Page 15 of With the Key in the Office

She lifted the top dossier and read the first lines without giving away the client’s name. The case sketched a teenager who had shut down after a move, a mother who had turned rigid with fear and a school counselor who had asked for help when both refused to speak in the same room. Jessie set the folder on the table and looked out at us.

“What’s the first move?" she asked. “Not the flashy one. The human one.”

Hands rose. Jessie pointed at Jaylyn. “Ask the counselor who the kid trusts outside the home. Find pockets of safety before you enter the house.”

“Good,” Jessie said. “What else?”

Robbie jumped in. “Define success in small, measurable steps. We won’t fix the whole household in a day, but we can create a moment where each person tells the truth for a minute.”

Jessie nodded and marked the board in tidy bullet points. She had a teacher’s cadence already, brisk and warm in the same breath. Students leaned forward. The room leaned with them.

Mr. Clarke cleared his throat. “Ms. Crayne,” he said. “Before we romanticize micro-interventions, perhaps we should establish that trainees will not walk into homes at all. Observation remains the only permitted field activity. Anything else runs counter to protocol.”

Jessie didn’t flinch, even though he was clearly trying to find fault with her. “We are in agreement,” she said. “Today’s work happens on paper. Shadowing remains supervised and non-interventionist. The point is to build judgment before anyone sets foot in a kitchen.”

Clarke kept his stance by the door. “Then say that first,” he replied. “You’ve begun with abstractions. Clarity matters more.”

The temperature in the room dropped. I kept my gaze on Jessie. She had three options I could name in that second. Laugh it off. Spar with him. Or acknowledge and redirect. She chose the third.

“Fair,” she said, steady and calm. “For the record, you will not cast, you will not influence, and you will return when I say return. The role today is reader, not actor.” She lifted another sheet. “Now tell me what you’d look for in this intake before you even consider a travel charm.”

Pens moved. Shoulders lowered. The room followed her cue and rejoined the lesson. Clarke stayed a quiet shadow near the door, which somehow cast a longer line than noise would have.

We worked through two scenarios and a short drill on de-escalation that turned into a lively debate about apology phrases that disarm rather than harden. At one point a student tried out an apology that would have gotten a door shut in her face, and Jessie rewrote it with a small change that opened everythingback up. Students scribbled. The back row tried the cadence under their breath and grinned when it worked.

Clarke moved forward a half step and spoke in a tone that would’ve sounded concerned from anyone else. “Ms. Crayne, have you taught consent clauses yet?” he asked. “Most of the class appears eager to practice influence without understanding where the line sits.”

Jessie set her chalk down. “Yes,” she said. “We begin every session with consent. We return to it as many times as needed. We also assign readings on autonomy and the ethics of magical aid. Those went out last night.” She glanced toward the back. “If anyone missed the link, see me after class.”

He looked past her to the board, as if hunting for error. “And who reviewed your syllabus?” he asked. “New courses undergo a faculty check.”

“Mr. Vanderflit signed off,” she said. A beat passed. “If you have corrections, write them down and send them to me. I’ll consider anything that sharpens the work.”

A few students shot each other sideways looks and then did the mature thing and stared at their notes. I kept my hands in my lap where they couldn’t do anything rash. The urge to jump in and pick a fight on Jessie’s behalf ran hot and foolish. She didn’t need a champion. She needed room to teach.

Jessie shifted us into a role play. She set two stools at the front and asked for volunteers to practice an intake call. Jaylyn and I raised our hands. Jessie paired us and gave me the client script. I read a few lines and then stopped mid-sentence, which was the point. She used the pause to model how you invite silencewithout filling it with your own fear. The room caught the move and loved it.

Clarke waited until the applause died down. “Enough role play,” he said. “Demonstrations give students the illusion of mastery. They pass a test and leave empty handed when real life refuses to match the script.”

Jessie held his stare and then turned back to the class. “That’s the point,” she said. “Life refuses to match the script. Practice builds muscles you can carry into the unknown. We won’t be perfect. We can be prepared.” She faced the room again. “Break into pairs. Walk through the first page of the intake with the list of questions I gave you. Switch roles after five minutes.”

Chairs squeaked. Pages turned. Laughter bubbled here and there, and real work started to happen under it. Jessie drifted through the room, listening more than she spoke, redirecting a phrase or setting a student at ease with two words. She looked happy and terrified and utterly present, which landed as the right combination for a new teacher who refused to hide behind theory.

Clarke sidled closer to our trio while we worked. “Ms. Ault,” he said, quiet enough to pass for friendly. “You enjoy being at the center of these experiments. Try to imagine what happens when the center belongs to someone who has no interest in your needs.”

“My job would be to remove myself,” I said evenly. “The work belongs to the client, not the worker.”

“Then you understand a point your teacher hasn’t articulated,” he said, and aimed that at Jessie’s back.

Heat crept up my neck. Robbie touched my elbow in a way that said hold steady. He was right. I let the comment slide off and returned to the page, as much as I wanted to do otherwise.

When the pairs finished, Jessie called us back and debriefed common mistakes. She didn’t rush and didn’t apologize for clarity, and by the end the class had a solid foundation and a list of questions to carry into the next session. She wrapped up with logistics for the week and a reminder to hydrate and sleep.

Clarke waited until students started to stand. “A final note,” he said. “Remember that title pins are easy to hand out and hard to earn. Skill takes time. Don’t mistake enthusiasm for mastery.” He smiled as if he had blessed the room and then walked out.

The smile didn’t fool anyone. A few students shuffled faster. Others waited to thank Jessie for the lesson. She glowed and pinned that glow down because she knew half the room had just watched a test she hadn’t agreed to take.

We helped stack stools. Jaylyn wiped chalk off the ledge while I capped markers and tucked them into the tray. Jessie cleaned the board.