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that, hunh?” I said to her.
    â€œUnfortunately,” she answered. “But don’t give up on them, Tracy. It’s not the
kids’
fault.”
    I smiled and shook my head, thinking about the children of students like LaKeisha. If my assumptions were right, she would
definitely
be having them. The boys were already eyeing her, and she didn’t have the head strength or the smarts to turn them away. At least
I
was strong enough to
choose
who I wanted to be with. That helps you to
choose
not to get pregnant. Like the saying goes, If you don’t stand for something, you’re liable to fall for anything.
    â€œSo whose fault will it be when
her
children are failing twenty years from now?” I asked my fellow schoolteacher.
    Desiree chuckled, taking in my glum outlook. “It’s a long cycle that needs to be broken,” she said. She was right. I just wasn’t so sure that
I
was the one to do the breaking, and with every step we took toward the exit that day, I continued to think,
What the hell am I doing trying to teach anyway?
I still had this inner desire to be someone special, someone who would shine. I couldn’t shine at East Germantown Middle School.
    We made it out to the parking lot where I was stunned by the broken glass, the graffiti on the walls, and the dullness of the place, as if it was my first time noticing it. I loved Philadelphia, but I realized at that moment that I needed
more
than a regular job. I would suffocate and die there, spiritually.I just needed ...euphoria, and teaching wouldn’t be able to do that for me. I needed that rush of energy that chasing after fast and dangerous guys gave me. I needed the attention that wearing sexy clothes and having things my way out on the streets gave me. I wanted the whole temptation of going for forbidden fruit again, ignoring my parents and doing something wild and crazy. I was just bored out of my mind as a teacher, and I needed a reckless challenge in my life like I had so much of in my younger years.
    â€œSo what do you plan to do for your vacation?” Desiree asked me at our cars. She was parked not far from me.
    I did not have the faintest idea what I wanted to do for my summer. I said, “Good question. What about you?”
    â€œI’m teaching a couple of summer school classes. After that, my boyfriend and I are going to Hawaii.”
    â€œHawaii?! You
really
picked a place to vacation,” I told her. I was jealous. I needed a Hawaii vacation of my own. I also needed the type of boyfriend you could take on a vacation.
    â€œWell, hang on in there, Tracy. It gets easier. The first couple of years are always rough.”
    â€œSo I’ve found out,” I joked, but it wasn’t funny. I had a lot of thinking to do.
    I drove home to my two-bedroom apartment off of Lincoln Drive, and took a long look at myself inside of the full-length mirror on my bedroom door. There I was, wearing tailored suits, with manicured nails, jazzy hairstyles, designer shoes, and looking good, just to go and teach middle school students. Not that they didn’t need something to aspire to, and someone to show them the way, but maybe that parent was right. I was too damned cute and maybe just a touch superficial for the job.
    â€œShit!” I cursed myself, stripping from my clothes. I felt guilty. I knew I didn’t have the long-term dedication to teach those kids who needed it. I just wanted what
I
needed. Recognition. Was it so wrong to want to feel special and to do something about it?
    I sat down on my bed in panties and bra and pulled out my notepad to write a poem about my feelings of mortality. I had always been special. I used to think of myself as a goddess, but suddenly I wasn’t special anymore. I could not handle my new reality, so when I had finished my poem, I decided to call my girl Raheema in New Jersey for a little pick-me-up.
    Raheema was doing a fellowship at Rutgers University after