2. Quinn
2
quinn
Being no stranger to a principal’s office growing up, I got good at picking up on cues for how much trouble I was actually in. If the principal was still working on something, or taking a call, when I walked in, it was going to be easy. Just a warning or maybe even a curiosity of how I was able to wrap his car in cling wrap while not missing a single class.
Then there were times I knew I was in trouble. The mood was tense. Sometimes my parents were there. And always the first words I was told were, “Sit down, Miss Banks.”
This is neither of those.
Principal Hargrove is sitting at the edge of her desk, arms crossed and looking her normal stoic self. What is throwing me is the cold gust of air I feel emanating from the three sets of eyes staring at me, lips snarled, injected, and pursed.
“I didn’t know it was a P.E.N.I.S. Posse day! How we doing, ladies? What’s the hot gos?”
All three women narrow their eyes at me even more. They don’t like any teachers, but they hate me.
Probably because of the nickname I gave them.
P.E.N.I.S.—the horrible acronym for the mom group called Parents Ending the New Indoctrination of Students—should just be called PITA for Pain in the Ass. They’re a group of around fifteen parents who’ve been in every teacher’s business this year from kindergarten through twelfth grade, complaining about one thing or another. Christmas was a nightmare; they threw a fit when I gave a dyslexic student the option to listen to the book that we were reading; and tried to go to the local news, telling them that I was forcing every student to speak Spanish as their primary language.
I did no such thing. I just found some worksheets that were also in Spanish because half of my class has Mexican parents. Because we live in fucking Arizona.
And that’s just me. I know they’ve driven the science teacher up the wall. They made a second-grade teacher cry. They tried to get the Halloween parade banned because of the obvious devil worship we do here. I think the only one they haven’t fucked with is the math teacher, and that’s because she’s downright terrifying. Basically, they’re horrible people with bad lip filler who were mean girls in school and don’t know their life’s purpose without causing some sort of drama.
“Monica, so good to see you,” I say to Makayla’s mother, who I’m certain is fresh from filming her daily vlog. “I didn’t realize you were a P.E.N.I.S. member. Congrats! Is it true you get a bedazzled Stanley upon joining? Or is it a more discreet gift based on your acronym? I have one I think you’d love. It has?—”
“Sit down, Quinn.”
I give Monica a fake smile as I do what Principal Hargrove asks. But only so we can move this along. A new episode of my show dropped today, and it’s not going to watch itself. “Are they going to sit or are they going to loom over me like the witches they are?”
“See! Witches!” That comes from Taylor, the leader of the group, whose youngest is in first grade and oldest is in fifth. She’s the Halloween hater despite us teachers finding pictures of her, before kids, in a slutty nurse costume. “Why would she say that if she wasn’t teaching it?”
“Now ladies, let’s have a seat.” The three of them squeeze on a couch meant for only two people. I want to laugh, but I’m going to read the room, put my smartass card away, and deal with whatever bullshit they’re about spew.
“Can I ask why I’m here?”
Before Hargrove can answer, Regina, the mom of Irish triplets, speaks up. Yes. Three kids in three calendar years. And I had them all, with the last one leaving my classroom last year. “Because you’re about to start that murder book, and we’re here to ban it!”
I stare at Regina, waiting for her to say the punch line. When she doesn’t say anything else, and the other P.E.N.I.S. members give me the same smug look with their arms crossed, I can’t help but burst out into laughter.
“Quinn!” Hargrove hisses. “Pull yourself together.”
“I can’t,” I say between laughing fits. “She thinks she can just come in here, snap her fingers, and ban me from teaching an acclaimed and award-winning book that I’ve been teaching for years? How can you not be laughing? They’re ridiculous.”
I laugh for another minute, I think I even slap my knee once or twice, but when I’m finally able to calm myself down, I realize that I’m the only one laughing.
“Quinn, you’re teaching a book about murder? This wasn’t in your lesson plan.”
I look over to my principal, who apparently has never actually read a lesson plan that I’ve been forced to turn in every week for twelve years.
“It’s not a book about murder,” I defend. “And it’s on there. Every year. You should know that.”
“But a man is murdered!” Regina speaks up. “I read it last year!”
I don’t make a point that two of her other kids already read it. Pretty much because Monica speaks up before I can.
“I refuse to have my precious Makayla read a book about such a gruesome act of violence.”
I shoot a look to Monica. “Really? Ever watched The Lion King ? Or Bambi ? Last I checked that was all about the murder.”
“Ladies!” Hargrove interjects. “Before this gets out of control, let’s get back to the topic at hand.”
“Yes, thank you, Principal,” Taylor says, clearly needing to reinsert herself as the Head Bitch in Charge. “We in the Parents Ending the New Indoctrination of Students?—”
“P.E.N.I.S.” I say, which of course earns me three dirty looks.
Worth it.
“As I was saying,” Taylor continues. “We feel that a book like this is just too violent for our darling babies to be reading. And we are demanding that Miss Banks not teach it.”
Okay, I’ve had it. “Do you know anything about this book? And I’m not talking about the generic plot that you asked Alexa about or the likely bad skim reading Regina says she did last year. Do you know anything at all about this book?”
“We know all we need to,” Monica says.
“Of course, because y’all know everything,” I say sarcastically. “It’s an award-winning book. It’s been taught by me and others for decades. And just in my experience, the students love it. It gets them reading. It gets their minds curious. There are life lessons in every book, including this one. Older brothers and sisters tell their younger siblings about this book, and it’s the thing they can’t wait for each year. What’s so bad about that?”
“Murder is a life lesson?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! He’s not even fucking dead!” Spoiler alert for the book, but it’s not like this group is ever going to read it.
“Quinn. Language.”
I look over to my principal, who at this point I wish would say something in my defense. “I’m sorry, but this is ridiculous.”
“Is it though?” she asks. “Maybe there’s another book you can consider?”
My eyes go wide, and I’m pretty sure I stop breathing. “Really? I’ve been teaching this for years with literally no complaints. Every one of Regina’s children has read it, and she never spoke up about it until now. Though at that time she didn’t have any P.E.N.I.S. in her life. Maybe that’s the difference.”
Yes I know the double meaning of the dig. I don’t know if Regina does though.
“That’s not true,” Regina stammers out. Okay, maybe she did. “All of my children complained every day! Justin especially.”
“Really?” I highly doubt that. For example, Justin, her son I had last year, was a good kid. Decent student. But he didn’t love reading or English, which is normal for sixth grade boys. But I remember him getting more and more excited every day we read a little more. And if my memory serves me correctly, her other two children were just as excited. “What did he complain about?”
“Well…he…I don’t remember specifics. But I know he felt forced to read it.”
I let out a groan. “Every kid is technically forced to read in school. It’s called lessons.”
“Quinn,” Hargrove interrupts. “Since this is an optional lesson that you’re teaching, and given that it might not have the best subject choice, maybe we can pivot. Come to a compromise that will work for everyone’s liking?”
I stare at my principal, my jaw slacked as I hear what she’s saying. This isn’t the first time she’s caved to the fucking P.E.N.I.S Posse. They’ve had lady boners all year about books in all grade levels, and this school has submitted to them more times than not.
But this is it. My final straw. If she’s going to let these fucking dildo-nicknamed, bleach blonde bitches ban my favorite book, I’m out. I won’t let this stand. This is the hill I’m going to fucking die on with two middle fingers in the air.
“No.”
Everyone’s eyes go wide as Hargrove follows up. “Excuse me? Did you say no?”
“That’s right. I said no. I’m not changing the book. I’m not changing the lesson. And if you don’t want me to teach it, you’ll need to find another sixth grade ELA teacher for the rest of the school year.”
I sit up a little straighter, because saying just those few words gives me the confidence that has me ready to go to war.
And not just for me. But for my kids. For books. For every person in their lives who have been pushed around by the mean girls.
Because fuck them and high horses they rode in on.
“You can’t say no,” Regina says. “We don’t want it taught. Your principal doesn’t want you to teach it. Therefore you have to listen to us.”
I let out an exasperated laugh. “Actually. I don’t. Because you have no power here. You’re just a group of loud, obnoxious, bitchy mothers who want to set curriculum but didn’t even realize you have the fucking word penis for the acronym of your group. You know, the word that makes every middle schooler snicker when it’s said? Imagine your children having to hear every day that their mother loves P.E.N.I.S. Oh wait, they do.”
They audibly gasp and actually clutch their pearls. I’m from the South, and I’ve never even seen that in real life.
“You can’t talk to us like this,” Taylor sputters.
“Oh, but I can,” I say as I stand up, because no one delivers a good monologue sitting down. “You’re just pissed that you’ve run for school board for the last five years and you lose every single time. So you had to gather some cronies up at Pilates class and make everyone’s lives as miserable as yours.”
“How dare you?—”
I cut Monica off. “Don’t you dare start with me. You’ve been a pain in my ass all year, but worse, you can’t even see what harm you’re doing to your kid. Makayla is a good student and classmate who I can tell is going through something. Now I’m not a psychiatrist or a Keebler Elf, but I’m pretty fucking sure it has to do with her mother trying to force new lifestyle changes on her all in the name of a four-subscriber YouTube channel.”
Monica gasps, and I see Hargrove stand up behind her desk. I’m probably about to be fired, but I’m not done yet. If I’m going to get fired, I’m going out in a blaze of glory.
“Oh, and now you, Regina. The bane of my existence for the past three years.” If I had to place a bet on who laid the egg for this takedown, it was her. She never liked me. Probably because I wouldn’t cave to her fake demands and constant nagging of my teaching methods. “Each of your children loved my class, despite you trying to sabotage me at every turn. Your oldest still pops his head in to say hello when the high school comes to visit. Justin? The one you claim hated the book? He asked me last year if he could keep his copy, because he wanted to read it again over the summer. I know I want to keep books I hated. So really, what’s your fucking problem? Mad they learned something outside of your pea-brain views? Mad that I’m their favorite teacher? Or are you just generally unhappy with life because it’s the worst kept secret in this town that you’re a beard for your husband and you forced him to have three kids so people would stop talking? Which is it? Whatever your answer is, I know for a fact that me teaching this book is not the source of your misery, but because you have nothing better to do between Botox appointments than make other people’s lives miserable, here you are. Well, guess what? I’m not caving. I’m not budging. So I either teach the book or I quit. Your choice.”
That apparently gets my three enemies excited.
“Oh that would be wonderful!” Monica chirps up. “We just wanted the book gone, but having this teacher who forces her ideals and beliefs onto our children…”
“And teaches murder!”
The three of them nod, because they all just think they walked away with the win.
They might win the battle of having me gone, but enemies of Quinn Banks don’t win wars.
“Quinn,” Hargrove says, her voice now pleading. “Don’t teach the book. Or else you’ll leave me no choice.”
I’m flabbergasted by the words of my principal right now. So much for being on the side of your teachers. “Really? No choice?”
She thinks I’m going to stay. She thinks I’m going to cave. Sorry, Hargrove, you picked the wrong day and the wrong bitch.
And maybe some other cause, I might’ve caved. But not this one. And not today. Today I stand up for every teacher not only in this district, but in America, who are dealing with P.E.N.I.S.s all over the country.
“You know what? Fuck you. Fuck all of you. I quit.”
“Quinn,” Hargrove says, her voice now suddenly panicked. “Let’s not be rash.”
Now it’s my turn to read her for filth. “Let’s not act rash? Two seconds ago you were telling me ‘or else.’ What was ‘or else?’ Please. Enlighten me. Because I know it wasn’t about to be you actually being on the side of your teachers for once. Or maybe doing two seconds of investigating to look into what I’m doing versus what the P.E.N.I.S. bitches are complaining about. You’ve let them take over this school because you’re too chicken shit to stand up for yourself. And I refuse to work for a woman who doesn’t have my, and my fellow teachers’ backs. So yeah. I quit. I’m fucking done.”
“Quinn…what about your students?” Hargrove’s voice is now pure desperation. “You can’t possibly leave them.”
This makes me stop in my tracks, and I know this is her attempt of guilting me into staying. She knows I’ll do anything for my kids. She’s seen me bring in clothes for one whose family lost their house in a fire. She knows I pay off school lunch debts. She knows those kids are my world.
But what I need to do for them right now is to stand up for myself. Stand up for them. They might not get it now, but I hope maybe one day, they’ll know that I did this for them just as much as me.
“That does hurt me,” I say. “I love each and every one of my students. But I teach them every day to do the right thing. I teach them that sometimes the right thing isn’t the popular thing, or the easy thing. And that caving to peer pressure is never a good move. And if I caved right now and didn’t teach that book…if I cowered and did what was told of me, even though I knew it wasn’t right…then I’d be going against every single thing I’ve ever taught them. And I won’t do that. I respect myself too much. And frankly, I have zero respect for anyone in this room.”
And with that, I turn my back, slam the door behind me, and storm to my room to collect my things.
I guess summer break is starting a little earlier this year.