“Ignore them. Nothing was confirmed.” She walked away, toward James House, like she didn’t want to be a witness.
2
Daniel Jennings' classroom was on the first floor of Montgomery Hall, nicknamed Old Monty because the structure existed before Valley Academy purchased the property. Jennings hadn’t taken down his predecessor’s posters or wall maps, the space looking very much as it had for three years. Books were his only contribution. He filled the shelves with Stephen Ambrose, David McCullough, Ron Chernow, Doris Kearns Goodwin, John Lewis, and various biographies of presidents. An Erik Larson book, In the Garden of Beasts, was open on his desk, face down.
Classrooms looked like classrooms no matter how much private money was spent. Students still required desks resistant to graffiti. Floors needed to be impervious to stains and easily cleaned. Walls, accessible for annual painting. Technology had updated dry erase boards to Active Boards, but the appearance remained constant.
Jennings loved it, loved it all. His classroom, the hallway, the optimism, the pencils, the collegiality. Similar in structure to a military base but vastly dissimilar in spirit. He felt a desperation to earn his spot, because here sprang hope.
And here there were dragons.
Peter Lynch waited with his son. Three student desks were arranged in a circle. He and Benji, an enormous man and boy, overwhelmed two of them. Lynch was forcing Jennings to sit in the third, preventing him from using his teacher’s desk as a defendable fortress.
Oh yes. I remember him.
Lynch was the hairiest man Jennings had ever met. Black hair combed back and gelled in place, covering his ears. Long eyebrows. Black beard trimmed short. Hair grew under his Adam’s apple and sprouted from his sleeves. Like a black bear given a cut and shoved into a suit.
Lynch didn’t stand.
Jennings said, “Good afternoon.”
Lynch flipped through a history book. “Funny how facts change, isn’t it, Daniel. Pluto used to be a planet. Now it doesn’t measure up, the little shit.”
Jennings lowered into the third student chair, an awkward motion for him.
“Sorry I’m late.” Up close Jennings saw Lynch’s skin was pale beneath the hair, a disagreeable contrast.
“The rigors of academia,” said Lynch.
“I have car duty after sports.”
“Car duty after sports. What honorable responsibility for a man. Here.” Lynch jabbed a finger into the history book. Between knuckles, tufts of black hair. “The Civil War. Growing up, Daniel, we were taught it was fought over states’ rights. Now it’s about the African Americans. But you might be too young, raised after the facts changed.”
“We were probably overdue for a refresh. Some older history books were written by Daughters of the Confederacy.”
“Letting the losers write the account? How nice of the Union.” Lynch looked at Jennings for the first time and smiled. Stark white teeth, porcelain veneers too big. Jennings had seen the face and the smile on television commercials and on billboards all over Roanoke. “You’re our school’s new history instructor.”
“Dan Jennings.”
“Do you walk with a limp, Daniel?”
“An old injury.”
“My son, Benjamin, tells me he enjoys your class. Some of the instructors are too strict. Some are soft. Some are boring. But yours, Daniel, yours is fun. Did you hear that? Fun.”
“History is a narrative, Mr. Lynch. Humans learn better when facts are codified into a story. It’s fun organically if the instructor is willing.”
“Did you learn that from your training in education?”
“No I didn’t.”
“No you didn’t because you don’t have any training in education. I remember that from your résumé. That has to be a blow to your confidence. You’re new, you limp, and you have no training in education.”
Jennings was surprised but he hoped it didn’t show. He’d walked into a boxing match.
“Parents review résumés?” he said.
“I’m not just a parent, you know that. Or are they tossing you blind to the wolves?”
“I wouldn’t call Benji a wolf. Some of his classmates, maybe.” Jennings grinned at the boy. Benji grinned back, guarded, would only make brief eye contact. He still wore his football gear, coming straight from practice.
“They aren’t the wolf, Daniel. What did they tell you about me?” said Lynch.
A pause to select the correct words.
“I was told a moment ago that I had a conference with you, an esteemed member of the Academy’s community.”
“Your loyalty wastes my time. Or is it cowardice? You spoke with Angela Pierce.” He leaned back in the chair and its architecture groaned. “Angela. We’re a new institution. Turnover is inevitable and it takes a while to fill the posts with proper leaders. Inevitable but irksome.”
“How can I help you, Mr. Lynch?”
“Remind me. I’m thinking back to your Curriculum Vitae. You went to college at James Madison?”
“Yes.”
“You couldn’t get into UVA or Richmond.”
“I didn’t try.”
“You majored in some exhausting social science, I imagine.”
“Management and Leadership, and a minor in History. Does it matter?”
Another flash of teeth. “Setting fire to fifty thousand dollars. I hope it got you laid, at least.”
“Dad,” said Benji.
“Let this be a lesson, son. Some men have to pay for it.”
“Dad, come on.”
Despite the unexpected antagonism, Jennings’ blood pressure remained steady. He’d faced worse. He learned to squeeze on the antagonism, use it to force focus. After the threat passed, he’d deal with the stress then.
He gave Lynch a small smile. He gave Lynch patience and nothing else, and he declined to reply.
But good grief, poor Benji.
“After that financial waste, you joined the military? Those broad shoulders you’re so proud of, that’s where they come from.”
“Does this have anything to do with your son, Mr. Lynch?”
“Of course it does, you’re his instructor. In theory. You joined the military after college?”
“The Army.”
“Not as an officer, though,” said Lynch.
“No, I enlisted.”
“Enlisted. A college degree does wonders at boot camp. I bet that comforted your parents after the tuition flush. You survive all four years, Private? Or should I say, Specialist?”
“Medical discharge after the fourth year. I was a Staff Sergeant,” said Jennings.
“Medical discharge. Your limp?”
“Yes. Would you like to talk about Benji?”
“Where were you assigned, Daniel?”
“Fort Bragg.”
“What battalion?”
“1st Special Forces.”
Lynch’s posture was naturally hunched, like a big
