“Principal Brooks is waiting for you.”

James went up to the closed office door and tapped lightly. He was called in by Martin’s familiar voice, “Come in.”

When he stepped inside, the well-built principal was seated behind his desk. He smiled in greeting. “Mr. Curtis. Right on time. Good.” He picked up a stack of papers on top of his desk and then circled around to meet James. “I have everything you need right here.” He handed him one paper. “Your schedule.”

James skimmed it quickly. He noted with approval that his classroom time had been cut short to accomodate the breaks he needed for prayer. He’d been given a total of four classes—freshman class C, sophomore class D, junior class B, and senior class A. He’d also been given five students for support classes.

Before he could examine farther, he was handed another paper with the short explanation, “School map.” His classroom had been circled in red.

Next, he was handed several groups of stapled paper. “General information about your students and what their needs are,” Principal Brooks explained. He separated one from the rest, showing it to him. “This one is a little different.”

James glanced at the stapled passport-sized photo. It was the boy he’d seen at the library. Then he glanced at the name. Alexander Nichols. Why does that name sound familiar?
“What’s different about this one?” he asked.

“He doesn’t have any educational difficulties,” Principal Brooks told him. “He’s quite intelligent and doesn’t seem to have any trouble with schoolwork in and out of the classroom. But he does have a problem. I know you said you work with educational difficulties, but I was hoping you might be able to help him a bit, too.”

“Well, what’s the problem?”

“He doesn’t seem to have social skills,” Principal Brooks said. “He only sticks to his cousin, doesn’t really speak to anyone, and won’t join in any group activities. The immediate family isn’t very helpful, but his uncle mentioned that he was diagnosed with autism when he was four or five. Do you think you can help him?”

James had heard of autism before. But he had little to no experience with it. And the descriptions of symptoms that he’d read about were more than what Brooks had mentioned, but maybe Alexander’s symptoms had lessened in degree over time. It would still require some research on his part to figure out what he could do to help the boy.

“I can try,” he said honestly. “I can’t promise anything since this is out of my experience, but I’ll try.”

Martin nodded. “That’s all I can ask. His parents don’t seem to care as long as the boy behaves and has good grades.”

That was familiar in a way, but his own father hadn’t cared about even that. It made him more determined to help as much as he could.

He glanced through the others. Henry Blackburn, aged fourteen; struggling in reading and writing; diagnosed with dyslexia. Nathan Nichols, aged sixteen; behind his peers. Joseph Wallace, aged fifteen; reading below standard and struggling in reading comprehension. Derek Carter, age seventeen; struggling in mathematics and composition.

He noted that their class schedules had also been provided so he knew which classroom to find them in for the private sessions. The classrooms had also been marked on his map, but in black. It had only been during extracurricular classes that support sessions would be taken instead of cutting into any core classes. He noticed Jâsim Jr. wasn’t among his new students, though he had a niggling feeling that he probably should be. But he didn’t mention it.

“Class lists,” the principal added as he handed over four groups of stapled papers.
James quickly skimmed one after the other. He noted Jâsim Fareed and Alexander Nichols in the freshman class he’d be teaching, confirming that Sumayyah’s son was definitely in his class. It was also his last class of the day. An amused smile flickered on his lips as he wondered what he had to look forward to.

“Who else teaches Jâsim Fareed?” he asked.

“Jâsim?” Principal Brooks repeated, sounding curious. “You know him? I don’t recall giving his name...”

“He lives across the street from me,” James said. “I thought if I spoke to his other teachers, I could be prepared for what to expect. You did mention he’s difficult in the classroom, right?”

Martin nodded grimly. “I did. Well, I’ll take you to the different departments and introduce you to them then. I’m sure they’ll be more than willing to tell you what to expect.”

“Thank you.”

Principal Brooks led the way. James tucked all the papers he’d been given and then followed.

The first stop was the science department, where he met Mr. Gerard Wells, a tall lean man that looked to be between his mid to late forties. He had a stern, serious demeanor; and sharp eyes behind a pair of thick glasses spoke of a man who didn’t accept nonsense in any shape or form in his classroom. He was perhaps a good teacher, but he was one of those that James wouldn’t have gotten along with as a teen and may have even despised.

“Mr. Wells, this is Mr. James Curtis,” Principal Brooks introduced them. “He’s the new history teacher. Jâsim is in his class, so he wanted to ask a little about what to expect.”

Gerard grimaced. “You’ll be lucky if you can keep him quietly seated for more than five minutes. He’s disruptive, disrespectful, and difficult.”

James is disruptive, difficult, and absolutely disrespectful, he heard Mrs. Cole’s voice replay in his mind. He’s a menace and obviously has no intention of applying himself.

He pushed away the voice of his ninth-grade English teacher and forced a smile to his lips. “Thank you for the heads-up, Mr. Wells.” He turned to walk away, signalling that he’d heard enough from Jâsim’s science teacher.

The next department Principal Brooks took him to was the English department. He led him up to a thirty-something Black American woman who was introduced as Mrs. Wanda Carmichael. Unfortunately, the introduction to a female teacher also meant explaining he couldn’t shake hands with women. Thankfully, she took it in stride. Her description of Jâsim wasn’t any more flattering than Mr. Wells’ had been.

“Difficult. Distracting.” She sighed with resignation. “Refuses to do any classwork and always pulls the most ridiculous stunts in class. I’m at my rope’s end.”

Again, the words were so familiar that they struck hard, and he feigned a smile as he thanked her before they moved on.

Mrs. Amanda Julian from the mathematics department gave the same kind of verdict. “He doesn’t want to study. He won’t apply himself. He just goofs off or pulls stunts. He’s disruptive and a menace.”

“I’ve heard enough,” James said when they left. More than enough. I can’t take anymore. It’s like going back.

His past self was staring him in the face.