The last day of fourth grade. New York City. Public School #12. Outside of my classroom I fearfully opened the envelope that held my report card. There’d been letters sent home about the likelihood of my flunking. News that hadn’t been received well by my parents. To say the least. I pulled out the dreaded document. Please, God, I just want to pass. I was definitely in need of a miracle.
I flipped to the back. “Promoted to fifth grade,” the decision read. I let out a loud sigh of relief. My eyes went to the words on the adjacent line.
“Teacher: Mrs. Walitt.”
“What?” I looked closer, certain I’d misread, but now the name seemed to jump off the page in
