Nolan closed the door behind him, shutting out the hallway’s fading noise. Emily glanced up from her laptop, one eyebrow raised.
“No knock?” she asked. “What’s the emergency this time?”
Nolan dropped into the seat across from her, expression grim. “It’s about Ms. Alden.”
Emily shut her laptop slowly. “What happened?”
“They’re reassigning Room 212. Apparently Coach Rainer needs an office. The administration wants Ms. Alden packed up and out by the end of next week.”
Emily stared. “They’re taking her room? That’s been hers for decades. It’s more than just a classroom.”
“Exactly. It’s where she holds writing labs, college essay help, after-school tutoring—everything.”
Emily blinked in disbelief. “Why Rainer? Doesn’t he already have a space in the athletic office?”
“Apparently it’s too crowded now that he’s head coach for both football and track. They want him to have a ‘dedicated workspace.’”
“And they think that justifies displacing a teacher who’s supported hundreds of students?”
Nolan nodded. “They offered Ms. Alden a shared desk in the copy room.”
Emily frowned. “That’s insulting.”
“She didn’t say much. But when I passed the front office, I heard her asking the secretary if she could still access her student files after four. They lock the copy room then.”
Emily leaned back, arms crossed. “She deserves better than this.”
“She does,” Nolan agreed. “She stayed late with me the night before college apps were due. Let me print drafts, gave me feedback line by line. No one else at this school would’ve done that.”
“She’s helped half the senior class,” Emily said. “This place runs on people like her—quietly, behind the scenes. And now they’re just moving her aside.”
Nolan hesitated, then said, “I was thinking we could write something. A letter. Not angry—just thoughtful and clear. From us.”
Emily narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Something addressed to the principal?”
“Yeah. Lay out what she does for the student body, how critical that room is to her work. If we sound reasonable, maybe they’ll actually listen.”
She nodded slowly. “We’ll need to include real data. Like how many students she’s tutored this year. Any awards or recognition she’s received.”
“I’ve got that,” Nolan said. “She told me last week she helped with over thirty college applications this fall.”
Emily pulled her laptop back open. “We should emphasize the loss of access for students—especially kids who rely on her after school. A new office for a coach shouldn’t come at the expense of academic support.”
“Exactly.”
They drafted the letter together—careful, persuasive, professional. It took almost an hour, but when they hit send, it felt like they’d done more than just complain. They had taken a stand.
The next day, murmurs echoed through the hallways. Someone had shared the letter. Teachers were quietly discussing it, and students whispered outside Room 212 like it had become sacred ground.
By third period, the principal had issued a response via email.
Reassignment of Room 212 under review. Decision will be delayed pending student input.
Emily slid her phone across the lunch table so Nolan could read the message.
He exhaled. “We bought her time.”
“She’s earned it,” Emily replied. “And if they try again, we’ll be louder.”
Nolan smiled faintly. “You ever notice Ms. Alden doesn’t raise her voice? She just gets people to listen anyway.”
“Maybe we learned something from her, then.”
“Room 212” by Nina D. Smith, published by Bright Bunny Books © 2025. Retelling of Chapter VI of Nid and Nod by Ralph Henry Barbour, originally published in 1923.
“Room 212” is best suited for high school students in grades 9–12, offering relatable themes of advocacy, loyalty, and student voice within a realistic and emotionally resonant school setting.
Bright Bunny Books 