Page 64 of Left on Read

“We surveyed over ninety percent of the current student population, homeroom by homeroom. The survey was completelyanonymous, and no participants were told what the results would be used for, so the data is unprejudiced.” This is more methodology than the average person needs to know, but I can tell Hayes is showing off a little for his parents. He’s earned it. “In that survey, which we co-authored, we asked our fellow students to rate their overall mental health, to rate their personal support systems, and also to rate the resources available to them for help. Lastly, we asked students to sum up, in one sentence, how their mental health has been impacted by school.”

Hayes hits a button on his remote, and the blank projector screen behind us moves to a startling collage of all those sentences. I stand facing forward, but I have a few of them memorized.

I feel like I’m drowning lol.

Why are we even here.

Is MAYBE getting into an Ivy worth this kind of misery???

I do six hours of homework every night and I’m literally dying.

I wasn’t built for this pressure cooker.That last one’s mine.

Everyone is wide awake now, and we stand in silence as I watch people read. It’s a moment of collective darkness. A moment when all our pain comes out into the light.

“Over eighty percent of the students surveyed rated their mental health below a five on a one-to-ten scale. Nearly the same amount rated their support systems below a six. Over ninety percent felt that the resources available to them fell below a three.”

He lets them sit with that for a minute. That’s the thing about Hayes: He knows the power of silence. So many people in thecrowd are still staring at the screen rather than us. I see so many parents trying to pick out their student’s words, like they wish it were handwritten so they’d recognize the script.

“Our goal is to change that. To improve resources and the student experience.” Hayes leaves the floor to me.

“We’ve come up with a multifaceted plan, and everyone has a copy in the packet you received at sign-in. We’d like you to read over it and let us know your thoughts. What we can improve, how we can better help students cope with their stress. We’d also like you to make your student’s mental health a priority at home, whatever that looks like for them.”

I watch as people scramble for their manila folders, pulling out copies of my plan. I hear pages start to flip, and the delicate silence gives way to thoughtful, murmured conversation.

“Back to you, Principal Hinshaw.” Hayes steps back from the podium, pulling me with him. We retreat behind the curtain.

I look at his face, because I want to know how he thought we did. I’m in this weird mental space where everything sounds like an indistinct roar, and I don’t remember a single word I said. It’s possible I was reciting the verbs we had to memorize for my Spanish test.

He doesn’t say anything, but he winks.

OfficialEndeavourHigh:Seniors2: They locked me out of the seniors’ channel, so I made a new one. This message will self-destruct in 30 seconds, but let the record show that I didn’t surrender.

We’re all sitting in Lowry’s classroom, waiting. It’s happened like this so many times, a full class but no professor, in the weeks since she and Mrs. Jacobs had a … discussion.

“Well.” Hayes sighs. “Last day. How does it feel?”

He’s asking me if I feel a breakdown coming on. He’s noticed the pattern, and so have I. As soon as I get a break from school, my entire life falls apart.

“I’m okay, I think,” I tell him. I don’t know for sure, but that impending breakdown feels pretty distant for the moment. I think of the holidays, and uninterrupted sleep, and time with Hayes, and our Beta Club convention trip as soon as we get back from break. None of that feels daunting, or draining, or even really scary, and I can’t picture myself obsessing about it negatively over vacation. It all sounds kind of nice, actually.

Hayes kicks his feet up on the table. I roll my eyes, because I dostill have some respect for the classroom, despite everything we’ve been through here.

None of us know what’s going to happen with Lowry or our grades. We’ve barely seen her throughout the back half of the semester. Her appearances in her own class have been few and far between, and she’s been … distant at best, even when she physically shows up. Today is our open-book final that makes up the other half of our grade, and it was supposed to start five minutes ago.

“What do we do if she doesn’t show up?” I ask Hayes in a worried whisper.

“Not our problem.” He shrugs. His damn feet are still on the table. I know he’s right. But I can’t walk away from this without closure … and without knowing whether we’re all going to fail.

“What about ourgrades?”

Hayes is about to respond when the room falls silent. I look away from him toward the front of the room.

That’s the dean.Of the entire college.

Oh, shit.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone.” He unbuttons his oversize gray blazer and sits down behind the desk that’s usually Lowry’s. “For those of you who don’t know, I’m Dr. Lehan. I’m the dean of the College of Arts and Sciences.”