It’s the greatest tragedy of teaching that the memories of negative students weigh more heavily in the mind than those of students who truly gave hope for the future leaders of this world. At least, that was the case for Mr Lee. His guilt for students whose faults weren’t his responsibility outweighed the spectacular traits of many students that he had instilled.

Sighing, Mr Lee rubbed his thumb over Gengis Khan's face as he looked down at the empty mug of coffee. ‘Ten minutes till the next class,’ he told himself standing up as he walked back towards the teachers' lounge. It was surprising to compare how much energy had surged in him just six years ago, on that first day of teaching. He hadn’t needed a single sip of coffee, the energy of anxious excitement had kept him going.

“Doing alright there Mr Lee?” A gruff voice asked from behind him.

“Ah, Mr Hayer, yes I’m alright. And yourself?” Mr Lee answered, looking into his coffee. He clasped his hands tight around his mug, it burned slightly but that was comforting in a way.

“Oh you know, same as always,” He replied, “Before you leave today, drop by my office, alright?” his tone flat, Mr Lee was left speculating.

“Sure thing,” He replied into his mug as he took a sip. Looking up he gave a faint smile to Mr Hayer before heading back out from the teachers’ lounge and towards his classroom. Monotonous.

The day passed by slowly, and so did the grading Mr Lee had to do. By the time his last class ended, Mr Lee was half asleep and dreaded walking to Mr Hayer’s office. His department chair, Mr Hayer, had always been a strange mix of a friend and a pain to Mr Lee. His office was on the school’s first floor, so descending the main staircase Mr Lee was careful holding the railing. It seems a silly thing for a man not even thirty to use a handrail going downstairs, but it’d become apt for Mr Lee to as of recently. The school’s main entrance was right before him, and the afternoon sun shining through the windows above the doors was quite a sight to behold. It made this building seem grand, seem like– so much more than a loveable yet outdated classroom, or a cramped cubicle. It made this profession feel as noble as it was.

Yet, once you rounded the corner away from that door, at least for Mr Lee, that joy faded. “There you are, Mr Lee!” Mr Hayer called out from his desk as Mr Lee walked through his doorway. “Almost thought you forgot about me, please please, have a seat.”

Sitting down, Mr Lee was silent, looking not quite into his lap, but not quite at Mr Hayer before him. Rather, the wood grain of Mr Hayer’s desk seemed to pique his interest today. 

“Are you doing alright, your eyes look half dead. Or were you just worried about coming down to see me?” Mr Hayer asked, tapping on the desk in front of where Mr Lee’s eyes were investigating. 

Looking up at him now, Mr Lee awkwardly smiled and tried to feign a laugh, “Oh haha. No no, just tired. It is Monday after all.” But while he spoke, Mr Lee picked at his hand under the desk, he picked until his thumb was bleeding ever so slightly. And when that faint metallic smell hit his nose, only then did he cease.

“Ahh! Don’t be so down, Mondays are great days! M for magnificent.” Mr Hayer laughed full from his chest, that was a laugh of comfort. The sort of laugh Mr Lee envied. “And don’t worry, nothing’s wrong this visit.”

Mr Lee couldn’t help but sigh at those words, his shoulders relaxing from stress he hadn’t realized was in them. “Just to chat then?” Mr Lee asked. Honest to god, why had Mr Hayer sought him out?

“Well, not quite that either.” Mr Hayer’s face faded ever so slightly, from a toothy grin to a more sensible, soft smile. “You know the boys from your that Junior class of yours, James and– well you know them, and their parents.” Mr Hayer grimaced as he mentioned the parents. They were the folks whose phone calls of outrage he had to receive, and there were many phone calls.

“Yes yes, I know the group. What of them?” Mr Lee asked, picking again at his thumb. He hoped to hear; ‘They are being suspended from school for a week.’ or even; ‘They have been given daily detention for a month.’ But Mr Lee was a smart man, and he knew what was impossible. So he instead dreaded what would leave Mr Hayer’s mouth next.

“Well you know Ms Johnson gives a lot to this school.. and you know how she is just as happy as she is to donate, as she is not to.” Mr Hayer’s face had faded fully to a frown now. Mr Lee just nodded as he let Mr Hayer speak.

“See– she doesn’t want you teaching her son next year. Sad as it is, she does give alot to this school, and next year isn’t the year where we can afford to lose that money. So we’re cutting one of your classes for senior history, the European Wars elective, and giving it to Ms Carol-Jean.” Mr Hayer was tentative when he spoke, looking towards Mr Lee with such sympathy.

“Oh, that’s alright.” Mr Lee said, once again finding wonder in the desk before him. He didn’t bother smiling. “Am I teaching an alternative class, or is my schedule just cut?” Even though he knew it was just a money issue, even though he knew any teacher who held those privileged family’s sons accountable had received slaps on their wrist for show– even though it wasn’t a competition, just a facet of teaching.  It still felt tragic to lose to those students, to lose them.  Mr Lee spoke far more directly than he intended, that he ever normally would. But he didn’t notice, too busy pressing his nail into the torn-away skin of his thumb. 

“No no, you’ll have the same number of classes next year. More actually. Now we’re getting to the fun part of this meeting!” Mr Hayer said, his ginger tone sweetening as a smile returned to his face. “You studied art history in college did you not?”

“I did. Only for a semester though.” Mr Lee answered, his tone almost as tired as it was confused.

“Well, that doesn’t matter much anyways. History won't be a big part of the class.” Mr Lee couldn’t help but look up to Mr Hayer as the man spoke, the words about to come out of his mouth too shocking. “You’ll be our ceramics teacher next year!”

“W-what?” Mr Lee blurted out, unsure of how else to react and too shocked to think of a better response.

“Isn’t it exciting!? We receive a grant from the city for a better arts programme–” 

“But why would I teach the class?” Mr Lee asked, for the first time in his career interrupting Mr Hayer. 

“Well, you know I’m moving from history department chair to Dean of Academics next year, yes?” Mr Hayer asked, handing Mr Lee a stapled packet of paper with ‘Ceramics’ printed in bold font across the front of it.

“Yeah?” Mr Lee answered, leafing through the packet. It was dense, at least thirty pages and each seemed chock full of words.

“I unofficially started doing some of the Dean of Academics responsibilities this semester, just the prep for next year since there was no point in Mr McLaughlin doing it. Anyways, just when I was thinking of how to spend the grant a former student reached out and offered his own donation to the school for the arts and asked if we would be interested in a ceramics programme.”

Mr Lee was stunned and silent as he listened to this odd string of events that would apparently turn him into an… art teacher?

“Of course, I told him we would be! I mean he offered a good bit of money. And when I said that he propositioned himself as the teacher. Get that, he was basically paying us to have him as a teacher!” 

“So why isn’t he the ceramics teacher, he has to be more qualified than I am to teach the subject.” Mr Lee is lost as a mouse in a Mexican restaurant.

“Well yes, he is qualified. A bonafide celebrity for the art world, I was shocked he wanted to work in a High School. But that’s besides the point. The issue is, while he is qualified in ceramics, he doesn’t have the teaching degrees required to work as a teacher, so…” Mr Hayer’s smile grew as he got to this part. “I suggested he work as a teacher’s assistant since he clearly isn’t after money, and it's a job not requiring any degrees.”

“But, we have teachers here who are much better at art.” Mr Lee pointed out. “I mean, there are actual art teachers here.”

“That is true, yes, but their schedules are full.” Mr Hayer replied before quickly trying to back-peddle those words. “Although those parents making me change your schedule wasn’t the only reason we chose you to teach ceramics! Actually, the former student I’m talking about was here in your first year, and when I mentioned he would have to, in a technicality, be someone’s assistant, he asked if it could be you.”

“Really? Who?” Mr Lee blurted out, for the first time in this meeting he was curious in the way people should be curious. In a joyful way. 

“Skyler. Skyler Hissong.” Mr Hayer said, and instantly Mr Lee’s thumb picking ceased.