There wasn’t a single reason they would come to detention. What could Wendell do to them? They would have to care about their high school experience before they would care about detention.
Typically, Wendell wore a button-down cotton shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow. Not today. For the unveiling of his plan, Wendell wore a suit. Gray pinstripes. Never mind that right now it felt like a straitjacket. He wanted the students to know he was serious.
Wendell took the handheld mic and made his way to the front center of the stage. “Good morning!” He kept his voice cheerful. Something he’d learned from Les Green. “This isn’t any ordinary school year, people. This year everything is going to change at Hamilton High.”
It was impossible not to notice the dozens of boys slumped in their seats, hoodies and baseball caps pulled low over their eyes, or the girls on their phones. There were rules against these things, but none of them seemed to care.
Wendell stayed patient. He told them about the new bell schedule and how after-school tutoring would be available this year. “A teacher from each department will stay for one hour Monday, Wednesday and Friday in the Four Hundred Building. You can show up for help anytime you wish.”
A few more announcements and it was time. The plan had to be revealed. To kick it off, Wendell had created a short film. Only four minutes long, it was a recap of everything wrong and heartbreaking about Hamilton High. Factual information, nothing more. Produced in a way that some students might actually pay attention.
“I’d like you to watch a video.” Wendell pointed to the screen overhead. In the back of the room a skirmish broke out. Two male students shoved each other and then quickly wound up on the floor in a brawl.
Students all around the incident were on their feet, yelling at the two, cheering them on.
“Enough!” Wendell stared at the back row. Even with a mic, he wasn’t getting their attention. “That’s enough!” He looked to the nearest teacher. “Please take them to the office. Keep them there.” The other students were still standing, still watching as two teachers rushed in. They broke up the fight and finally walked the kids out of the auditorium. Wendell lowered his voice. “Sit down. All of you.”
Gradually, the students obeyed until everyone was seated and generally facing the stage again. “Okay.” Wendell couldn’t believe things were going so poorly. He needed to get the video up and running. “Take a look at the screen.”
Someone lowered the house lights and pushed play. The video began with a burst of statistics. Dreary, gut-wrenching statistics. The Hamilton gang violence, the drug abuse, the suicides. The transition shot read: “Those are the statistics. These are the stories.”
Using images from the yearbook and photos taken by students in Alicia’s journalism class, the rest of the film was a more personal look at the losses from the previous year. Rasha Carter, a sophomore. About to walk home from school last January, killed in an exchange of gunfire between two rival gangs. She never even made it past the school parking lot before she was killed.
The footage showed Rasha alive and happy, talking about her dreams and laughing with friends. But it was followed with video coverage of her funeral. The day the girl’s future was buried with her at the cemetery.
Wendell heard a few sniffles coming from somewhere in the front row. That was when he saw he had their attention. Not everyone. Still plenty of students hanging their heads, sleeping through the moment or too busy on their phones to care. But a few girls in the front were crying, and gradually students were tuning in.
The film continued with additional clips of the other students who’d died last year, followed by a montage of news headlines featuring Hamilton High’s worst criminal element. The video ended with the quote from Alexander Hamilton. Those who stand for nothing . . . fall for anything.
Wendell waited for the lights to come on. The room was quiet. Not much, but something of an improvement. “That was the old Hamilton High School.” He looked around. “Today you are sitting in the auditorium of the new Hamilton High.”
He spotted Alicia. Even from so far away he could feel her support, her prayers. She wouldn’t stand beside him in this season. But however afraid this made her, in her heart she would always be for him. Wendell knew that.
Determination flooded his veins and stirred his voice. “This school was named after one of our founding fathers—Alexander Hamilton. He was a man of faith and conviction. A man who did not believe in wasting his chance.”
Wendell noticed a kid in the fourth row roll his eyes and whisper something to the girl next to him. Wendell pressed on. He could tell them about the club, tell them about the reason for the club. But this was where he needed to be most careful. Especially during school hours. “From now on you have the choice to be people who do not believe in wasting your chance, either.” He paused. Facts, Wendell . . . stick to the facts. “There will be a voluntary after-school program called Raise the Bar. I want to stress that this program is voluntary. But the goal of the program is to change your life.”
Wendell didn’t need notes. “Raise the Bar will be a time of looking into the Bible for wisdom and direction. I will lead each session, and afterward, there will be a time of prayer.” He hesitated.
There was so much more he wanted to say. If he could, he would tell them how miracles could happen if they would take their troubles to God. And how it was his belief not only as a Christian but as an educator that Hamilton High needed redemption.
But even without his saying any of that, muffled laughter came from a group of freshman boys at the right side of the auditorium.
Wendell ignored them.
He wanted to tell them how statistics showed that faith in God improves test scores and a student’s outlook on life and school. Instead, he chose his words with great intention. He didn’t tell them that Scripture backed those statistics. Or that God promised in the book of Jeremiah that He had great plans for the students.
Wendell looked around the auditorium. Maybe it was his imagination or his strong belief that this was what the kids needed, but suddenly the room seemed quieter. For the most part, the students were listening. At least Wendell thought so. His voice grew steady again. “If you—each of you—want to win . . . if you want a different life than what you just saw on the screen, show up at Room 422 at four-thirty today, after practices and clubs let out.”
He looked around the room again. “If you don’t play a sport, if you’re not in a club, you can choose to stick around and do your homework. Then come to the meeting.” He paused. “What do you have to lose?”
He explained how the Raise the Bar program would never conflict with tutoring, since it was on Tuesdays and Thursdays. “We’ll have free snacks for anyone who comes.” Wendell noticed several kids raise their eyebrows. Free food was something for these students. A few whispered amongst themselves.
Wendell took a step closer to the edge of the stage. He wasn’t finished. There was something he had to say before he could end the assembly. “Hear me loud and clear about one thing.” He made eye contact with every section of students. “The Raise the Bar program is voluntary. No one is insisting you attend, and you will have no repercussions if you do not attend. This is merely an option. Raise the Bar . . . or not.”
When the assembly was over, Alicia found him and gave him a quick hug. “That was perfect.” His words seemed to have emboldened her some. After Alicia moved on, other teachers approached him.
One of the math teachers leaned close. “Mr. Quinn, I’m concerned.” He whispered his words—as if the political correctness police might be lurking nearby. “What you’re doing is illegal.” He allowed a quick smile. “But I say more power to you. Nothing else is working.”