The last bell of the year had already rung. Yearbooks passed from hand to hand, papers covered the floor, and backpacks were packed for summer.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
One boy waited until the classroom was almost empty.<\/p>\n
Then he approached my desk holding a small paper envelope with both hands.<\/p>\n
Inside was a Starbucks gift card.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d I said, assuming his parents had bought it on the way to school.<\/p>\n
He smiled, but instead of saying anything, he ran after his friends.<\/p>\n
I thought about the gift again a few days later when I stopped at Starbucks and used the card. I mentioned casually to the manager that one of my students had given it to me.<\/p>\n
She looked at the card.<\/p>\n
Then she looked at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cWas it from a young boy?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her expression changed.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe’s been coming in for weeks,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd you need to know what he did.\u201d<\/p>\n
THE STORY CONTINUES ON THE NEXT PAGE… \ud83d\udc47\ud83d\udc47\ud83d\udc47<\/p>\n