The whole room cheered, and I looked around to realize that everybody was dancing now—with wildly varying levels of ability. But nobody cared. Even Mrs. Kline was clapping along. It was like a faculty production of Soul Train in that room.

And now Duncan was teaching me, locking his arms with a hand on my lower back. “Just forward, then back, then rock back.” I watched his feet, and mirrored them, and we repeated for a few bars before he spun me out again. Next thing I knew, he was leading me around, and as soon as he realized everyone was watching us—just as George Michael was dying down—he turned to Mrs. Kline and said, “Mrs. Kline, you beautiful traitor … would you be willing to put on ‘The Hustle’?”

Mrs. Kline nodded, and as she walked away, Alice called after her, “It’s on that same playlist!”

Duncan and I turned to Alice. “You have ‘The Hustle’ on a playlist?”

She nodded, like Of course. “The One Hundred Most Mathematically Booty-Shaking Songs of All Time.”

We both blinked at her for a second, and then she shrugged. “Told you,” she said. “Everything is math.”

And so, Duncan taught us the Hustle. His version was definitely better. We did it mostly like a line dance, but every now and then he’d pull me into his arms and dip me, which made everybody, even me, cheer.

And then later, when Duncan spotted Babette watching us from off to the side and he shimmied over to take her by the hand and pull her into the group, she let him. And when Duncan pulled her into his arms and spun her back out, I found myself falling still on the dance floor, just watching them. It was Babette’s first dance with anybody since the night Max had died, and for a second, I wasn’t sure how it would go.

But I’d underestimated Duncan.

Babette’s face bloomed into a smile.

Later, she might go home and miss Max even more, reminded of all she’d lost. But I suspected that Babette knew better than to let a little pain hold her back. She knew that joy and sorrow walked side by side. She knew that being alive meant risking one for the other. And she also knew, as I was starting to understand in a whole new way, that it was always better to dance than to refuse.

twenty-two

That night of dancing in the cafeteria was without question the best, most delightful, most joyful night of my entire school year. And it was followed, just a few days later, by an afternoon in that exact same space that very quickly became the worst.

Because, at the final faculty meeting of the year, Kent Buckley had an announcement for us.

He arrived at the meeting twenty minutes late. Talking on that douchey Bluetooth.

Duncan showed up late, too—just behind him.

“Okay, people! Listen up!” Kent Buckley said as he strode in, alienating everyone in the room.

We watched him as he took the stage and turned on the microphone at the podium.

“Great end-of-year news,” he said, as the mic gave a scream of reverb.

Kent Buckley tried again, more carefully.

“Duncan Carpenter—where are ya, buddy?”

Duncan hesitated, but then when it started to look like Kent Buckley might literally wait all day for him, he went ahead and mounted the stage.

At last, Kent Buckley went on. “My good friend Principal Carpenter and I have been hard at work on a super-secret project all year that it’s my pleasure to reveal to you today. We’ve got all the pieces in place to start moving forward at the start of summer. It’s been a difficult year for the school, but, as you know, I never see difficulties. I only see opportunities.”

By this point, we were all looking around at each other, like What?

Duncan had been working on a super-secret project with Kent Buckley?

Kent Buckley flipped the switch on the projector screen, and it slid down behind him. I present to you … Kempner School 2.0!”

Up popped an image of a sleek, black, glass-and-chrome building.

Everybody stared at it.

Everybody, that is, except Duncan, who stared only at the ground.

When Kent Buckley didn’t get the response he wanted, he launched into salesman mode. “Meet your new school! Gone is the sad old building with the peeling paint and rusty windows. Gone are the sagging steps and drooping shutters and missing roof shingles and cracking walls. We’re upgrading! Welcome to the newest, fanciest, most state-of-the-art educational facility in America. We’re going to make history with this building, folks. Remote video surveillance, automatic locking doors and panic buttons, bulletproof doors and windows. Hi-tech everything.”

At this point, people were starting to look around. What the hell was Kent Buckley talking about?

“This is … what?” Alice asked.

“The new school building,” Kent Buckley said, like Try to keep up!

“Whose new school building?” Carlos asked.

“Kempner’s,” Kent Buckley said, already impatient.

This couldn’t be real—but it couldn’t be a joke, either. Kent Buckley didn’t know how to joke.

Plus, one look at Duncan’s stricken face made it clear: this was real.

“We’re remodeling the school?” Mrs. Kline asked.

“No,” Kent Buckley said. “We’re building a new one.”

Murmurs all around—and not happy ones—as people tried to figure out what the hell was going on. Kent Buckley, never the most perceptive guy, went on talking like we were all gearing up to throw him a parade.

“Genius, right? I’ve gotta give a lot of credit to this guy”—he gestured at Duncan with his thumbs—“because when I was grilling him last fall on upping our security game, he did a pretty thorough assessment and finally came back and said, ‘You’d be better off building a brand-new school.’ So I said, ‘Hold my beer,’ and the next thing we knew, we had a potential buyer for this broken-down old place and a very promising pad site in an office park down on West Beach.”

When Kent Buckley stopped talking, it was dead quiet.

“You want to sell this place,” Carlos said then, “and build … the Death Star?”

Kent Buckley laughed and said, “You know, it’s funny—that’s exactly what we’ve been calling it.”

“It doesn’t have any windows,” Emily called out. “Just little slits.”

“It doesn’t have any plants,” Anton said.

“It’s in an industrial park,” Carlos said.

“Very observant,” Kent Buckley said, flashing a thumbs-up. “That’s all for visibility.”

“There’s no outdoor space,” Coach Gordo said.

“True,” Kent Buckley said. “Not a problem if you’ve got a wimpy kid like I do. But I’m working on arranging off-site sports facilities we can bus the jocks to after school.”

My head was swimming. What was happening?

“You’ve already had plans drawn up?” Lena asked.

“Not yet,” Kent Buckley said. “This image is from the website of the company we’ll hire. They used to be a defense contractor, but now they build schools. And great news: I’m an investor, so I can get them for cheap.”

“Has this—been approved by the board?” Carlos asked.

But Kent Buckley shook his head. “The board is excited. I’ve got all the board approval I need. We will be a go.”

That’s when I stood up.

Just … stood.

Kent Buckley turned in my direction. “Librarian,” he said, pointing at me. “Question.”

But my question was not for Kent Buckley. I turned and scanned for Babette.

She was at the back of the room.

“Babette,” I said. “Can you do me a favor and shut this guy up?”

There were gasps around the room.

Babette met my eyes, but she didn’t move.

I took a few steps closer. “I mean, don’t you feel like we’ve all had to put up with enough bullshit this year?” I looked around at the room. “Is there anybody in this room who wants to hear this dude waste any more of our time? I mean, there’s no way we’re doing this. We’re not selling our beautiful, historic building so that we can move to a sensory deprivation chamber.” I looked around. “None of this is happening. Why let him keep talking?”

Mrs. Kline was staring at me like I’d lost my mind—and was about to lose my job, too.

I came to a stop next to Babette. “It’s time to shut this down, don’t you think?”

But Babette looked at me through her glasses and then—just barely—shook her head.

But I didn’t understand. I leaned in closer. “What are you waiting for?” I whispered. “Fire him.”

But Babette just gave that same, imperceptible head shake again—and then, from her expression, I knew.

I took her hand, squatted down next to her, and very softly I said, “You can’t really fire him, can you?”

Her eyes had tears in them now. Just barely, she shook her head.

“But you told me you could because…?”

“Because I knew Duncan would only believe it if you believed it. And you are a terrible liar.”

I nodded. I kissed her on the cheek. I gave her a little hug. And then I turned around, and I marched right out of the room.

* * *

I didn’t even know where I was going. I charged my way through the courtyard, and shoved the school gates open. I didn’t even have my purse with me. I was so angry, it was like rocket fuel. I needed to move or it would burn me up.

I hadn’t even finished listening to Kent Buckley’s plan. I didn’t even know if there was a way to fight it. I didn’t know if this was a done deal or a foregone conclusion or what.