Without ever remembering who made the first move, the moment they touched, life changed.

With a breeze teasing their hair and the rippling stream singing love songs below, they surveyed the vista from their vantage point on the bridge. The valley’s verdant farms and vibrant forests stretched to the west beneath the cerulean sky dotted with puffs of ebony. Life flowed through them, and the call of tomorrow tickled their thoughts.

The span, an arched wooden walkway, connected two grassy knolls over Lincoln Creek on the perimeter of Travers Park, the largest nature-preserve in River Forest. The knotty-pine structure, a popular spot for lovers, had been recently rebuilt after the original one had all but decayed and fallen into the stream.

They had met one hour earlier during a workshop at a teacher’s conference on the campus of River Forest University. When Saige challenged a facilitator’s method—who harshly insisted no questions be asked until the end of the session, if time allowed—she had simply stood up and walked out of the room.

Luke followed. In his classroom, questions flowed freely, and he saw them as a sign of interest and learning. He had been drumming fingers at the didactic style of the instructor, who called his session, “Encouraging Independence.” The contradiction of it had made Luke temper his growing irritation with an ironic smile.

Hearing several gasps and a smattering of applause at her protest, he followed the rebel teacher into the hallway, and saw her disappear outdoors. She moved fast.

Outside, in the coolness of late April sunny afternoon, she leaned against a silver maple, her hand mimicking puffing on a cigarette. She started when he called out to her. Instinctively, she took a quick, tobacco-free puff. “What?”

“Hello.” He stood six feet from her, just inside the perimeter of the shade. “That’s probably the healthiest thing you can smoke.”

She held up her hand, and looked at the space between her first two fingers. “This is one of the times I wished I’d never quit. Still fiend for them, especially after listening to brain-dead lectures like that idiot.” She jerked her head in the direction of Astrand Hall.

“I thought you deserved a standing ovation, but no one else did, so I left.”

She cocked her head and examined the complimenter, who had dark glasses, sandy hair flopping over his ears, and the kind of easy smile attractive in strangers. “When he said thinking without knowledge is useless, that put it over the top for me. Thinking makes us seek information, and stretches our minds. He wants robots to download his brain into.”

Luke’s laugh built up inside of him, and emerged full and hearty. Seeing her frown turn into a grin of agreement, he relaxed. Maybe, she would be friendly. “Teachers like him make people hate school. He thought we thirsted for his wisdom, to fill the emptiness of our little heads.”

 She chuckled. “I’m Saige Wilcart. Teach over at Lincoln Springs Alternative. When my kids ask questions, even trying to bird-walk, I know I have their interest. Gives me a chance to redirect and show how much of life is connected. They get it, because they’re smart kids.”

“With those kids. Whew. Tough crowd!” In the stories Luke had heard about the alternative program, the small high school sounded like a hangout with no serious learning. According to his fellow teachers, the awful kids at LSA ran wild and terrorized the staff.

Her smile turned upside down. “Somedays. Not usually.” Her eyes sparkled, as if thinking of pleasant memories. “I like them. They’re challenged by obstacles, crazy families, and poor choices. Not bad kids at all.” She stepped forward and stood her tallest at his question. Her voice sliced the air filled with determined pride. “Throwaways. Their old schools didn’t give them what they needed. At LSA we believe ‘if a student can’t learn the way we teach, why don’t we teach the way they learn.’ It works.”

He leaned away from her. “Didn’t mean to offend you. People refer to you school as a—”

“Stoner school. Loser high. Hideaway for bad kids, trouble-makers, losers, druggies, delinquents. Heard it all.” Her chin raised, and her eyes burned lasers at him. “They’re kids. And I’m proud of them. All they need is another chance. That’s what we give them. We think of it as family. They want to learn, and do, once they feel safe and see we want to work with them.”

“I—I’m sorry. I only …” He looked down, feeling his face warm. Admiring the passion and vehemence for her school, he wished he shared her excitement about his. “Forgive me. I spoke from ignorance. I just heard—”

She shook her head, and her voice ground with irritation. “People who don’t know much think we let our students do anything. That we’re a joke. But, it’s a school with intelligent, caring teachers and students who earn credit. I love teaching there.” 

Luke thought about the teachers he worked with every day. Most of them complained about the school and their classes. Many of them sounded unhappy and discontented, not loving their profession at all. He never wanted to lose his spark, but saw few of the older ones still eager to teach. Would that happen to him? “You’re right about the things people say. Your students shouldn’t be labeled or dismissed. They deserve an education as much as anyone.” He meant it, too. Knowing nothing about her school other than gossip, he had judged the place. “Please, accept my apology for my assumptions.”

She tapped a foot, and crossed her arms, the imagined cigarette forgotten. “Maybe. It’d help if I knew your name.”

He slapped his thigh and shook his head. “Another sorry. Luke Zeier. Teach history at Richmond High. Third year there. See lots of kids who fall through the cracks. They could use a friendlier place like yours.” He hoped she forgave him. Her green eyes sparkled, and her long reddish locks draped over her shoulders. In blue capris and a loose fitting white blouse, he thought she looked at ease, despite her anger at the presenter’s message, and the foolish attitudes of people about alternative education.

 Nodding toward him, she took up the imaginary cigarette again. “I quit when I graduated. A present to myself, and to not be a bad example—to kids. Most of them smoke like fiends. When I get stressed, the urge is powerful. Pretending helps, and the breathing is easier now.”

Scratching his chin, he raised an eyebrow. “I see. It would frustrate me. I gave them up when Aunt Hennie—I loved that lady—died because of them. She made me promise to stop the Marlboros. It’d be wrong to start again.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I kno-ooow.” When she opened her eyes, she looked at her hand, dropped the air-fag, and stomped it out with a sandaled foot. “Saves me money, my clothes don’t stink, and no more burn-holes in my shirts. But still …”

As an easy silence enclosed them, Luke studied her. So many of the women he met had an uncertainty about them, as if they questioned whether they’d be discovered as incompetent or ugly on the inside. This reluctant ex-smoker had an aura of confidence which overrode any regret at giving up her habit. He liked too the way she met his gaze. “The session will go another twenty minutes or so. You want to go for a walk? It’s a beautiful area.”

She cocked her head, and looked over the questioner. He’d apologized for his assumptions, and understood about smoking. “I’d like that. Help get my mind off the asshole in there.”

Several trails wound through the hilly park and passing over the creek and bordered by the river. Shaded by large oaks, the longer path, which in the fall often lay littered with acorns and leaves, in this season was populated only by squirrels and runners. Luke had trained there often and knew the terrain well. But, sensitive to her unfamiliarity with him, he directed them along the more open way along the river. The path would lead them to the bridge with its view.

“So, what do you teach?” He asked, thinking it an innocent opening.

She frowned, her bright eyes turning dark. “Students. I teach students. About life. How to get along. How to become successful.” She glowered at him. “The subjects I teach are math, mostly algebra and geometry. At our school, we believe education is more than standardized tests.”

He gulped at offending her sensibilities again. Not wanting to upset her had become important to him, though she did seem easy to annoy. Something, above and beyond the conference presenter’s arrogance or Luke’s own comments, must be bothering her. People who snarled with little provocation usually had some big disturbance in their life. He wondered if she had relationship issues, or if someone had died. “I do, too. In my classes, I want my students to think both logically and creatively. The tests are a nuisance, and overemphasized. We have a lot of good teachers, and lots of teens who are invested in learning. I’m sure you do, too.”

She shrugged, and held her hands up between them. “Sorry, I get defensive. Most other teachers look down on our school and our staff. Do you know that a couple of elementary teachers thought I didn’t have a teaching certificate?” She grunted. “And I have two degrees in education! Honors college. And yet they think because I teach ‘those kids’ I can walk in off the street with no credentials.”

“That stinks. Too many people make assumptions. I have to work on not doing it.” A robin flew in front of them, and he pointed at it. “First one of spring is flying. Mom always said that meant it would be a good year.”

“Robins are a good sign; however we see them.” She stopped to look up into one of the tall willows along the banks. “I rescued one once, and then set it free when it recovered. According to research I did, most of them don’t make it through their first year. Winters are tough for them. But, a few live as long as 14 years.” In a gesture of prayer, she brought her palms together.” I always wanted to believe the one I helped made it.”

“I hope so, too.” They started walking again. With quick glances at her, he saw she wore little make-up—and didn’t need it with her smooth unblemished skin—and her verdant eyes appeared to search for the details in their surroundings. He nodded when she pointed at a turtle sunning itself on a log along the bank. “Good catch. I love it here. Ran along this path in high school.”

“Cross country? You grew up around here?”

“Yes, to both. Four letters, all as a harrier for Twin Forks.” He didn’t mention winning one tournament at this park, the only win ever, aided by his love and understanding for these trails. “Where are you from?”

“Alpena. Came here my last two years of college, and then got the job at Lincoln Springs. I’ve never been at this park before, even though I keep thinking I should check it out.”

“Great walking areas, excellent beach, and good boating. But, I don’t swim well, so I never do much here now other than hike the woods.”

“No more running?” She glanced at him with sad eyes.

“Screwed up my leg in an accident during college. Every time I run, it starts to ache, and I don’t want to deal with the pain. This pace is fine.” He rubbed his kneecap. “A little ice tonight and I’ll be ready for another few miles tomorrow.”

“What happened?”

“I used to drink. Thought I could handle it. Never drink and drive.” Since surviving the collision with the pole, he had sworn off alcohol and drugs. “Arthritis reminds me every day. Some life lessons come hard. Fortunately, I didn’t hit anyone except an unmovable object. My car did worse than I did.”

“Thank God.” She stopped and stood in front of him. “The kids have stories like that. Most have big mistakes in their lives. But not as lucky as you. They’re so young; their ‘accidents’ and ‘screw-ups’ follow them. Torment them.” Her hands danced in front of her torso, emphasizing her words. “They need understanding. That’s what our school does. Gives them an opportunity to start fresh, with no one judging them for their past mistakes.” With a pumping of both fists, she shuddered. “Everyone needs someone to believe in them.”

 He watched her close her eyes as she leaned against a maple tree a few feet from the bridge. Nodding, he cleared his throat. “It’s good they have you—and the school.” Luke tapped his chest. “At my school, too many go incognito, or hide behind masks of anger or apathy. We—I—see them every day, and let them alone.” Their eyes met, and he sensed she listened to him with full attention. “Most of our students go through the motions of learning; a few excel. And the lost ones flail against the system, or fade into the hallways. Either way, we don’t have time for them. They’re too much trouble.”

She walked onto the bridge, and he followed. At the middle of the span she turned and faced him. They stood a yard apart. “Do you understand? They’re hurting, damaged. And you see how no one steps up to ask what’s wrong?”   

He stepped closer and nodded. “They get lost in the size of our school. We’re stretched too thin to individualize or intervene with every troubled one.”

“Unless they’re good football players.”

Starting to defend himself, he stopped with his retort frozen on his tongue. Last December the star of the basketball team had received special tutoring and extra time to redo several projects. No other students got that much extra attention. He doubted if a reserve player would have been treated as well.

She focused on his eyes. “I’m right. The jocks, and maybe the popular kids from ‘good families, are exceptions, aren’t they?” Her face contorted, as if ready to scream, or cry. “How are the outsiders, the rebels, the misfits treated? Not the same?”

Luke thought of one sophomore, a girl with short, chopped hair dyed some ghastly color. She drew bizarre pictures and grunted indecipherable answers when questioned. Reading one of her essays, he’d been struck by her deep understanding of the causes for the Revolutionary War. He wanted to talk to her about it, but she never came back to class. Later that week he heard she’d been suspended for getting caught with a baggie of grass. The police had been called, and she ended up on probation and transferred to the alternative school.

Sighing, he looked over the railing at the peaceful waters flowing toward the river some thousand yards ahead. “We push them out the doors, and hope—someone else will work with them.” He gulped, hating to admit this. “Those kids are tossed away.”

Her barely audible reply sounded far away. “I was.”

“How—?” His eyes searched for an explanation, but she shook her head with lips tightly clenched. Whatever had happened to her, she would not share—yet.

With a lowered voice, he wanted to sound as compassionate as she needed. “It’s wrong when we treat those kids differently. We should do better, and we should support your program better. We—I take teachers like you for granted. I’ll do better.”

Swaying at the apex of the bridge, she reached out to hold the barrier. “We all need to.” She looked down into the stream. “Too many people think we enable these kids, supporting their poor choices. We don’t. Every day we teach values, and promote smarter alternatives.” She took in a deep breath. When she exhaled she involuntarily whistled. “But sometimes, we just buy them time. Keep them in the system. That’s all some of them need—to outgrow the stupid mistakes of being a teenager. Why don’t people see that?”

He gently patted her shoulder, and she turned to face him. It surprised him when she reached up to take his hand. He liked the touch. “You helped me see that. I know you help them. You make a difference.”

Saige looked down at their hands linked together. “At a conference once, a motivational speaker, Larry Bell, told us something that troubled me. ‘Remember, on your very worst day, you are somebody’s best hope.’ It scared me.” She shook her head. “To think I, with all my issues and insecurities, could give hope to at-risk youth.” She squeezed his hand.

He pulled her closer. “He was right. These kids need adults to care, someone to be there. You help them. I’m proud of you.”

She looked up with her eyes moist and shining. “Let’s walk more together.”

“I’d like that.” Their fingers interlocked. “I’d like that a lot.”