“We could take a vote,” I chirped, not really trying to be fair but to drive the point home for someone in particular.
“Responders!” the students repeated, this time louder.
The class picked up their remotelike devices. For the next ten minutes, I displayed multiple-choice questions on the board, giving them about a minute to answer on their devices, and then, once their responses had been recorded in the program, I displayed the bar graph showing how many students answered a certain way.
Afterward, we jumped on our laptops while I continued to project on the Smart Board as we dived into the next unit with some questions and research online before the end of class.
As the students walked out, moving on to their next class, I watched Christian inching slowly along and peering out the window as he made his way out the door.
“Christian,” I called as he passed by my desk.
He stopped and looked at me like he usually did. With boredom.
“Your questions are important,” I assured him. “And very welcome in this class. But I do expect you to use manners.”
He remained silent, his eyes staring off to the side. I knew he wasn’t a bad kid, and he was certainly smart, but the curtain over his eyes lifted very rarely. When it did, I saw the kid inside. When the curtain was drawn, he was unapproachable.
“Where is your phone?” I asked. “You need it for class, and you haven’t had it.”
He’d also failed to return my battery.
Not a big deal, since we used the same brand of phone, and I was getting by with his, but the students were allowed to use their phones in class – kept in the corner of their desks on silent and facedown – to access their calculators, random number generators for our activities, and other apps I’d found useful for engagement.
I’d found the more you allowed them their technology, the less they tried to sneak it. And since all of these students carried phones, I didn’t worry about anyone feeling left out.
“If there’s a problem, I can speak to your father,” I offered, knowing Christian probably wouldn’t choose to be without his phone himself.
But Christian broke out in a smirk, meeting my eyes. “You will speak to him.” He jerked his chin toward the window. “Sooner than you think.”
And he turned, walking out and letting the heavy wooden door slam shut behind him.
What had that meant?
I twisted my head toward the window, and stood up to head over to the window to see what he’d been referring to.
But I stopped, hearing the intercom beep.
“Ms. Bradbury?” Principal Shaw’s voice called.
“Yes?” I answered.
“Would you please come to my office?” he asked, the fake nicety in his voice turning me off. “And bring your lesson plans, as well.”
I raised my eyebrows, my legs going a little weak.
“Uh,” I breathed out. “Of course.”
It didn’t matter if you were fourteen or twenty-three, a student, a teacher, or a parent – you still got nauseous when the principal called you down.
And he wanted my lesson plans? Why? They were online. He could see them anytime he wanted to.
I groaned, slipping off my jacket and tossing it over my chair – which left me in my slim-fitting black pants and long-sleeved gray blouse. I grabbed the hard-copy plans we were instructed to keep on our desk in case of an impromptu observation.
Thankfully, I had second period free, so I wouldn’t have students for close to another hour.
I walked down the hall and through the front office, past the students either waiting for the nurse or waiting to be disciplined. My heels fell silent as soon as they hit the carpet in the hallway.
I tucked the binder under my arm and knocked twice on Mr. Shaw’s door.
“Come in,” he called.
I took in a deep breath, turned the knob, and entered, nodding at Mr. Shaw with a small smile as he stood up from behind his desk.
Turning to close the door, I immediately halted, spotting Tyler Marek standing in the back of the office.
I looked away, closed the door, and turned back to my superior, tensing against my racing heart.
What the hell did he want?
“Ms. Bradbury.” Mr. Shaw held out his hand, gesturing to Christian’s father. “This is Tyler Marek, Christian’s —”
“Yes, we’ve met.” I cut him off in a stiff voice, stepping forward to stand behind one of the two chairs Shaw had in front of his desk.
Marek stayed behind, hovering like a dark shadow in the corner, and I knew what I was supposed to do. Shake hands, greet him, smile… No, no, and no.
Shaw looked uncomfortable, and it was my fault, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t like what was going to happen.
He regained his composure and cleared his throat, gesturing. “Please sit down,” he suggested, looking to both of us.
I rounded the chair and took a seat, but Christian’s father continued to stand instead of taking the seat next to me.
“Mr. Marek has some concerns regarding Christian,” Shaw told me, “and his performance in your class. Can you enlighten me as to what problems you’re having?”
I blinked, sensing Marek stepping forward and approaching my back.
Suddenly I felt as if all of our roles were reversed. Shaw was the concerned, neutral parent, Marek was the displeased teacher, and I was the student being put under the microscope. How dare he treat me as if I didn’t know my job?
“Sir, I…” I tried to rein in my temper before I said something I’d regret. “Sir, this is the first I’ve heard that Mr. Marek has concerns. I’d like to know what they are as well.”