CHAPTER 6 KAYLEE
I’m carrying a pile of Of Mice and Men packets I’m about to distribute to my students when I trip over a cord at the front of the room. The pile of packets goes flying onto the floor as I just barely save myself from falling, too.
So that’s how my Tuesday’s going.
A muttered comment comes from one of the students in the second or third row. It’s just loud enough for me to hear, but I’m not totally sure who said it, and frankly it’s just not something I want to deal with today.
“Dropped those papers like her brother drops the ball.”
That. That right there.
It’s only a fraction of a sliver of one of the many reasons I fucking hate this job.
Middle school kids think they’re so damn funny all the time.
They aren’t.
I hear comments like that daily, and it really depends on my mood as to whether or not I’ll deal with them.
My department chair, Janet, has made no secret of the fact that she’s a Seahawks fan—the number one rival to the Vegas Aces, the team my brothers play for—and she has taken it out on me more than once.
For example, she made me head up the school newspaper when nobody else wanted to do it this year.
Me. A first-year teacher with literally zero journalism experience.
Do you know how hard it is to get middle school students to write decent articles for a monthly publication?
I’ll tell you. It’s fucking impossible. Most months I end up writing half the articles with Staff Reporter in the byline, and I do so much editing to the other half that I practically wind up writing them, too.
I wanted to start a running club, but she shot down my idea.
Health and fitness for kids is a passion of mine, particularly considering how I was raised in an athletic family.
But instead of allowing me to explore my own passions and bring them to school, she stuck me with the newspaper.
Just to be passive-aggressive, every issue includes health and fitness tips that make exercise fun for kids.
At least she didn’t yell at me for that.
She did, however, discipline me for leaving on my lunch break once when veteran teachers do it daily, she drops in for random observations at least once a week while other teachers in my department are only dropped in on once a month, and I am chosen to fill in as a substitute teacher more than anyone else in my department.
Any time I raise a complaint, I’m told this is just how it is for first-year teachers.
Well I’m sick of it, and random student comments like the one today are just about enough to push me over the edge.
The stupid snickers from the kids around whoever said it that twist the knife in a little deeper.
I gather the papers as every kid in the vicinity watches me—they don’t get up to help me, which makes me wonder who the hell is teaching them manners—and once I have them piled back up again, I pass them out.
And since they’re being rude, I make a snap decision as I watch the packets being passed back from row to row. “Read chapter one and finish pages one through nine in the packet by tomorrow.”
With every other class today, I allowed students to work through the first few pages of the packet in groups, and then pages eight and nine were homework. This class, though? All nine pages on their own.
Maybe they’ll think about helping me pick up a damn packet next time I drop one like my brother drops the ball.
My assignment is met with moans and groans, so I add, “If you want to whine about it, I’d be happy to add on the second chapter.”
“Keely told me their class got to work in groups,” Jonah in the second row complains.
“Keely’s class would’ve helped me pick up papers rather than watching me and making asshole comments about my brothers,” I point out.
“You said asshole,” Cody in the back row says.
“Yeah, I did. Add page ten onto your assignment and be ready for a quiz tomorrow,” I say. That announcement is met with more moans and groans, and I hear a girl say, “Cody!” with anger.
That ought to do it.
I heave out a sigh as I sit at my desk—situated strategically in the back of the room so nobody ever knows where I’m looking when I have them working on something.
I pull my phone out of my top desk drawer where I keep it when I’m wearing something without pockets like the dress I have on today.
I have a text from Jason, the guy I’m supposed to go on a date with tonight.
Jason: Can’t wait for tonight. [smiley face emoji]
I note the time on his text. He just sent it about a half hour ago.
He’s a social studies teacher who’s been flirting with me since we met at our new teacher orientation, and he finally asked me out after knowing each other nine months.
It’s probably a bad idea to date somebody I work with, but we’re in different departments and different hallways, so it seems like there’s enough distance if things go sour.
We’re both in our first year at this school, though he taught at another school before he transferred here.
It’s just a casual dinner, and maybe it’s not even a date. It might just be two friends getting together. I agreed to go only because a girl needs to eat, and he seems nice enough.
I decide to engage in a little flirty banter back.
Me: Should you be texting during class, Mr. Barnes?
Jason: [laughing emoji] About as much as you should be.
I glance up. “Cody, no talking.” Cody turns around and gives me a glare, but whatever. His glares don’t bother me, but his talking when it’s supposed to be silent sure does.
I settle back into my chair and get ready for a whole conversation over text message with this guy when my classroom door opens.
There stands my department chair.
And my principal.
She already popped in on me this week—yesterday, in fact—so I thought I was safe for the rest of the week.
I toss my phone on my desk like it’s on fire and pop out of my chair to act like I’m walking around being a good teacher and not ignoring my class so I can text a social studies teacher.
The pair walk around my classroom and see what the kids are working on. Thankfully, they all seem to be on task even though a packet and reading silently isn’t exactly the most engaging lesson.
But just before they turn and walk out the door, Janet walks over to me. “Meet me in my office after the final bell today.”
“Of course, Mrs. Murphy,” I say respectfully, and I just barely refrain from rolling my eyes as she and Mr. Delnor walk out my door.
“Ooh, Ms. Dalton’s in trouble,” Cody singsongs, and the whole class laughs.
I do roll my eyes then, and as much as I want to scold him for saying that, I find that I can’t. Not when it’s probably true.