After School

She has her name tattooed on her arm.

I met her an hour ago as we walked down the hall. Her friend came in for tutoring. She was going...somewhere.

"Oh, come on. I can help you too."

"I'm not even a student here." I give her a look. "I go to the alternative school."

And so she's spent an hour watching me babble about fractions. Her friend's on a bathroom break while I check two problems. I show her the mistakes that I'd warned against. Just trying to make conversation.

"Do you teach ninth graders too?"

"Yeah. I have students in ninth, tenth, eleventh, and twelfth grade."

She asks if I teach this guy. Turns out he's her boyfriend. They met five months ago, and started dating almost immediately.

Apparently their relationship is going through some rough times.

She doesn't want to talk about it. Doesn't want to cry like she always does when she thinks about it. Without my asking, she tells me anyway.

She lost the baby.

It was a miscarriage.

He blames her for it.

And the worst part is, he was so mad he told her he hated her.

I reassure her the miscarriage was not her fault. I say it must be traumatic.

I don't know that I approve of her relationship, but I don't tell her that. I tell her that she needs to make sure that he gets over the hate before she faces him again. She reassures me that they're past that point already.

I'm not a marriage counselor. I've only had one boyfriend. We broke up after he sent me the "Check yes or no" note. Love was too strong a commitment for this second grader.

Her friend returns. Her shifts awkwardly conveying the message. This conversation is over. I tell them that my relationship advice is consistent: communication is key.

We laugh and it's back to practicing fractions with her friend.

I look back at her in wonder. She has the tough demeanor, tougher than most of my students. To tell your story to an almost stranger though, that kind of vulnerability takes courage beyond belief.