“I’ve got it,” I mumble, gathering my belongings and raking them into my backpack. I stand by the door and turn to face the class one last time. “Class 302, it was wonderful to meet you all. Thank you for hanging out with me,” I tell them, and walk out of the classroom with my head held high.
“Please take out a book and read silently until your teacher comes back,” Mr. Flores tells the class behind me. “I’ll be standing right outside.”
He steps out into the hallway, and it is intense, the feeling of mutual anger and rage, palpable and radiating between the two of us.
Keep it together, Georgia. “I had it covered.” I manage first, through a clenched smile that is likely borderingon crazed. “Respectfully, Mr. Flores, if you had just let me continue, you would’ve seen that my lesson was?—”
“Enough,” he says, eyes flashing. “What I did see of your lesson was that it was sloppy.” He holds up his hand when I sputter. “You have no classroom management. You managed to let a fight break out in the fifteen minutes you were in there. What was your teaching point? What was your learning target? You were too busy prancing around the room to teach them anything. What did they learn today?” He pulls out a piece of a paper he had taken from a student desk.
this is dum
“This is what they learned today, Ms. Baker,” he sneers.
“That’s one student-”
He holds up another piece of paper.
45 inches
“This was not a math lesson, to my understanding,” he finishes.
I take a deep, calming breath.You need this job, and you need to keep this job.“I apologize, Mr. Flores, but again, respectfully, you saw thirty seconds of the lesson, and that was two out of thirty students.”
“Ms. Baker, I must remind you who you are speaking with,” he tells me, a vein popping under his perfect skin. He moves closer, looming over me, golden eyes boring into mine. “You are here for an interview. With me. The boss of the place you are interviewing for. You listen to the feedback I give you, and you take it. Let’s also not forget the events of this morning, when I caught youliterally in our trash. You are a disasterwaiting to happen. You are a disaster that has already happened.”
Unbidden, my shithead of an ex-boyfriend’s voice pops into my head.You don’t know what you’re doing, Georgia. This is a disaster waiting to happen.
Lina steps between us, preventing a nuclear meltdown. “Oliver, too much,” she says, looking at him, appalled. “Calm down. I disagree with what you are saying,” she tells him. “Georgia was a very strong candidate today, and I think this is something that should be discussed between us and the grade team.”
Mr. Flores scoffs. He looks like he’s wrestling with something, like one of those ‘would you rather’ games, debating between eating the world’s spiciest pepper or waxing all the hair off his body. Clenching his jaw, he finally looks at Lina. “Finish the interview. Then send her to my office.”
He shoots me one last look, turns on his heel, and walks away.
Lina sighs, watching him go. She thinks for a second, then turns to me. “Georgia, I know I speak for the third grade team when I say this. We were impressed by your lesson. Mr. Flores did come in at an inopportune time,” she gently holds her hand up as I prepare to rage in self-righteousness. “But he is right. There were parts of your lesson that you could improve.” My shoulders slump. “Something we look for in teachers here are ones that will take feedback. Ones that are always ready and willing to learn. If we hire you, I would be your direct supervisor. Can you accept feedback? Are you willing to adapt?”
“Yes,” I insist. “I can. I agree that there were parts I should’ve changed, and I am happy to debrief with you about it now. But… he… I just…,” I stammer, still clearly affected.
Lina nods. “I understand. Like I said, he is intense. Many people are afraid of him. But believe me when I say his heart isin the right place. He cares deeply about this school. We all know this here.” I breathe. “If we hire you, I would be your direct supervisor, but he would still be your boss. Can you handle him? You are a strong teacher, Georgia, but you are not perfect. No one is. Would you be able to swallow your pride?”
Lina’s all smiles when she sends me down to meet Mr. Flores. “I hope we see you as soon as Monday,” she tells me.
He seems less angry now, more resigned, like he’s accepted that he does in fact have to participate in the world’s spiciest pepper eating contest or wax all the hair off his body.
He gestures to the chair across from his desk. I sit.
“Ms. Baker, I’ve had the chance to look over your file, and I have some follow-up questions for you. Do you have to be back at school? Is this a good time?” he asks, sounding impatient, like this is actually the absolute worst time for him, but he is talking to me anyway because he is a gracious and benevolent leader.
My heart drops, but this conversation is to be expected. I frantically review diplomatic answers in my head.You practiced this in front of the mirror, Georgia. You got this. “Sure,” I tell him, projecting a confidence I didn’t currently have. “I’d be happy to answer them now.”
“Well, to be truthful, I only have one question, and I’m sure you already know what it is. What’s the deal with the two disciplinary letters I see in your file? Insubordination? Inappropriate conduct? Those are some serious allegations. You understand we cannot hire you if you’ve ever endangered the safety and wellbeing of your previous students.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Right, of course.”He’s admin; don’t talk shit about admin. “Well, it has nothing to do with my students, thankfully. My current administration and Ihave… a difference in opinion,” I tell him, using the politest phrasing I’d chosen for this exact moment. “I tend to be… adamant about my viewpoints. But to be clear, it’s only because I believe their policies are genuinely harmful to my students.”
He… grunts. “And what sort of policies may that be?”
I clear my throat, my conviction giving me determination. I know what I want to say, but I don’t want to misspeak, making it sound like I have some sort of white savior complex.
“Their policies aren’t… culturally affirming. Their disciplinary methods, their one size fits all, test preppy curriculum… They assume the worst of my kids. I’ve said as much to them and haven’t felt comfortable implementing their policies in my classroom. They’ve tried to take control of me and my students by writing those letters. But they aren’t fair.” My heart is pounding in my ears, and I hope that was an appropriate commentary on the absolutely insanely racist shit show that is my school. What I really want to say is that they are a handful of wealthy white women in charge of a school of children and families of color, and they are completely out of touch with the realities of the community.
