anything that could upset anybody.
Of course Mr. Hammond hadn’t wanted to answer her questions at all. When she’d asked him about doing the interview, he let out a weary sigh and said, “A necessary evil, I suppose. I’ll give you fifteen minutes after school today, so have your questions ready. I could probably write out the answers and give them to you without even hearing your questions, but we’ll carry through the usual farce.”
Jocie had written out her questions in history class. And they were the usual, but that was what people wanted to know. Where he was from. Why he had taken the job at Hollyhill High. Et cetera.
After the last bell rang that day and all the other kids had exploded out the doors toward home, Jocie had hurried back to Mr. Hammond’s classroom. The hallways seemed twice as big and spooky quiet without all the kids pushing toward their classes. Earlier at her locker, she had heard the muffled sounds of bouncing basketballs and the coach’s whistle from back in the gym where the boys were practicing, but even those sounds faded away as she went down the hall past all the closed classroom doors. Her footsteps echoed on the tile floor. She should have asked Charissa to stay with her and keep her company while she talked to Mr. Hammond.
He looked up from his desk at her when she knocked on his open door and motioned her in with a long slender finger. “I’ve got the questions ready,” she told him holding up her notebook. “But if it’s okay, we can do the pictures first.”
“Whatever.” He looked bored with the whole idea, but he sat still while she snapped four pictures.
“Great,” she said as she dropped the camera back against her chest and scooted into the student’s desk right in front of his desk. She didn’t know why she was nervous. She’d interviewed a half dozen of the teachers in the school for this or that story in the Banner already this year. Interviews weren’t hard. She just asked the questions and wrote down the answers.
“I wasn’t aware the school had a student paper,” he said.
“We don’t. This is for the local paper. The Hollyhill Banner .” Jocie opened up her notebook and pulled her pencil out of her purse.
He frowned. “You work for the local paper?”
“I don’t really work for the paper. I just help out. My father is the editor, so he lets me do the school news.” She gave Mr. Hammond what she hoped was a dazzling smile.
He didn’t smile back. “I thought you said your father was a preacher.”
“Right. That too.” Their first assignment from Mr. Hammond had been to write a page about themselves. She’d written that her father was a preacher and an editor, but a teacher couldn’t be expected to remember every word every student wrote.
“Interesting.” Mr. Hammond leaned back in his chair, made a steeple with his long index fingers, and studied Jocie over them. “Are you sure you are capable of doing a proper interview?”
“I’ve done a lot of interviews.” Jocie let her smile drain away and plastered her best serious look on her face as she gripped her pencil until her fingers hurt. The man’s eyes bored into her as if he didn’t believe a word she was saying. “You can read the final copy before it comes out in the Banner if you want.”
“Oh well, it won’t matter all that much. Your news rag is hardly the New York Times .” He waved his hands in a dismissive gesture before he picked up a pen and began twirling it back and forth between his fingers. “So on with it. Ask.”
When she started reading her first question about where he was from, he stopped her. “Wait. Let’s shorten this. Please. I’ll give you the capsule info. I was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. My mother taught eighth grade math. My father was a policeman. He was killed in the line of duty when I was fifteen. My mother joined the Peace Corps last year and is somewhere in South America helping the poor unfortunates there learn how to
Of course Mr. Hammond hadn’t wanted to answer her questions at all. When she’d asked him about doing the interview, he let out a weary sigh and said, “A necessary evil, I suppose. I’ll give you fifteen minutes after school today, so have your questions ready. I could probably write out the answers and give them to you without even hearing your questions, but we’ll carry through the usual farce.”
Jocie had written out her questions in history class. And they were the usual, but that was what people wanted to know. Where he was from. Why he had taken the job at Hollyhill High. Et cetera.
After the last bell rang that day and all the other kids had exploded out the doors toward home, Jocie had hurried back to Mr. Hammond’s classroom. The hallways seemed twice as big and spooky quiet without all the kids pushing toward their classes. Earlier at her locker, she had heard the muffled sounds of bouncing basketballs and the coach’s whistle from back in the gym where the boys were practicing, but even those sounds faded away as she went down the hall past all the closed classroom doors. Her footsteps echoed on the tile floor. She should have asked Charissa to stay with her and keep her company while she talked to Mr. Hammond.
He looked up from his desk at her when she knocked on his open door and motioned her in with a long slender finger. “I’ve got the questions ready,” she told him holding up her notebook. “But if it’s okay, we can do the pictures first.”
“Whatever.” He looked bored with the whole idea, but he sat still while she snapped four pictures.
“Great,” she said as she dropped the camera back against her chest and scooted into the student’s desk right in front of his desk. She didn’t know why she was nervous. She’d interviewed a half dozen of the teachers in the school for this or that story in the Banner already this year. Interviews weren’t hard. She just asked the questions and wrote down the answers.
“I wasn’t aware the school had a student paper,” he said.
“We don’t. This is for the local paper. The Hollyhill Banner .” Jocie opened up her notebook and pulled her pencil out of her purse.
He frowned. “You work for the local paper?”
“I don’t really work for the paper. I just help out. My father is the editor, so he lets me do the school news.” She gave Mr. Hammond what she hoped was a dazzling smile.
He didn’t smile back. “I thought you said your father was a preacher.”
“Right. That too.” Their first assignment from Mr. Hammond had been to write a page about themselves. She’d written that her father was a preacher and an editor, but a teacher couldn’t be expected to remember every word every student wrote.
“Interesting.” Mr. Hammond leaned back in his chair, made a steeple with his long index fingers, and studied Jocie over them. “Are you sure you are capable of doing a proper interview?”
“I’ve done a lot of interviews.” Jocie let her smile drain away and plastered her best serious look on her face as she gripped her pencil until her fingers hurt. The man’s eyes bored into her as if he didn’t believe a word she was saying. “You can read the final copy before it comes out in the Banner if you want.”
“Oh well, it won’t matter all that much. Your news rag is hardly the New York Times .” He waved his hands in a dismissive gesture before he picked up a pen and began twirling it back and forth between his fingers. “So on with it. Ask.”
When she started reading her first question about where he was from, he stopped her. “Wait. Let’s shorten this. Please. I’ll give you the capsule info. I was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. My mother taught eighth grade math. My father was a policeman. He was killed in the line of duty when I was fifteen. My mother joined the Peace Corps last year and is somewhere in South America helping the poor unfortunates there learn how to
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