“Zachary Kahn-Molina, do you have siblings?” Mr. Rattrazino paused, stub of yellow chalk cinched between his second and third fingers like the suave, self-destructive, chain-smoking lead of a 1930s movie. Rattrazino—mostly, we called him “Mr. R,” though a few smart-asses (usually after they’d bombed a test) muttered “Mr. Rat” behind his back—was old-school that way. […]
