I’d tried talking to him, but I wasn’t getting anywhere, and I was going to have to come to terms with the options I was left with to help him.
Like calling his father, which I should’ve already done but hadn’t found the guts.
I turned back to the class, refocusing my attention. “Congratulations, Mr. Matthews.” I nodded, teasing Marcus. “While your question was meant to be funny – no doubt – it did spark some interesting comments about the history of attire.”
I rounded the front of the classroom and leaned back on my desk. “Since fashion is a very popular topic, we also delved into the history of women’s fashion, and that led to a debate on feminism,” I reminded them. “Now, of course, fashion wasn’t a topic I was supposed to teach you this year.” I smiled. “But you were critically thinking and you saw how topics like these are interrelated. You were discussing, comparing, and contrasting…” I sighed, eyeing them with amusement before I continued. “And it certainly wasn’t boring to read your responses, so good job.”
The class cheered, and Marcus shouted out, “So do we get Song of the Week?” He lifted his eyebrows in expectation.
“When your team has earned fifty points,” I reiterated the rule. I rewarded them individually, but I also had a team incentive, which allowed their group to pick one song to play in class once they’d reached fifty points, if all work was turned in and they demonstrated good citizenship online and in the classroom.
I walked to the Smart Board – today’s version of a chalkboard – and picked up a stylus, tapping the board to activate it. The projector fed the image from my computer, and all of the students’ numbers appeared on the board, ready to receive their responses.
“Don’t forget” – I glanced up as I replaced the stylus – “group five is sending current-events tweets before seven p.m. this evening. Once reviewed, I will retweet them for you,” I told them, seeing Christian talking to the girl next to him out of the corner of my eye.
“You are to pick one, read and reflect, and turn in your one-page, typed assignment – twelve-point font, Times New Roman, not Courier New,” I specified, knowing their trick of using a bigger font, “and have that to me by Friday. Any questions?”
Mumbles in the negative sounded from around the room, and I nodded. “Okay, grab your responders. Pop quiz.”
“I have a question.” I heard someone speak up. “When are we going to use the textbooks?”
I looked up, seeing Christian’s eyes on me as the other students switched on their remotelike devices, which I used to record their multiple-choice answers instead of paper and pencil.
I stood up straight, inquiring, “Would you prefer to use the textbooks?”
But Marcus blurted out a response instead. “No,” he answered, turning his head to Christian. “Dude, shut up.”
Christian cocked an eyebrow, keeping cool as he ignored his classmate. “The textbooks are provided by the school. They have the curriculum we’re supposed to learn, right?” he asked almost as an accusation.
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“So why aren’t we using them?” he pressed.
I inhaled a long, slow breath, careful to keep my expression even.
Kids will challenge us, test boundaries, and throw us curveballs, I was told. Keep your cool, treat every kid like they’re your own, and never let them see you falter. Christian certainly challenged me on all those levels.
Not only was he not performing up to his potential in class, but he also challenged me on occasion. Whether it be tardiness, flippant behavior, or distracting other students, he seemed to have a penchant for disobedience.
And as much as he tried to hinder me from doing my job, the person I was outside of the classroom couldn’t help but admire him a little.
I knew from experience that misbehavior came from a need for control when you lacked it in other venues. And while I sympathized with him – and whatever he wasn’t getting at home or elsewhere – he clearly thought he could get away with it here.
“That’s a good question,” I told him, walking around my desk. “Why do you think we don’t use the textbooks?”
He laughed to himself and then pinned me with a look. “What I think is that you give me more questions when I just want answers.”
I stiffened, my smile falling as students in the room either tried to cover their laughs with their hands or stared between Christian and me wide-eyed and waiting for whatever would happen next.
Christian had a self-satisfied look on his face, and my blood heated with the challenge.
I swallowed and spoke calmly. “Everyone open up to page fifty-six.”
“Ugh.” Marcus groaned. “Nice job,” he shot over his shoulder, not looking at Christian.
Everyone dug their books out of the compartments under their desks, and the sounds of pages flipping and students grumbling filled the classroom.
I picked up my teacher’s manual and cleared my throat.
“Okay, this chapter covers the contributions of Patrick Henry, Benjamin Franklin, and Betsy Ross,” I went on. “I’d like you to read —”
“But we already learned about them!” Jordan Burrows, the girl sitting next to Christian, called out.
I pinched my eyebrows together, cocking my head and feigning ignorance. “Did we?”
Another student jumped in. “We did the book study in groups two weeks ago and the virtual museums,” he reminded me.
“Oh.” I played along. “Okay, pardon me,” I said, moving on. “Turn to page sixty-eight. This chapter covers the presidencies of George Washington through Thomas Jefferson —”
“We already learned that, too.” Kat Robichaux laughed from my right. “You uploaded our campaign posters to Pinterest.”
I looked up at Christian, who hopefully was getting the idea.
We had been learning everything in the textbook, even though we hadn’t learned it from there. Students absorbed more when they sought knowledge themselves and put it to practice by creating a product instead of merely reading from a single text.
“Ah,” I replied. “I remember now.”
Christian shifted in his seat, knowing full well the point had been made.
“So,” I went on, “on page seventy-nine, there are twenty questions to help us prepare for our unit test tomorrow. We can spend the rest of class answering them silently on paper, or we can take ten minutes with the responders and then move on to start researching slave ships online.”
“Responders,” the students cut in without hesitation.
“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.”