“Good thing then,” she purrs, taking a sip. “It’s mine.”
Touche.
I walk into my office, turning on the lights and the air conditioning, placing my bag and blazer on the coat rack. I push my sleeves up, hot, and Ms. Baker’s eyes flick towards my arms.
“I trust you will need to go set up your classroom, so I will make this qui?—”
“Oh no, it’s done,” she cuts in. “I was in at 6:30. Agent Anderson let me in.”
“There’s no way you could fully set up an entire classroom in,” I look down at my watch, “forty-five minutes.”
“You can if you’re Super Woman,” she winks at me.
I stare back.
She sighs. “I didn’t, actually. The third grade team did most of it for me on Friday after school,” she tells me. “They got my number from Lina last week and asked me how I wanted the class to look.” Something in her eyes grows darker, a strange reaction to this massive act of kindness from my team, especially after they’re the reason she’s here right now. “I wasn’t sure they’d do it, but I just walked up, and they did. I just needed to fix a few tiny details, but I’m all set now.”
I’m so annoyed at my team for extending the courtesy to Ms. Baker, yet proud of their teamwork and efficiency, that I choose to ignore that strange moment of darkness. I sit in my chair behind my desk and gesture to the one on the other side. “Have a seat, then.” She obeys. “Let’s take this opportunity, then, to debrief your lesson from last week. Consider this your very first coaching session.”
She immediately begins to retort, but I hold my hand up. “May I remind you of something,” I tell her, “I am your direct supervisor. Your boss. I will give you feedback, and you will take it. There will be time for discussion at the end.”
She crosses her arms. “I was going to apologize again. I’m sorry if I took a tone with you during that. I was… surprised at the time, but I respect your position now.
I blink, taken aback. “Thank you,” I say, pleased. “I want to begin with what we stand for here at PS 9. You mentioned that you have a particular disdain for test scores and test prep. You said as much during our last conversation. I want to start by explaining the difference between the two. We are not a test prep school, and we do not teach to the test, but we do still care about test scores.”
I watch Ms. Baker nod.
“PS 2’s test scores used to be quite low. No one wanted to send their kids here. Enrollment was low. Unfortunately, high scores equals more students, which equals more funding. We really needed that funding. This school was falling apart.” I gesture vaguely toward the outside. “All our water fountains are new. Our old ones were all broken. Every lower school classroom now has a rug for students to sit on. Along with a color printer and a laminator, which you probably know are crucial to the success of a classroom,” I add on.
“Obviously,” she nods. “As well as air conditioning.” Adreamy look crosses her face. “High test scores equals more money,” she continues, almost facetiously.
“Listen, I may not agree with it either, but it’s the reality of the situation in New York City public schools,” I say firmly, annoyed by her tone. “When parents are looking at their school options, what do you think is the crucial piece of information they look for? How would parents, many of whom are completely lost when it comes to education, much less its methodologies and theories and practices, know what makes a school a ‘good fit’ for their kids?” I stand up to press the brew button on my coffee maker. “Parents see a school’s test scores are high, so decide to send their kids there. They just want what’s best for their kids. In education, students are assigned a dollar amount of funding. Students equal dollars. More students equals more dollars.”
Ms. Baker stares at me for a few moments, then raises an eyebrow. “I’m actually quite familiar with ESSA, Mr. Flores,” she tells me, referring to the Every Student Succeeds Act, the latest education law passed in the United States.
I blink, feeling my eye twitch, sensing a loss of control.
She smiles. It seems warm, but I can tell it’s contrived. “I know test scores are important. My classes’s test scores have always been excellent. I just didn’t agree with my previous school’s way of achieving those test scores. I don’t think that shoving facts down kids’ throats and expecting them to regurgitate them is the point of education.”
“I agree, Ms. Baker, but that doesn’t mean the classroom should become a free for all, in the way I witnessed last week.” I watch as she boils, a teakettle waiting to erupt. Feeling a sick satisfaction in getting a rise out of her, in the same way she is doing to me, I continue. “Even after debriefing with the team and with Lina, I learned that there was not any point in your lesson in which you would teach them anything. Letting kids explore is one thing, but actuallyteaching them is another. They’re eight years old. They still need explicit instruction.”
I list things that she could have taught, ticking them off my fingers, sentence structure, mentor texts, writers’ workshop, adding fuel to her fire. She’s doing an admirable job keeping it together, I have to say.
She sits stiffly in her chair, seemingly taking deep breaths, but the rage reflected in her eyes is a different story. “It wasn’t my best. I agree,” she says, through that fake smile, a bomb ready to detonate. I sit back in my chair, for some reason delighted at the feeling of pushing her buttons. “It was a poor judgement call. It won’t happen again.”
Wanting to dig the knife even deeper, I continue, “At PS 2, there is a focus on project based learning with explicit instruction built in. We teach skills, measure the outcomes, and adjust our instruction based on the data. There is no time for?—”
“I get it,” she erupts. We both stare at one another, shocked. A moment passes before she takes a deep breath. “I?—”
I cut her off. “You know, after that outburst, I don’t actually think you do get it, Ms. Baker.”
She sputters. “You?—”
“Me, nothing. This is my school. There is no time for messing around.” Her face flushes pink as she attempts to hold in whatever explosive thing she has to say next. “I want you to meet with me three times a week for official coaching meetings. I’m concerned about your ability to remain organized and accept feedback.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts’, Ms. Baker. We will begin next week. Please send me the first two weeks of your lesson plans.” I stand and walk to the door, opening it and gesturing outside.
