Exurban Schools: The A+ Promise

Lyrics

Coffee maker clicks on. 5:15 AM.
Still dark.
The hum of the new refrigerator
in this John Wieland kitchen.
An hour before the sun touches Milton.

I trace the route on my phone.
Red lines down the 400, all the way past the Perimeter.
I remember the agent, back in 2008.
She wasn't selling a house, she was selling the school district.
A number. A color-coded zone.
"This," she said, tapping the map. "This is where you want to be."
We signed the papers on a future we couldn't afford
in a place we didn't know.

This is the A-plus promise.
The great migration for a graduation gown.
Every hour in traffic is a down payment.
Every manicured lawn, a line on the application.
We didn't move here for the quiet.
We moved here for the straight, clear path.
For them.

On Saturdays at Avalon, everything is new.
So clean.
The fountains spray on a timer. The music is piped in.
It feels like a brochure for a life we are trying to earn.
I see the other parents.
The same look in their eyes.
A quiet, frantic calculation.
The kids ride bikes on the Greenway,
safe from everything but the pressure.

This is the A-plus promise.
The great migration for a graduation gown.
Every hour in traffic is a down payment.
Every manicured lawn, a line on the application.
We didn't move here for the quiet.
We moved here for the straight, clear path.
For them.

Sometimes I miss the city.
The noise that wasn't just my own thoughts.
The feeling a future could be discovered,
not just engineered.
I watch my daughter at the kitchen table,
the blue light from the laptop on her face. 10 PM.
Is this the childhood we bought?

Then I see the sticker on the SUV ahead of me.
Johns Creek High. Class of 2025.
The engine turns over.
The garage door opens.
Sunlight hits the cul-de-sac.
6:15.
Time to drive toward the promise.