James entered and studied his potential employer and supervisor. Principal Brooks looked to be around his own age, somewhere between his mid to late thirties. He was a large man with broad shoulders. He had a head of thick chestnut-brown hair and a pair of piercing gray eyes. When he rose, he stood tall, close to James’s above-average six-foot-five.

James crossed the room to his desk and offered his hand as was customary, which he wouldn’t have been able to if Principal Brooks had turned out to be a woman. “James Curtis.”

“Martin Brooks,” the man said as he shook James’s hand firmly in a strong grip. “Have a seat, Mr. Curtis.” As he sat, the principal did the same and then faced him with a smile. “Tell me about yourself.”

It was a standard request in an interview that James was used to. He easily spoke of his educational background, his experience, and where he’d worked. He also gave Principal Brooks the file, and he removed the CV and documents, flipping through them, nodding in approval. They went through other standard questions about teaching methodology and how he’d react to disruptive behavior in the classroom.

Martin set down the papers and faced James again. “Tell me why you want this job.”

In truth, James wasn’t actually sure he did. It had been a few years since he’d been a classroom teacher and he preferred his one-on-one support teaching instead. He didn’t even really need the job as an excuse to move. Once he found a place, it would probably be easy enough to find families who had a child in need of his help.

“Let me be honest with you, Mr. Brooks,” he said slowly. “I haven’t been in a classroom for several years. I don’t actually prefer it. My preference is support teaching kids who need help that their class teachers aren’t able to give or don’t know how to.”

Principal Brooks looked interested rather than annoyed or frustrated by someone who wasn’t sure he wanted the job. “Like kids with special needs and learning disabilities?”

“Yes, sir—kids who can’t read or write, kids who just don’t get the math concepts, kids who can’t catch up in the classroom. That’s what I’m doing now.”

“Then why apply?” Principal Brooks asked. “You did say you don’t prefer to be in the classroom and obviously this position requires it.”

“You have a need and I’m willing and capable of filling it,” James said matter-of-factly. “I don’t prefer the classroom but I don’t despise it. I just feel I could do more and have a better influence outside of it.”

Principal Brooks smiled. “I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Curtis. Tell you what, I do need a history teacher since about four or five classes are short and our substitute is little more than a glorified babysitter, but I’m interested in your other services, too. We have a number of kids who are having trouble in the classroom, and I think we can make an arrangement for them to be taken out of extracurricular activities at least once a week to work with you. Would you be willing?”

“Definitely,” James said without hesitation.

“We’ll hire you this year as our history teacher since we need one, but next year, we can look into a different position. This school definitely needs your services. Does that meet with your approval?”

James nodded. It was better than he could have hoped. “Yes, sir. But before I accept this job, I have some conditions of my own.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“I’m Muslim.” As expected, Martin looked slightly surprised. They always excpected Muslims to be someone who was foreign-looking with a foreign name. James defied their expectations with his retained English name and average American appearance.

“That’s surprising,” the principal said. “I would have expected one of those foreign names at least.”

James didn’t comment on that. “I need a break for about thirty minutes from about twelve-forty between Monday and Thursday to go to the mosque. On Friday, I’ll need about an hour.”

Principal Brooks looked uncomfortable. “That’s a lot you’re asking, Mr. Curtis. We had a Muslim teacher before and she only took small breaks and never left the premises. She would use the library for her prayers. Can’t you do that?”

“Women don’t have to go to the mosque,” James said. “Men do. This is my condition. Right now, the job I have allows me to go to the mosque for all my prayers. I’m not going to accept another one that takes that away from me. God and my obligations to Him come first before my job.”

Slight admiration appeared on the man’s face. “I don’t meet a lot of people like you.” Then he nodded. “Alright. I think we can arrange the schedule so that you can have what you ask for, but this means you may have a cut in any free periods you might have had, especially on Friday. That’s all I can give you.”

“I don’t mind,” James assured him. “It works perfectly.”

Principal Brooks looked relieved. Maybe James was his only applicant and he was desperate. “Good. If you can come back in tomorrow, we’ll have the contract ready. When can you start?”

“Next month,” James said. “I need to find a place to live and I need to make arrangements with the families I’m working for back home.”

“That’s fine,” the man said then. “We can work with that.” He stood. “Would you like a tour before you leave?”

James stood. “I would like that.”

“This way then.”

Principal Brooks led him out of the office and the administration department. Then he took him down the long halls, pointing out classrooms. He showed him the inside of the extra ones that happened to be empty.

“We have several that aren’t in use, so we can fix up one of the smaller ones for your use for those support lessons we discussed.”

James smiled. “Thank you.”

They moved on and Principal Brooks led him to classroom 105. A cacophony of voices could be heard from behind it. They were so loud that James thought there might not be a teacher in attendance. He was proven wrong when Principal Brooks knocked on the door and opened it. A woman, who looked to be between her mid to late forties, sat behind the desk; but she didn’t seem to be very interested in the class. She was looking at a book, while the students, who James thought might be either a senior or junior class, were doing what they wanted. Some were talking and laughing—loudly; some were reading, writing, or sketching; and most were looking at their phones or taking pictures with them. There was, even a couple in the back that were getting a little too affectionate that the presiding teacher hadn’t noticed.

“Amanda, back to your chair,” Principal Brooks said sharply; and the blond girl in the back hopped off the lap of the boy she’d been sitting on and crossed the aisle to an empty chair, sitting down with a huff.

“The rest of you tone it down,” he continued. “It’s too loud.”

“Yes, Principal Brooks,” a group unenthusiastic voices said.

The principal led James out of the classroom, closing it behind him. “As I said, she’s practically a glorified babysitter.” He sighed and shrugged. “Worst substitute I’ve ever had.” He nodded at the door. “This will be your classroom.”

James hoped he remembered where it was when he returned. He wasn’t too sure he would.

As the Principal led him on, James couldn’t help noticing a lone Black boy standing outside of a classroom looking at his phone. What struck him about the boy in particular was that he dressed similarly to Jâsim in what looked to be a Sudanese-style thawb, but he was wearing a cap instead of the turban.

He pointed him out to Principal Brooks. “What’s he doing outside the classroom?”

The principal looked in the direction he’d pointed out and sighed. “Probably caused trouble again. He’s our worst student. All he does is cause trouble for the teachers. It’s quite a shame. His mother was one of the best teachers we had, but her son is a menace.”

Those words brought back memories. He’d been described that way by his teachers. He’d also been kicked out of the class constantly. His eyes went back toward the boy. “Does he have any educational difficulties?”

“Not that I know of.” Principal Brooks shrugged. “He always turns his homework in perfectly done. He’s just trouble.”

He walked on, but James glanced at the boy one more time. Principal Brooks might have easily been able to dismiss the boy as just a troublemaker, but James couldn’t. He had been that boy once.