There’s snickering and more laughter, but it’s controlled now, their focus coming to me. Some teachers say I’m waiting. Some flick off the lights. Some clap their hands.
I…well, I talk about fat cats.
And it works every time.
I get the smiles, the laughter, the eye rolls.
But I also get their attention.
“All right,” I say. “It’s short periods today so let’s get what we need to get done, yeah?”
Groans all around.
“Because if we do, I have a Kahoot for you and”—I walk over to my desk, pull open the top drawer—“the top three scores will win...” With a flourish I pull out the bag of candy I picked up from the discount aisle at the grocery store. “Their choice of deliciousness.”
Competitiveness, their stomachs, and a dash of learning.
It’s all I can hope to accomplish on a minimum day.
I get through my slides, foster a short discussion, and seed in the next bit of prep for their upcoming end of semester project.
Then it’s time for fun.
They have their Chromebooks open and are battling it out over historical empires when I hear a knock at the door.
It’s policy to keep it locked—because this is America and school intruders are an unfortunate reality—but there’s a narrow window that means I can see who’s on the other side…and when I make eye contact with the person who’s knocked my pulse skips a beat…or maybe a dozen of them.
The class groans—my history quiz has a few tricky questions, the better to keep their focus, muahaha—and I snap to attention, hurrying to the door and pulling it open a couple of inches.
“Colt?” I hiss through the crack. “What are you doing here?”
The class groans again and Colt smiles. “Sounds like they’re having fun in there.”
It did.
But the online game will only last for so long.
“I—” I clench the edge of the door.
“Ms. Connor?”
I jerk and spin to see Adrian. He’s rail thin and wearing a mask, but he’s here, and determined. “Look! I got first place.”
I grin.
Because of course he did.
“Nice, Adrian.” I hold up my fist for him to bump. “You get first choice from the candy bag.”
“I’m second,” Lara says, pointing her screen in my direction.
I nod. “You know the drill.”
She jumps up and I glance toward the whiteboard at the front of the classroom where the winners are displayed. “Who’s…” I pause, having taught for long enough to know exactly what the seventh grade mind was thinking when he or she named themself.
Gabe H. Coud
Douchebag backwards.
