as she was taking her 9th graders through the classic Pride and Prejudice. Jane had read Austen’s most well-known work so many times she’d lost count. She loved the Regency Era and Mrs. Bennet and her undying goal to marry off her five daughters, preferably to wealthy suitors.
It wasn’t lost on her the irony of being an English Literature teacher named Jane Austen, teaching her name sake’s work. She grew up loving anything to do with literature. It was practically a requirement in her house having two book loving, English Professors as parents. David and Frances Austen saw the perfect opportunity when blessed with a baby girl to bring their love of the classics to a head by naming their daughter Jane, after the Jane Austen. Though there was a time in her life she had bucked at the idea of having anything to do with writing or literature, her rebellion didn’t last long. She decided she didn’t want her parents’ obsession with the literary world to keep her from pursuing something she truly enjoyed. Her mother always said it was good she stepped away from it for a little while. Her time away helped Jane ultimately make her own decision on the matter, entering into her family’s legacy of teachers on her own terms.
As she helped the students connect the idea of class with the Bennet family and Mrs. Bennet’s ideals for her daughters, she turned back from writing on the white board, and noticed a strange man had slipped into the class unheard. His crisp, three-piece suit and county badge told her he must be from the Board office, but something about his presence felt ominous.
Like most teachers, she didn’t particularly mind being observed, and she didn’t know why this felt different, but something in her gut told her something wasn’t quite right. He hadn’t knocked, he didn’t address her, he just stood with his back straight up against the wall, clipboard in hand. She tried to continue with her lesson without thinking about him, but his presence unnerved her and that bothered her even more. Jane prided herself on being cool and collected during observations, even when they made her feel like she was under a microscope. Her students following her gaze as it trailed back to the three-piece suited man, but she shook herself out of her anxious thoughts and quickly pointed their attention back to the Bennet family and the class system of Regency England.
The bell finally rang, ending the class, rescuing her. Jane turned to put papers on her desk, gathering herself quickly before going to introduce herself to the mystery man; but when she turned around, he was nowhere to be found. She’d assumed he’d have come to do the same, but he slipped from the room, like a phantom, fading into the crowd of students in the hallway, away from view.
Usually Jenny, the secretary in the office, dropped hints on when she’d have an observer from outside the school, but Jane didn’t remember receiving any warnings from her this time. Maybe she did, and Jane just forgot. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Maybe Megan was right, and she did need more sleep. Jane’s curiosity bounced back and forth during and between classes, causing her to make a few silly mistakes like calling Elizabeth Bennet by the wrong name, and forgetting Darcy’s sister’s name altogether. When the lunch bell rang, she waited for the hallway to clear before going to Megan’s room. They ate lunch together every day, though many times there was less eating and more talking, venting about crazy things the students said or did. She was interested to hear Megan’s take on her visitor this morning and what she thought she should do about it.
“Part of me wants to ask Mrs. Matthews about it. I want to know who I’m being observed by and why. Is it just a checkup or is something wrong?” Jane thought out loud to her friend as they sat by the sun kissed window to eat.
The school was so cold and the only warmth they could find sometimes was sun coming through the windows paired with the blankets they kept at their desks.
“You have every right to ask about it,” Megan replied. “I’ve never known someone from the Board to come in without introducing themselves afterward, especially since he obviously isn’t someone you’re familiar with.”
“It was just rude if nothing else. I was going to introduce myself to him, but he left before I could. I think I might just go to the office and act like I’m there for something else and wait around for a little bit to see if he shows up.”
Megan gave her approval of the plan and offered to come with her to make it more natural. They went after lunch on their planning, but they never saw the three-piece suit man. Jane was starting to think she imagined him. She’d just begun to put him out of her mind until he became very real when he showed up in her journalism class. Once again, he came seemed to just appear, quietly and almost unnoticed if one of her students hadn’t blatantly, and loudly, pointed him out to her.
“Who’s he?” Connor asked.
Jane fumbled with what to say. She hated looking like she wasn’t in the know in front of her students. He should be the one to feel awkward not me, she thought heatedly. He’s barged into two of my classes without even introducing himself the first time. She smiled as she fought the anger rising in her gut.
“He’s just here to observe,” she answered, but didn’t stop there, though she knew she should have. “He hasn’t introduced himself though, so I don’t know what his name is or where he’s from.”
She tried saying it respectfully sweet but couldn’t help adding a dash of sarcasm. However, by the looks on her students’ faces her tone held more sarcasm than sweetness. The man’s face never changed, nor did he give her his name even after she called him out on his lack of etiquette. She tried to cover the awkward silence by keeping the class working on their articles and working on the layout for this week’s edition. She could feel the man’s eyes staring at her and not in the way that would make most women blush, but in the way that made her feel like she was being judged for something.
Jane didn’t know when he left, but he disappeared before the bell rang and the students exited the room. She sighed, feeling the weight of judgement ease a little off her shoulders, but it was quickly replaced by apprehension. The school day might be over, but something unresolved hung in the air; she could feel a verdict was about to be passed.
Jane walked back to her classroom knowing Megan would already be there, waiting to walk out together, but the sound of the intercom scratched out across the school and stopped her in her tracks.
“MISS AUSTEN, PLEASE STOP BY THE MAIN OFFICE,” the secretary’s voice rang out over the outdated intercom system.
Jane’s stomach churned as everything felt like it was going in reverse. Something had happened. Was her job in jeopardy? She realized she was jumping to conclusions, but what else could result from being observed by a mysterious stranger and getting called to the office all in the same day. She’d never even been called to the principal’s office in high school.
This must be what the students feel, Jane thought to herself.
She tried to act normal as she entered the main office, but her hands shook, and she suddenly found it hard to swallow. The usually warm, inviting secretary was busy on the phone, and waved Jane toward the principal’s office door that stood ajar to the side of the main room. Jane tried taking steady steps into the office, but her legs almost went out from under her when she saw the principal wasn’t alone. There in one of the chairs sat the man in the three-piece suit.
“Ms. Austen, thank you for stopping by before leaving,” Mrs. Matthews said.
Jane couldn’t get a read on her to know what was about to transpire, so she braced herself for the worst.
“Please sit down. Of course, you’ve met Mr. Darcy, part of the Board’s new financial team.”
She worked hard to keep her face devoid of the surprise she felt. Of course, his name is Mr. Darcy, she thought, the irony was almost laughable.
“Yes, hello again, Mr. Darcy,” Jane said, acting like really had been introduced to him.
Mr. Darcy nodded, unsmiling. He apparently didn’t consider their name connection worthy to note, therefore neither did she.
“There’s no need to worry,” Mrs. Matthews continued, “his presence here has nothing to do with your teaching. You are doing a fabulous job with the students.”
Jane had to hold back a cheer. Her shoulders released, her pulse slowed, and she felt a rush of relief. She sank back into the chair a little, feeling exhausted after the emotional roller coaster she’d unwillingly ridden. However, the tension hadn’t seemed to evaporate completely. If the grumpy Mr. Darcy wasn’t there to find cause to fire her, what was his purpose?
“The Board believes there are some areas that need some,” Mrs. Matthews paused, “financial pruning. They’ve looked at the various art programs and extra-curriculars we offer here, and they’ve made a list of three programs they believe are no longer of educational benefit.”
Jane felt herself thrown back onto the roller coaster, her stomach plummeted. She desperately hoped this wasn’t going in the direction it seemed.
“After this semester Barboursville High School will no longer offer a Journalism course. Instead, we’ll find ways to merge some of the lessons into English and perhaps Social Studies….”
Jane could hear Mrs. Matthews’ voice, but she couldn’t comprehend the words coming out of her mouth. Nothing really mattered after she spoke those chilling words, no longer offering journalism. Journalism was her passion. She doubled majored in Journalism and Education in college, and she was ecstatic the school let her teach Journalism along with her English Language Arts classes. The kids who joined it did so because they enjoyed it. It wasn’t like other electives students joined because they had to choose something. Her students in journalism had a true passion for the Fourth Estate.
The program had developed significantly since she took over six years ago. When she started teaching the program she’d been disappointed in how it had fallen from her time in high school. The students only put out a paper once a month, and even those weren’t consistent, but she could tell they, like her wanted to make it better. She made it goal to revive the program beyond what she even experienced at their age. Her second year in charge of the program she tried publishing the paper once every other week and the students had surprised her with their excitement and the way they took on the new responsibility. Last semester the students came to her to discuss the possibility of starting a podcast. They created the stories, put together a makeshift studio, and raised money for mics. They posted the podcast to the school’s website and social media channels, and after the second episode they received glowing reviews from the students, staff, and members of the community.
The students covered local events and were even invited to be part of the press at one of the Governor’s speeches. A couple of her students had gone on to graduate and pursue journalism in college, and it thrilled her to see how much they’d grown and the positive impact they were making in the press. The thought of this beloved and productive program being snatched away, cut her to the core, and she wondered if Mr. Darcy could feel the heated anger radiating from her under the guise of professionalism she kept up for her principal. This man was not only rude, but crazy, heartless, and rude!
She could feel herself beginning to spiral, so she took a deep breath and tried to focus on what Mrs. Matthews was saying. Thankfully, before Jane had to figure out a reply, the secretary buzzed in to say a parent was there to meet with Mrs. Matthews. Mr. Darcy practically bolted out of his seat, gave a curt goodbye, and left without another word to Jane. She wanted to run after him and demand he offer her an explanation, then yell at him for claiming her program had little educational benefits. But she didn’t do either, she felt glued to her seat, in utter shock. Jane shook herself out of the daze caused by the bombshell announcement, thanked Mrs. Matthews and walked out of the main office. She made her way slowly back to her classroom, barely registering how she even got there.
Megan was waiting for her, and it took everything in Jane not to fall into a sobbing pile right then and there. She gave Megan a short shake of her head, as tears welled up in her eyes. Megan nodded, squared her shoulders and helped her quickly gather her things and close up her room. They walked silently down the hallway and out the door to their cars. Megan gave Jane a hug. “Coffee shop?” she asked quietly.
Jane nodded.
“Walk or drive?”
“Walk,” Jane replied hollowly.
Her movements felt mechanical, she didn’t want to drive, and she hoped the brisk winter air would wake her up from this nightmare. She also didn’t want a moment alone. The moment she was truly alone, she knew she’d break. Jane knew Megan already texted Daisy and Alex for an emergency friend meeting. They usually met on Fridays after school during the Spring semester because they stayed busy with testing and end of the year activities. However, the three of them were almost always ready at a moment’s notice for emergency meetings for times such as this. When one of them had just a terrible day because of a student or administrator or something unrelated from their job, and they needed the comfort and advice of each other. Today was a perfect example of a necessary emergency meeting. Thankfully, their usual meeting spot was less than a block away from their school.
Barboursville High School was situated in the heart of town, in the old building which once housed the local college, where her great-grandmother graduated in 1924. The college eventually moved an hour away to the capitol city. Instead of leaving the campus empty, the city eventually made it the junior high, updating the buildings to code. Now, it was one of the biggest high schools in the county. Most of Jane’s family had walked these halls, including Jane herself and it always felt like destiny to her to worked in a building with such a deep connection.
The coffee house and bookstore, Wuthering Brews, opened in the old barber shop in town, across the street from the high school, when the girls were in college. Jane drove by one day on her way to the small grocery store and almost wrecked when she saw the sign,
WUTHERING BREWS BOOK STORE AND CAFÉ
COMING SOON!
Pop up in the abandoned shop window. She was overjoyed their little town was finally getting a bookshop. She knew she had to step inside a bookstore/coffee house named after one of her favorite books, Wuthering Heights. Every day after, she drove by, slowing down to see what progress had been made since the last time she drove past.
One day, while student teaching at Barboursville High, she decided to walk by the store during her lunch to get a closer look. As she approached the building, she saw an older woman fixing flowers outside the large picture windows. Jane approached quietly and cleared her throat a little so as not to scare the woman.
“Oh, hello, dear!”
It was Jane’s first interaction with Margaret Lions, the owner of Wuthering Brews. Jane’s first impression made her think of Mary Poppins, with her English-accent, kind face, and hair tied up in a bun. Her paint splattered, overalls told Jane she was also the creative type.
Jane introduced herself and explained how excited she was to see a bookstore coming to town.
“And the name is perfect!” Jane said, realizing she was gushing like a fan girl.
Margret had smiled and laughed, brushing off her hands to shake Jane’s. “Why don’t you come inside for a minute- I need a taste tester for a few of the bakery items I’m planning.”
Jane’s first time stepping into Wuthering Brews felt magical, she still remembered the way it felt years later, almost as if she knew the minute she stepped through the door, the place would serve a significant role in her life from that moment on.
Inside, a wonderful haven of books graced the built-in shelves, the floor and piles of boxes were still left to be unboxed and explored. The air in the bookstore smelled like citrus and cinnamon and another fragrance Jane couldn’t place but immediately felt drawn to.
“What made you want to open a bookstore?” Jane asked, trying to remember to keep her composure when everything in her wanted to jump on the ladder she’d just seen and fly across the bookshelves like her favorite cartoon princess. Margaret told her the story of how she’d met her husband during college and stayed in the states to marry him. They moved to the sleepy little town and had almost fifty years together before he passed away.
“I knew I’d go crazy if I didn’t find something to do with myself,” she’d told Jane, tears pooling in her eyes at the memories.
“So, on one of my walks one day I saw the barber shop had closed and a thought came to me. A little village needs a little bookshop, and what better way to get people to come inside than coffee and pastries.
I pulled together the money Henry and I put back for a rainy day, bought the old building and had just as much fun renovating it as dreaming about it.”
Jane loved the way her eyes lit up talking about how she turned a tragic loss into fulfilling a lifelong dream.
That day Jane left, with a bag full of pastries for her and her friends, whom Margret insisted she bring back when the store opened.
“I’ll be sure to save you all seats,” Margaret had said with a wink.
And she kept her word.
The others instantly took a liking to the place, and Margaret treated the girls like family. She made sure to keep a space open specifically for the four of them. For days they needed to study during their college days, and for their weekly meet ups after graduating and entering their own classrooms. She saved them the perfect little spot in the back.
When Margaret bought the small building, she expanded it by taking out a wall in the back, extending it further back, giving visitors a space to sit and relax with coffee and a good book. Tucked off in the corner was a small couch flanked by two vintage Queen Anne’s chairs, and somehow, the girls found the area always free when they arrived. Jane came early one day and saw Margaret moving a little “reserved” sign off the coffee table in the middle of the couch and chairs. The moment touched Jane. They’d cried over boys, stressed about final exams, and laughed about the funny and ridiculous things their students did.
Jane felt a sense of peace as she approached the old building, arm-in-arm with Megan, the warm light seeping through the glass door and large windows, painted with Margaret’s usual artistic styling to match the season. A snowman gave the girls a lopsided smile, despite the fact Margaret drew him in the middle of him melting, signaling the end of winter and oncoming spring. Jane felt a little like the snowman, melting under the hot air blown in by Mr. Darcy.
This was Jane’s happy place. She’d even let herself come alone some days to find inspiration for her writing. When Margaret learned Jane liked to write she encouraged her to publish her writing. Jane didn’t care to see to her name as a byline in the school paper, rarely did anyone pay attention to the bylines anyway. But she just wasn’t ready to share the stories filling her notebooks with others. At least that’s what she told Margaret. The truth was too much for Jane to try and unpack herself, let alone explain to others, no matter how much they cared about her.
Jane didn’t know at what point she started believing her own lie. The truth was she didn’t believe her fiction writing was good enough. She was proud of her work as a journalist. And she didn’t think about herself as a perfectionist except when it came to her writing. The inspiration she’d had over the weekend ran and hid after her meeting with the principal, and it hurt her soul to lose the ideas she’d had and the excitement she’d felt for them. It seemed like she couldn’t be a good writer and a good teacher at the same time, and this thought haunted her most of all. Her gloomy thoughts vanished, and she smiled at the faint tinkling of the bell ringing above their heads as she and Megan entered Wuthering Brews.
“Hey Jane! Hey Meg!” Melissa, the barista greeted them.
Melissa, a college student, started working at Wuthering Brews her sophomore year, while working toward her marketing degree. She often asked Jane for advice on classes she’d once taken herself in the journalism school. Jane gave Melissa a forced smile, trying to find the teacher face she put on so many times throughout the day; the face that hid the emotions strangling her, demanding she let them out. If she let them out, she didn’t know what would happen.
Jane and Megan found their friends sitting on blue couch, the pink Queen Anne chairs open and waiting for them. Jane sighed in relief when she saw a plate of scones and steaming cup of coffee waiting for her on the old coffee table in the middle of their little circle.
Daisy, the elementary teacher of the group put down her tea cup, the aroma of chai wafting from its floral depths, and stood up to give Jane a hug.
Jane hugged her friend back, thankful for her friend’s encouraging spirit.
Daisy gave her one last squeeze and stepped back, fixing her collar. She was sporting her usual vintage style with a cable knit sweater straight out of the 70s, her blonde curls swept up in a matching winter hat.
Alex sat next to Daisy on the old couch, taking a bite of a protein bar. Unsurprisingly, Jane could tell Alex’s next stop after coffee was the gym by the way she was dressed. Alex was the most athletic out of their group. Her turquoise running shoes matched the turquoise necklace she always wore. Jane never saw her without the piece of her Native American heritage her biological mother left with her when she dropped her on the steps of the fire station over twenty-years ago.
Jane’s friends gave her apprehensive looks, allowing her to take a sip of coffee and bite of her scone.
Jane sighed knowing she had to say something.
“They’re cutting the journalism program.”
Gasps went around like a wave, crashing to the shore.
“That’s awful!” Daisy exclaimed.
“How can they do that?” Alex asked, her brows knit in frustration.
“Is that why the suit was there today in your classroom?” Megan asked, putting the pieces together.
“What? A suit? What are you talking about?” Alex and Daisy asked in unison.
Megan took over and quickly explained the stranger who slipped in and out of Jane’s classes, allowing Jane to fill in the details.
“He’s a new Board hire for the financial team, and they’ve decided the journalism class is taking up too much of the budget. He came today to observe, I guess to say they observed and found it unnecessary.”
“But today was the one and only day he’s observed the class and didn’t even talk to you about it! How can he know the importance of it? Did he not do his research before suggesting such an awful plan?” Megan asked.
“I don’t know,” Jane replied sadly, “it just doesn’t feel real right now.”
“I know, sweetie,” Daisy said, patting her knee affectionately.
“It’s not right,” Alex commented darkly.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Megan stated angrily. “I’ve seen how those kids have improved since you started teaching the class. Journalism is an outlet for them!”
“It’s a chance for them to become better stewards of the news,” Alex grumbled. “The Board is basically taking away their free speech! Plus, if you don’t teach them how the Fourth Estate works, then how are they going to be a generation that makes the future better!” Alex slapped the arm of the couch, sending crumbs of her protein bar floating down to the floor.
Jane appreciated her friends’ reactions, and she felt Alex’s words down to her very soul. Alex, the history teacher, would of course bring up the issue of free speech. She’d published a few very vocal pieces in the local paper about the way fake news was ruining their society.
She agreed with Alex’s argument. She’d thought of it too, briefly, while walking to the coffee house. But she knew the board wouldn’t listen to her. They’d say the students could still express their free speech in other classes. Jane didn’t know how to convince them. She didn’t know if she had it in her to fight them.
However, Megan and the others seemed geared up and ready to head into battle.
“You have to fight this Jane,” Megan said resolutely, as if reading her thoughts. “You of all people know how to convince people with your passion and communication skills. You can’t just let them take this away from the students.”
Jane knew she was right, but when teachers tried to stand up for themselves against a school or the board, it often ended up with them moved to a different school, or even jobless.
“She’s right, Jane,” Daisy piped up.
They all turned in astonishment toward Daisy. She rarely agreed with anything that required confrontation. Daisy shrugged her shoulders, looking sheepish.
“I know it’s weird for me to encourage a fight,” Daisy said as she rolled her eyes, “but this cutting of extracurricular classes has to stop. It’s not fair to teachers who are passionate about the subject, but ultimately, it’s worse for the students.
We wonder why they’ve become so disengaged; I think it’s because they feel like the ones in charge have disengaged from them.”
As Daisy spoke, Jane realized where the source of her sudden gumption was coming from: her father. He’d been the band director at the local high school. After thirty years of teaching students how to use their musical talents, the county decided to cut the program. The community was outraged, but the board was firm in their decision. Daisy’s father was so devastated, he didn’t have it in him to fight for it. Daisy told them the light in his eyes had gone out, and she saw him crying in the car from her bedroom window the last day of school. She said it was the first time she’d ever seen her father cry, and it shook her to the core.
In Jane’s case, she’d still have her English classes to teach, but teaching Journalism always felt like a reward to her, especially after a day where her other classes failed to show interest or enthusiasm for the lessons she’d worked hard to create. It was a time she cherished, and she knew it was a great responsibility to teach the students how to use their right of free speech and press in a positive and effective manner.
“Okay,” she heard herself saying. “I’m not going to let go of the class without a fight. And not just for me, but for the students.”
“Yes!” Megan and Alex cheered, clinking their coffee mugs together.
Jane reached out a hand to Daisy who nodded and smiled, tears pooling in her eyes. Earlier in Mrs. Matthew’s office Jane couldn’t imagine feeling hope again. It just showed her, she had drastically underestimated the power of a strong group of friends.
****
Jane woke up slowly the next morning. Groggily, rolling over on her side, reaching for her phone to see the time.
“Ugh,” she mumbled, seeing the lateness of the hour.
She was usually a morning person, but after coming home from a fortifying meeting with her friends at the coffee shop, the tears she’d been holding in unleashed in a torrent of emotions. Jane cried herself to sleep, not even taking time to wash her face and change clothes. The emotional turmoil left her feeling exhausted.
However, in the midst of her breakdown something occurred to her; cutting an extracurricular wasn’t something that just happened. Her journalism program must have been put into question a while ago, and now with this new financial dictator on the Board of Education they finally had the person to be the bad guy. Why hadn’t her principal or the Board warned her? She could have convinced them to keep it. She knew the people on the Board; many of them attended her church. But she didn’t know this man, Mr. Darcy. Megan had started researching him last night while they huddled in their corner of Wuthering Brews. Apparently, Mr. Darcy grew up in a nearby county, attended a fancy charter school, played soccer, and graduated as valedictorian.
“At least we know where the entitled attitude comes from,” Alex had muttered, after hearing his short history as told by social media. Jane agreed with Alex; he was exactly what he gave in a first impression, what with his three-piece suit and haughty attitude.
Last night, as she drove home from the coffee shop Jane felt emboldened by her friends’ encouragement to fight back and save the program. But in the early light of day, she felt overwhelmed, and exhausted, barely able to consider a workout let alone a battle against the board. She knew the others wouldn’t let her back down now that she’d declared war, especially Megan. Sure enough, she pulled into the school parking lot with ten minutes to spare, to find Megan leaning against her car with a pastry bag and coffee cup. Jane could always count on Megan to be prepared with some form of encouragement when work or life was especially hard.
“Morning,” Jane greeted her wearily.
Megan handed her the pastry and coffee as a reply, looking at her warily.
“I’m fine,” Jane answered her friend’s silent question. “I’m just tired and not really looking forward to going in there today.”
“I know,” Megan replied taking a long sip of her own coffee, “but you can’t let that three-piece suit wearing jerk win. Which means you have to go in head held high and ready to fight. While not acting like you’re necessarily looking for one, that could send the wrong message.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“You can do it. Besides, you know if the kids think you’re giving up on the program they won’t care or put any effort in for the rest of year.”
“I know,” Jane sighed, “I thought of that on the way here. I don’t want them to know about any of this unless it becomes absolutely necessary. I’m hoping it doesn’t reach any parents ears or the kids will hear it at home.”
Megan grimaced. “Well…”
“Well, what?”
“Remember, Hudson’s dad is a member of the Board.”
“Oh no,” Jane moaned. Hudson was one of her journalism students. He had been a tough one at first, not wanting to engage or participate, but something clicked over summer break. Since then he’d returned to the class with a renewed vigor for writing, finding stories, and conducting interviews with a professionalism that rivaled some college students Jane’d encountered. With his father being a member of the Board, Hudson would hear the news at home. As much as Board members tried to keep things under wraps like cuts and big changes to the schools, in a small town, things got leaked, and if they leaked to certain people the entire county would know about it in less than 24 hours.
“I’ve got to talk to him and make sure he doesn’t share this with the other students.”
“Yeah, but then you run the risk that he didn’t know to begin with and you end up being the one who tells him.” Megan stated, playing devil’s advocate.
“Good point, I guess I’ll find out. To do that I actually have to make my legs move and go inside.”
“Yeah, that’s usually how it works here.” Megan laughed.
“Well let’s do it then,” Jane muttered, taking a deep drink from the steaming latte in her hand. She hoped the caffeine would be enough to fortify her for what she’d find inside.
Jane signed in quickly and ducked out of the office before the principal came out to do her morning rounds. She didn’t want to have to deal with the pitying look or worse hear her ask, how are you Jane, in a tone reeking of pity and “please don’t make a big deal of this”.
They parted ways, Megan promising to check on her during their planning, and Jane went to her room at the end of the hallway, unlocked her door, barely taking a breath until she was safely shut away inside. She glanced at her lesson plans and began prepping her board and room for the day, regretting not having done it the day before. She’d regret leaving so abruptly, but she’d been so distraught over the fate of the journalism program, she couldn’t think. But coming into her room with the mess she’d left only heightened her dreary mood. Jane glanced around and tried to remind herself to be grateful she still had this room at all. She knew other teachers were losing their jobs completely. She tried hard to focus on the fact she hadn’t lost her job, just a piece of it.
The bell rang right as she was placing the finishing touches on the board with their instructions for the day. She opened her door for when the stampede trickled in and went back to her desk only to realize she’d forgotten to make her copies for the day. Her stomach dropped, and she felt anxiety seeping into her system. The copier closest to her was broken which meant she’d have to go the main office if she wanted to stay on track with her lesson. This meant she’d for sure run into the principal or have to undergo the pitying stare from the secretaries who knew everything that went on in the school. No doubt they’d heard about the fate of the journalism elective. But if she didn’t go now to make the copies, she wouldn’t have what she needed for her first class after homeroom.
With a resigned sigh she grabbed her papers and badge, asked the teacher next door to watch her class, and headed to the office. She kept her head held high- until she reached the office and felt the muffin rise up inside her at the sight of Mr. Darcy standing at the front desk, brooding over a large binder and holding a bright red pen. Jane decided then and there the copies weren’t worth the interaction that would inevitably occur. She’d rather switch up her lesson plan then face him.
At the exact same moment she made up her mind to leave, Mr. Darcy glanced up and saw her staring from the other side of the very clear, glass doors. She silently cursed the modern design choice of a glass wall for an office. Who ever thought that design choice was a good idea? Thankfully, it looked like he was going to ignore her presence, looking back down at the binder in his hands a second later. Jane should’ve been happy about it, but surprisingly, his indifference fueled a heat of anger inside her. How dare he write her off after altruistically deciding to cut a vital class for the students at Barboursville High School. Instead of running she decided to meet his indifference head on by entering the office. She refused to allow him to run her off; this was her domain. She would not let him win.
“Excuse me,” she said with all the politeness she could muster, calling back on her experience from her theater days.
“Yes?” Mr. Darcy replied with a tone of surprise, as if it shocked him she dare approach him, let alone speak directly to him.
She waited a half a breath, hoping he was fearing an outburst from her, hoping he felt at least a sliver of guilt. “I need to make copies and you’re standing right in front of the only good copier on campus.”
“Oh. I apologize.” He gathered his papers and moved out of her way.
Jane should hold her tongue. She hadn’t had enough coffee to handle this situation with the right professionalism. But something came over her, and she let out a comeback within the wink of an eye.
“Thank you. You know, maybe if the county paid more attention to what we need instead of deciding for themselves what we don’t, without first doing their research, we’d be able to get a new copier, or say keep a classes that are vitally important to the students and their futures.”
She stared hard at the copier, her eyes wide with shock at her own words.
What were you thinking? Jane berated herself. You weren’t thinking, that’s just it. She answered the voice in her head. She’d let herself release her frustration in a very open way, and she felt her heart rate begin to speed up under the sudden weight of anxiety. She could have very well just signed not just the end of the journalism program but her position at the school in general.
Part of her wondered if she’d said it so fast, he hadn’t been able to discern what she said, but the gasp from the secretary told Jane her words had been very clear. How could she have been so foolish as to let off a retort to the man who held influence at the board and her school? Jane never let herself react like that! Well, not out loud anyway, she usually kept her comebacks to herself or for her friends when she’d recount how she would have handled a situation. Alex always encouraged Jane to stand up for herself, but Jane never wanted to cause a scene or come across as a complainer. It’s why she kept her emotions bottled up as long as possible, but something about Mr. Darcy made her snap. That combined with the lack of sleep she’d had last night, made it very hard to hold back.
It felt like an eternity as Jane waited for Mr. Darcy to reply, but he didn’t. She risked a glance in his direction, but his head was down and focused back on his papers. Part of her felt grateful, but the other part of her wished he’d say something, anything, to break the tension she’d created with her comment. She stared back at the papers flying out of the copier, the smell of ink wafting around her. After an excruciating few minutes the final copy flew out, and Jane gathered the papers into her arms as quickly as possible. Without a word, she darted out of the office, and cringed when she heard footsteps behind her.
“Ms. Austen,” Mr. Darcy said from behind her.
She turned around slowly but gave him her full attention, hoping she looked tougher than she felt.
“I’m sorry you think we’d cut something, as you put it, vitally important, to the students’ education,” he said quietly. “However, I fail to see a high school journalism elective as vitally important. If anything, it’s just time filler for the school day. Time that could be better utilized. If it’s the yearbook you’re worried about, don’t worry, I’m sure you can find a way to add that to your lessons in ELA.”
His words stoked the fire inside Jane, and it took everything in her not to raise her voice at him.
“Well, Mr. Darcy,” she said, taking a bold step toward him, wondering if the fire she felt building inside could be seen burning behind her eyes. “Perhaps if you’d bothered to observe the program longer than ten to fifteen minutes, you’d be able to see how important the program is to the students. It’s more than just an elective. Journalism provides insight for them into a possible career path. It also teaches them the importance of our right to a free press and how to accurately disseminate the news. They learn how to be better observers of the world around them.”
Jane took a steadying breath before adding one last fact for him to chew on. “You’d also have learned we aren’t in charge of the yearbook. The librarian took that over two years ago as the journalism elective began taking on more responsibilities.”
Jane felt like she won the argument for the moment as Mr. Darcy slightly gaped at her. She took the victory and turned on her heel leaving him standing there in front of the clear glass office where the secretaries were no doubt staring and gossiping. She felt happy to have the last word, and proud she hadn’t run away when she saw him in the office. A part of her naively hoped her words struck a nerve, but with that cold exterior she doubted anything under the ice even moved let alone melted. A part of her also worried of what might happen to her because of her outburst, but she squelched those thoughts, she wanted to feel good about what she did. Her students were in their seats when she returned to the class and eating their breakfast as the announcements echoed across the old static intercom. She took a quick minute to message Megan before putting her phone away for the day.
Jane lived off the high of standing up to Mr. Darcy and taught her classes with a little more pep in her step than she’d expected to have when she arrived this morning. Her students seemed to enjoy the day’s activities, and participated in a way that made the time fly. Before she knew it, the bell rang for lunch. She loved her schedule, as her planning followed right after lunch, giving her extra time to feel mentally rested before her round of afternoon classes. As her students filed out of the classroom headed for the cafeteria, Jane grabbed her lunch box and shut up her classroom, leaving to meet Megan.
Barboursville High was part new and part old. When the basketball team began winning more games and sponsors started calling, the county decided it was time for the 100-year-old school to have a remodel. They decided since the basketball team was earning the recognition, the first part of the school to receive a facelift would be the gym and cafeteria and a few of the classrooms located in that wing. However, as they began building a state-of-the-art gymnasium the money disappeared quicker than they expected. By the end of the project only the gym, cafeteria, and handful of classrooms were upgraded. But they sold it to the town by giving tours of the new wing, and just the new wing of school, as if that’s all there was. Jane stayed in the old wing, and poor Megan was one of the many teachers whose room was cut during the project. But the county didn’t want the teachers who were still in the old wing to let on to the town, so they made a few upgrades; projectors, smart boards, and those fancy touches water fountains that fill water bottles as well.
Jane didn’t care if her classroom was upgraded, she liked it as is, exactly as her great-grandmother would have experienced it. The one brick wall, the bay window, and hardwood floors created the perfect atmosphere for an English Literature class. She dreaded the day the county decided to redo the entire school in a modern design.
However, the one modern addition to the building she didn’t mind was the roof-top garden. The county had added it toward the end of the project after they cut the 4H’s new classroom. To make the broken promise a little easier to swallow, they added the roof-top garden and the 4H students used it to grow various florals and vegetables. Jane and Megan were walking around the garden one day to see their students’ work, but when they went to leave they found the badge scanner was not working. They were stuck on the roof for thirty minutes before they were able to get janitor and technician to fix the problem. Thankfully, they’d brought their lunches with them, and found they enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere surrounded by flora and fauna. From that day on they took their lunch up on the roof-top garden when the weather cooperated and found it helped them on those especially hard days when the students seemed to be out for blood.
Jane found Megan already seated with her lunch out, barely giving Jane a moment to get situated before bombarding her with questions.
“What did you say? What did he say? Who else heard the conversation? Do you think he’s mad? I’m dying here! Tell me what happened!”
Jane laughed. “Give me second, I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.” She started unpacking her lunch as Megan sighed impatiently.
Jane purposefully went slower to mess with her friend, but she couldn’t hold it in any longer, she wanted to tell her more than she wanted to torture her. She filled Megan in on how she almost didn’t go in the office when she saw Mr. Darcy, and how she asked him to move, made a comment about the copier that even made the secretary gasp. She told her how he followed her out of the office, but that she’d had the last word, leaving him standing there gaping.
“Wow,” Megan breathed, her fork full of mac-and-cheese hanging in midair. “I’m both impressed and terribly concerned at the same time.”
“Why are you concerned?” Jane asked apprehensively, she didn’t want this good feeling she’d had since fade away with logic.
“Well, what if he says something to Mrs. Matthews, or worse the Board? I’m proud, don’t get me wrong,” Megan added quickly. “You’ve obviously chosen to fight for the program, but I’m not sure if a direct attack was such a great idea, especially in such a public space.”
Jane’s stomach sank, and she sighed in frustration. Not at Megan but at herself, because she’d been having the same thoughts, but hadn’t wanted to voice them. She had pushed them away each time they threatened to take away the thrill of standing up to Mr. Darcy. Now, they returned full force, and she didn’t have the strength to fight them back this time.
“You’re right- I’m in big trouble. Ugh, this is why I don’t speak up!” Jane put her hands over her face as worry overwhelmed her.
“No, no,” Megan moaned, “remember I said I’m impressed you stood up to him. I do you think you needed to talk to him, just maybe-”
“Not unprepared and argumentative?” Jane finished for her.
Megan nodded reluctantly. “But hey you said it, it’s over with, and now we’ll just wait and see. Maybe he won’t care enough to say anything to anyone? And it’s probably a good thing the people in the office heard about the Board’s decision to cut the journalism program.”
Jane felt the blood drain from her face, her body felt cold and hot at the same time, and she felt weightless, almost like she was suspended above the whole situation, not fully present. “Megan, I didn’t even think about who else was in the office- what if another student was in there and I didn’t see them, and they say something about the cut and word spreads?”
What if another teacher heard and lets it slip, and the students hear about it from someone other than me? I can’t believe I did this! I’m never saying another word without making a pro-con list about the possible consequences. From now on, I’m planning out all my conversations.”
“Jane, calm down,” Megan ordered kindly but firmly, “you’re spiraling, and you know it’s not good to fall for what ifs. Students were going to find out eventually, if not from you from their parents or word of mouth. The board can’t expect you to keep it a secret, if they want to hide their bad decision that’s on them, but they chose to make it, and they have to live with the peoples’ reactions.”
Jane didn’t reply, she felt sick inside, and she put away her lunch, having lost any appetite. She usually looked forward to her planning period, but now it was just another hour keeping her from facing her journalism students. She had so desperately wanted them to hear it straight from her, but now she knew the cat had been inevitably let out of the bag- no matter what Megan said about ‘what ifs’.
They stayed in the garden until the bell rang, and were forced to return to reality, heading to their separate classrooms to spend their planning period. Their principal expected them to be there during this time in case she or a student needed them. Sometimes they had their team meetings during planning, but to Jane’s delight today was not one of those days. She tried to focus on grading and creating lessons, but her mind was in the past, reliving her confrontation with Mr. Darcy. She hoped she was remembering it worse than it was, but when she thought of all the unknowns, she felt sure it was worse. When the bell rang for fifth period she felt a surge of relief, practically bolting for the door with her laptop tucked safely under her arm. She tried to keep her steps calm as she walked purposefully to the newsroom.
Maybe I should have seen this cut coming, Jane thought to herself.
What she and her students called ‘the newsroom’, was almost too small to be considered a traditional classroom space. It only provided space enough for the printer and make-shift production studio the students had set up in the broom closet through fundraisers. They’d been determined to reach bigger audience through the school morning news show on Mondays and Fridays, and the creation of the podcast. She’d tried to push for a change in rooms, but the administration always pushed back. She should’ve known then that the end loomed on the horizon.
To Jane’s dismay her students were huddled up around the old conference table Jane had grabbed before it was tossed into the garbage during the remodel of the East Wing. It was too big for the room, but the kids loved it for the space it gave them. Their heads popped up at the sound of the old door as she entered. They fell silent for a moment, but after glancing at each other they fell upon her with questions.
“Why are they cutting the program?” Brailey asked sadly.
“What did we do wrong?” Delainey’s voice cracked, choking back tears.
“Are you being fired?” Lukas asked bluntly.
“This is an infringement on our freedom of speech!” Kennedy threw out.
“When did they decide to cut the program? How long have you known?”
Jane held up her hands to stem the tidal wave of voices crashing over her and threatening to pull away the confident facade she’d practiced all the way here.
“Guys, stop. Everyone take a seat so we can talk this out before you get too confused by things you might have heard.”
They silently obeyed, sitting down quietly, all eyes on her as she took her seat at the head of the table.
“I just found out yesterday after school. But, as I’m sure you’ve heard after this morning, the board has decided to cut the journalism program.”
“We didn’t hear it from the office, Ms. Austen,” Hudson interrupted, “I heard my dad talking about it last night.”
Jane felt a sense of relief, at least her outburst hadn’t been their source. However, she hated how poorly the board parents kept secrets.
“Guys, I know this is hard, but they’re letting the program continue until the end of the semester. You till the end of the semester to continue making a difference, and I’m going to teach you as much as I can in that time.”
“So that’s it?” one of her seniors, Ellie asked.
“What do you mean?” Jane asked confused.
“We’re just going to let the program go?”
Jane sucked in a breath, hearing the echoes of Megan, Daisy, and Alex’s words of encouragement last night at the coffee house. She just didn’t know how to change the board’s mind, let alone how to change Mr. Darcy’s determined stance that the program didn’t matter. She opened her mouth to reply right as the door to newsroom opened with a loud creak. Her eyes widened and the students turned to look at whose appearance caused their teacher to suddenly go mute.
Mr. Darcy stood in the doorway.
Not now, Jane thought helplessly. Was he really going to confront her about this morning, here of all places, of all times? No, she wouldn’t allow it.
“Mr. Darcy, I’m sorry but can this wait?”
He raised an eyebrow and said, “Actually, Ms. Austen, I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say, which I’m guessing has to do with this very intense looking discussion and the concerned looks I’m seeing on the students’ faces.”
Her curiosity spiked, but she didn’t want to give in to Mr. Darcy right away. She waited a couple of moments, without breaking eye contact with him.
“Guys, I want you to work on this week’s publication, and if it’s your week for the podcast, I want you to go over the script while I talk to Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy we can talk in the hallway.”
Jane got up and led the way out of the room. Mr. Darcy followed and closed the door behind him.
“Thank you for taking a moment to talk to me, Ms. Austen, I-”
“Listen,” Jane interrupted, “I want to apologize for my attitude this morning. But as I’m sure you may have realized this program is very important to me and more importantly, the students. I obviously let my passion turn argumentative, and it was unprofessional of me. I just-”
“Ms. Austen,” Mr. Darcy cut in firmly.
Jane quieted, thankful he kept her from rambling on because she wasn’t sure what would come out of her mouth at this point.
“Ms. Austen, as unprofessional as your comments may have been, especially with such a captive audience, I did recognize the passion behind them. I respect when someone is passionate enough to stand up to me. I know I don’t come off as a very friendly person, but in my line of work I’ve learned it’s best not to have an engaging personality. It makes it hard to split my professional duties with any type of working relationships I might build.”
It took everything in Jane not to scoff at his explanation or to roll her eyes in agreement that his attitude was less than engaging.
“I stand firm in my belief that programs like yours are just fillers for students and are not a proactive use of the county’s budget. However-”
Jane’s hands clenched at his remark but relaxed slightly at the word however, timidly hopeful.
“I agree I can’t verify my opinion until I see it for myself. Therefore, after discussing it with your principal, I’ll be observing your journalism program for the rest of the semester. I trust you won’t mind my intrusion to conduct a thorough observation?”
Jane felt her mouth drop open a little in surprise but quickly shut it. She tried to act aloof on the outside, but inwardly she was half cheering and half deflating. He was willing to observe the class, but only to prove his point, not to try and see hers. She thought of her students working together on the layout on the other side of the door, putting their skills and knowledge to work. Earlier around the conference table she saw the disappointment on the students’ face and heard the hurt in their voices.
Ellie’s question echoed in her head, “We’re just going to let the program go?”
They thought she didn’t want to fight for them, for the hard work they’d done to help build the program. This was the solution she couldn’t figure out last night with her friends. She hadn’t known where to start in trying to save the class, and here it was being offered in a round about way from the very man who sought to destroy it. She’d let Mr. Darcy think he was observing to prove his point, but she would do everything in her power to make him see her side. She would prove to him the journalism program was worth saving.
She stuck out a hand; after a moment of hesitation Mr. Darcy took it, and she gave it a firm shake, hoping he knew she meant business.
“Welcome to The Pirate Chronicle, Mr. Darcy.”