I nodded. “Just tell them to read the paragraph and write a short summary at the bottom – no more than fifty words, okay?”
Ruth nodded. I sighed as she began walking around the room and passing out the papers. I had no idea what was in the water of P.S. 151, but whatever it was, I hoped it wouldn't be around for much longer. This was only my second year teaching, and I was already starting to feel like I needed a vacation.
The year had started off well. Kids were always so well-behaved during the first month or so of school. But now that we were well into October, they were starting to bounce off the walls. It didn't help that the weather outside in New York City was still as warm as summer, albeit with less humidity. Seeing the kids get all excited to go home and play was making me a little nostalgic for my own youth.
Soon, the room was filled with the sounds of pencils scratching on papers. Ruth sat down heavily at her desk and rolled her eyes. She was an older woman – probably in her mid-fifties – who had come back to work after going through a surprise divorce. When she'd first been assigned to me, I'd been nervous. After all, I was only twenty-two...I couldn't stop thinking about how difficult life would be if Ruth tried to boss me around. But thankfully, Ruth had always been a perfect coworker. She was good at calming the kids down, and honestly, I think they respected her a little more than they respected me. It's probably her age , I thought as I watched her. These kids are probably used to teachers as old as their grandparents .
Back in college, I'd had no idea that I wanted to teach fifth-graders. I'd initially thought about younger kids. But I'd been assigned to a sixth-grade classroom for student teaching, and something about the older kids really intrigued me. They weren't babies anymore, but almost on the brink of becoming real little people. I loved the idea of influencing kids, for the better, and helping them to become better people.
The sudden sound of a girl crying out made me snap my head up and stare. Brett March, a particularly difficult student, was standing beside Lily Bulger and tugging at one of her pigtails. Lily's face was red and streaked with tears, and Brett was staring down at the little girl with a cruel, mocking smile.
“Miss Rogers!” Lily cried. “Brett won't leave me alone!”
“She started it!” Brett retorted. “She wouldn't let me do my work!”
I leapt from my chair and strode over. “Brett, you leave Lily alone right now!”
Brett glared at me defiantly. I wondered what his deal was – at the beginning of the year, he'd been so sweet and well-behaved. But over the last few weeks, I'd noticed a definite change in his personality for the worse – almost like he'd become a different person. I knew children at this age were right on the cusp of puberty, but Brett exhibited such anger that it almost frightened me.
Lily was looking up at me, her green eyes filled with tears. Truth be told, I found her fairly annoying. She was a little princess who cried if she didn't get her way, but she was too much of a goody-two shoes to have initiated anything. I sometimes had a feeling the other children were just as annoyed with her as I was, but still – that didn't warrant an attack from Brett.
“Miss Rogers, I wasn't doing anything, I swear!” Brett howled. “I told you, she started it! She wouldn't stop sticking her tongue out at me!”
I sighed. “Brett, I'm going to have to call your parents about this,” I said slowly. “This is the third time this week you've deliberately harmed another student!”
Brett gave me a sulky expression. “Fine,” he said. “Do it. Call them. See if I care.” He turned on his heel and slouched back to his desk.
“Brett,” I said in a warning tone. “Aren't you forgetting something?”
Brett turned to me with a sullen look on his face. “What?”
I jerked my head towards Lily. She was still sitting at her desk, pouting, her cheeks red with anger.
“Apologize, please,” I said.
Brett groaned. “Sorry, Lily,” he muttered.
I knew I should make him do it again, but I was tired. It had been a long day – honestly, I was just as excited for Friday as the kids, but only because I needed a break.
“Thank you, Brett,” I said. “You may take your seat now.”
Ruth collected the papers and shortly after, the bell rang. The kids screamed and ran from their seats. I didn't even have the energy to make them line up at the door like usual, while they waited for their buses and parents to bring them home. I was so drained – part of me even wanted to call in sick tomorrow, or ask Ruth to cover most of the day. But I knew I couldn't be getting so lazy. After all, it was only my second year teaching.
When the kids and Ruth had gone, I settled behind my desk with a feeling of dread in my stomach. I knew Brett's home situation was slightly unusual – he lived alone with his father – and I wondered if in part, that was the reason why he was acting out. Maybe there was something odd going on at home – maybe there was something beyond my control.
I looked up Brett's father's number, then dialed and held the phone to my ear.
“Hello, this is Hannah. How may I help you?”
I frowned. On Brett's contact page, his mother was listed as Marlene.
“I'm calling for Thomas March,” I said. “I'm June Rogers – Brett's teacher.”
“Oh,” Hannah cooed. “Want me to take a message?”
I frowned. She sounded annoyingly chipper. “No,” I said curtly. “I really need to speak to Mr. March, if possible.” I cringed – if possible? Really? I knew I needed to start being a lot more assertive if I was going to make it as a teacher.
Hannah sighed. “Fine,” she snapped. “Hold please.” Before I could agree, I heard a click followed by elevator music. After just a few moments, there was another click and a deep masculine voice filled my