Lina opensthe door to the classroom labeled ‘302’ on top, gesturing inside like a game show host. I start, unprepared for the chaos in front of me. The substitute teacher looks like a child herself, so young, standing at the front of the classroom, hair frizzed, glasses askew. If you looked in a dictionary for “stressed-the-fuck-out”, her image would be below. My eyes dart around, seeing what I have to work with, plotting my next steps with the efficiency of an army commander.
The desks are still in rows (gasp), and children are running around the classroom, a group of four having a meeting by the pencil sharpener (what is it with the pencil sharpener?). Three students hide in the corner, under a kidney table, slamming laptops shut (how did you get those?), eyes shifting to the adults that have now entered the room. The rest of the students sit at their desks, little bodies twisted around as they chat animatedly with their neighbors, as if they are at a happy hour for kids.
A little boy sits by us, small for his age, hair in locs, with huge, dark eyes magnified by thick, blue glasses.He sees us enter the room and calmly closes a fantasy paperback as large as his head. He folds his hands in front of him and smiles at us, looking very much like he is prepared to deliver a speech to the Senate.
The closet doors are wide open, spewing backpacks and lunch boxes and water bottles from its gaping maw.
I know Emmanuel has entered the room when I hear his audible gasp. “Oh, poor baby,” he says, moving towards the substitute teacher, who is likely on the verge of a mental breakdown.
Lina moves forward to snap at a brown-haired, blue-eyed student who is standing on a desk. “Max, not safe,” she barks, pointing to the ground.
Emmanuel leads the substitute teacher out the door, murmuring in a calm voice, telling her to go take a break; we have it from here.
I watch as Max, who had initially stepped off his desk when Lina asked him to, begins to climb the desk again now that Lina’s turned her back. “Hey,” I say, moving to stand right next to him. I point to the floor, hoping my proximity pressures him enough to climb down. He does, and I stay there.
I cup my hands around my mouth, preparing my Cafeteria Voice, the one I’ve honed for eleven years, the one I can amplify to an unnatural decibel. “CLASS 302. IF YOU HEAR MY VOICE, CLAP ONCE.”
Students look at one another, voices lowering to a murmur, clap sounds scattering around the room.
“Let’s try that one more time,” I say calmly, at a more reasonable volume, not needing Cafeteria Voice now that I can be heard. “If you hear my voice, clap once.” I hear claps around the room. “If you hear my voice, clap twice.” Double claps.
I smile, comfortable in my element. The room is nowsilent, faces attentive and turned to me, and I know it isn’t because of my Superior Classroom Presence, but because I am a stranger and these third graders are curious about me in the way eight-year-olds are all curious about strangers. I know to take advantage of it, anyway.
Lina and the rest of the third grade team take seats around the classroom, all of them smiling at me encouragingly.
Emmanuel, however, has his pointer and middle fingers pointed at his eyes. He slowly and dramatically turns both his fingers to point directly at Max, glaring, eyes narrowed.
Max groans and sits on his bottom.
I smirk, loving that this team already has my back. “Good morning, class 302. My name is Ms. Baker.”
“Good morning, Ms. Baker!” Lina, the third grade team, and a handful of students chant dutifully.
“I’m here to do a fun little writing activity with you all. I promise you’ll like it, and you’ll even learn a little something at the end,” I say, circulating the room. “You’ll even get to move around,” I say, looking pointedly at Max, who is fidgeting in his seat. “But first, let’s set up some ground rules.”
After setting some classroom expectations, I outline the demands of the writing lesson, distributing materials from my backpack as I go. I keep the desks in rows, not having the time to move them, working with what I have. After checking to make sure the class understands the assignment, I clap my hands together. “All right,” I say. “Go for it.”
The classroom explodes into a flurry of motion and sound.This, I think, smiling widely,this is what it’s all about.
I am moving through all the groups, trying to avoid answering any questions, instead prompting students to ask a friend in their group to help them figureit out.
I glance over to Lina and the third grade teachers, all of them taking notes in a notebook, smiling faintly.
I clap my hands loudly, in a rhythm,clap-clap-clapclapclap, pleased when the class stops what they are doing and imitates my clap, little hands coming together in the same rhythm:clap-clap-clapclapclap.That little call-to-attention is common across elementary schools, but I still send a blessing to Class 302’s second grade teacher for teaching them that one.Thank you, sweet darling angel.
“All right, Class 302,” I announce in Cafeteria Voice. “Your five minutes are up. Everyone move to your right!”
After some initial confusion regarding the complexities of left vs. right, little bodies crashing into one another, as everyone clearly has varying opinions on the matter considering they are all facing in all different directions, I show each group which station to move to next instead.
Rookie move, mentally smacking myself in the head. “That way,” I tell them, physically prompting some bodies over. “Move to that station. Move that way.”
“Okay, 302,” I say when each station settles. “Go for it.” Students, having enjoyed themselves at the first station, eagerly jump into the task of the next station.
Now, Lina and the third grade teachers are out of their seats, looking at my materials, joining in the discussions, joining in the fun.
I hear Tamika crack a laugh at the back of the classroom. “Yes, you got it!” she tells her group. I see Lina giving a high five to Max, who is bouncing on his toes.
I am giddy with joy when the five-minute timer on my phone goes off again.
