Sometimes, the greatest impact an educator has is on students who aren’t even on the roster. They say students rarely remember what they were taught, but they never forget how they were made to feel—about themselves, about life, about their potential.

One of my most unforgettable moments came on the last day of school when a gifted young man wandered into my classroom.

It was a Thursday in May, and my seniors were presenting their final projects. I sat among them, watching, when the door swung open. A stranger strolled in, took a seat behind me, and—of all things—tugged at my hair.

“Hey, curly-hair,” he whispered.

I turned, confused. “My name is Mrs. Burke. When you walk into my room, you introduce yourself. Who are you?”

“I’m Paul. I’m looking for J.T.”

I didn’t have a Paul or a J.T. on my roster. “You’re in the wrong room.”

He shrugged. “I don’t really have anywhere else to be. Supposed to be at lunch, but I don’t have food, so…”

Fair enough. I let him stay.

As a nervous student stepped up to present her painting, she fumbled over her words, clearly rattled. Paul raised his hand.

“Can I help you?”

Taken aback, she exhaled. “Sure. Why not?”

Paul walked to the front, studied her painting, and then—like he belonged there—gave the most insightful breakdown of its symbolism, tying it to her journey through high school. We were floored. When he finished, he turned to her.

“Is that what you meant?”

She beamed. “That’s exactly it.”

Paul returned to his seat. A few more students presented. Then he raised his hand again.

“Can I perform something?”

Amused, I nodded.

He pulled out his phone, hit play on a beat, and launched into a rap he had written. The class sat frozen—then electrified. He was good. By the end, the room erupted in cheers.

Paul grinned, soaking it in, then strolled to the door. “See y’all tomorrow!”

“No!” the class shouted. “Today’s the last day of school!”

I never saw Paul again. But I know, in that moment, he felt like a king. And I am so glad he found his way into my room.