The Medical

Mr. Pruitt arrived at six fifty-eight, two minutes before class, in a pale grey polo shirt and expensive sunglasses, which he took off when he came into the back room and looked at the onion sacks.

He was about sixty-five, tall, with white hair cut very short and a face that gave nothing away. He did not shake anyone's hand. He nodded to Gus, who had come out of the kitchen with his apron still on and his jaw very tight. Then he took the wooden church chair at the very back of the room, crossed his legs, and folded his arms.

"Please," he said to Grace. "Pretend I'm not here."

It was impossible to pretend he was not there. Nine students and three helpers turned around every two minutes to look at him. Yuna stopped eating her crackers. Ade sat up straight, like a schoolboy. Kai, who did not know who the man was, smiled at him politely, and Mr. Pruitt, after a second of surprise, nodded back.

Grace's hands were cold. She looked at the chalkboard, where she had written that afternoon: LISTENING PART 3 — LISTENING FOR INFORMATION.

Then Marco came in from the kitchen, late, waving his phone.

"Sorry, sorry. The clinic called. My medical exam. For immigration. It's all organized." He looked very pleased. "Tuesday the fifth, downtown, eight fifteen. Easy."

Grace looked at the phone in his hand. Then she had an idea, and it was either a very good idea or a very bad one.

"Marco," she said. "Was it a voicemail?"

"Yes."

"Can we use it? For the lesson?"