I went back to stand in front of Carson and I gave him the hairiest eyeball I could manage. He shut his mouth.
“Where were you born, man?” I said.
“Colorado.”
“So your parents decided to leave Colorado and come to Maine. Why did they want to come to Maine?”
“I don’t know,” said Carson. “They just did.” He snarfled.
“So your parents migrated—oh, it doesn’t matter. You don’t care.” I walked away from him.
“He does this all the time,” said Dede. “My mother was an immigrant. She was born in Germany, and then she came to the US.”
“Okay,” I said, “and there’s tons of people like that. This country is filled with immigrants.”
Cole raised his hand. “My mom’s grandfather came from Italy.”
There was a roar from the hall.
I said, “And now there’s a massive migration of kids down the hall. They’re all from Scandinavia.”
“Those are butterflies,” said Everett.
“Those are some big butterflies,” I said. I opened the textbook. “So they’re going to start us off with a little bit of knowledge about the head of Coca-Cola.”
“An intro,” said Shannon.
I nodded. “An introduction. This man, Mr. Goizueta, was born in Cuba, he had nothing, he came to this country and became the head of Coca-Cola, and Coca-Cola is rich as anything because it’s delicious, it’s sweet, and it’s nutritious, and if you drink a lot of it it will dissolve your teeth.”
Brody said, “Did you know that Velveeta, before they put the color in it, is clear? My aunt’s friend went to a Velveeta factory.”
I read the quote from Mr. Goizueta. “Migration,” I said. “The movement of people. Who wants to read a paragraph aloud? Do people do that in this class?”
Yes.
“Do they enjoy it?”
No.
“It depends,” said Aurelia. “She picks people!”
“That are not raising their hands,” said Theresa.
“You should call on Carson to read,” said Wendell. “Because he can’t.”
Bad idea. I saw a hand, from Jonas. “Take it away!” I said.
“For centuries, people have moved from one place to another,” read Jonas. “This is called migration.” The parade of immigration statistics followed—Groundhog Day in social studies. A girl in the back, Lucy, read the push-pull passage fluently but inaudibly.
“Well done,” I said. I gave them a capsule summary of the Cuban revolution, and then Aurelia read about the potato famine in a delightful, folksy-but-dramatic delivery. She was a natural. “Great reading,” I said. “Think of how hard it is to make a decision to leave everything you know—all the streets, the countryside, your relatives—and go somewhere totally different. It’s a huge, frightening decision. So something has to be really wrong in the place that you’re at, or something has to be really right in the place you’re going to.” I was talking in a tired, serious voice. I wasn’t trying to make jokes. The class was still and attentive. Even Carson was quiet, I’m not sure why. They seemed to want to hear about Ireland and Vietnam, and about migrations within a country, from country to city. “Does anyone here live on a farm?” I said.
Theresa raised her hand. I asked her what she had on her farm.
“Chickens, pigs, and calves.”
“Great. Two hundred years ago, almost the entire population of the world lived in rural places—farms, tiny towns. Now it’s very different. Now almost half the world lives crowded in cities. So this huge thing’s happened, and it’s called urbanization.” I wrote the word on the board, and I told them about a time I went to Seoul, Korea. “It’s one of the biggest cities in the world. You get on the subway, going quite fast—there are beautiful, clean, fast subways. An hour later you’re still on the subway going through the town. It just goes on and on. It’s gigantic.” I described the capsule hotels in Tokyo, and I suggested that they have a look at the photo on page 69 of men building mud-brick shanties outside of Cairo. “Okay, now you know what you need to know to fill out the famous worksheet,” I said. But watch out for the tricky questions, I warned—especially Main Idea B. “Think about your own experience. Why would you want to move to Boston? Or if you were in Boston, why would you want to move to Maine and start a chicken farm?”
“Chickens smell,” said Theresa.
I told them if they did a good job on the first page, they could work with a partner. They went to work. An ed tech, Mrs. Morse, stole in as I was on my first tour of the class. She went straight over to Carson and stood behind him. His worksheet was blank. “You’re not staying here unless you can get something done,” she said.
“So?” said Carson.
“Come on, Carson,” she said, in a flat, irritated voice.
“No,” said Carson.
“We’ll go down to the office and tell them no,” she said. “Carson, get something done, or you’ll be down in the office again.”
“I am getting things done,” said Carson.
“I don’t need a wise comment,” said the ed tech. “Come on.” She led Carson away, nodding to me as she closed the door behind her.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“She’s an ed helper,” said Theresa. “She helps kids.”
“And deals with them,” said Everett.
“She just takes kids,” said Hugo.
“She yells at kids,” said Aurelia.
“She takes them away!” I said, in a mad-scientist’s voice.
“She’s a kidnapper,” said Everett.
“She takes them out into space,” Hugo said.
“She tickles them,” said Wendell.
“She just takes them down to the principal’s office to rot,” said Aurelia, laughing. “I’m just kidding.”
Theresa threw her melted ice pack away. I let Lucy and Rachel, who’d made progress, go out in the hall.
“I’ve finished,” said Amos.
“How did you do that?” I said.
“I don’t know.”
I checked the worksheet. Everything was right. Rural, urban, push, pull. “Brilliant, nice job, Amos.”
Brody said, “He’s beating me up”—pointing to Wendell.
I grabbed a clipboard and held it up. “All right, I’ve got a clipboard. I’m going to put a blank piece of paper on top of it, and I’m going to write down anyone’s name who is disturbing the peace and tranquility of this wonderful class. Okay? Thank you.”
“What tranquility?” said Everett.
“What’s tranquility?” asked Theresa.
Aurelia showed me her worksheet. “I don’t understand this question,” she said.
“Economic reasons push them to leave, don’t they?” I said. “You can’t find land, you can’t find work. Sometimes a war pushes you. What are some reasons that would pull you?”
Amos interrupted to ask me what he was supposed to do.
“You are supposed to find a book from the magic book area.”
Amos pulled out The Big Book of China.
“That’s a good one,” I said.
“Big books for small minds,” muttered Everett.
“The only reason he has a big book is because he wants to read something else,” Theresa explained. She was right. Amos slyly positioned a manga comic behind the propped-up China book.
Another ed tech appeared, Ms. Heath, and said hello. She went to work quietly helping people. No hectoring.
Everett handed me his paper filled with writing. “Whoa, you’re using specific examples, man,” I said. He’d quoted statistics from the textbook, and he’d filled the page with careful handwriting. “You are on top of it!”
“He’s G/T,” said Theresa.
“G/T, eh? Did you put your name at the top? That’s all you’re missing no
w. You’ll fly through the back page.”
“Can I work with a partner?” asked Everett.
“Yes.”
Brody came up with a finished worksheet. “Excellent, very good,” I said. “You are done.”
Brody said, “What do you want me to do now?”
I looked at the sub plans. “Well, I think what she wants you to do is invent a cure for cancer. No, I think she just wants you to find a book, or talk to a friend, gently, quietly.”
Shannon was done. I told her to read a book.
“Can I read one of my own books?”
“Of course.”
Amos came back up to find something more to do. “You’re reading that China book,” I said. “Did you already read it?”
“Yes, I read it all,” said Amos stoutly.
“Did you memorize it?”
“Yes, I did,” Amos said. “I have a photographic memory. I’m learning all the symbols, fire, earth, water, wood, and metal.” He gave me a wicked look.
One by one I checked the sheets. Mostly what kids wanted was for me to tap on the paragraph where a particular phrase that answered a question could be found. “How come you guys were much faster with this assignment than some of the earlier classes?” I asked.
“Because I’m smart,” said Theresa. I admired the way she’d written her name with a flourish on the T.
“You’re my favorite teacher,” she said.
“I’m finished, what do I do?” said Chris.
“You can find a book, you can talk quietly to your friends. Something non-destructive.”
Amos was standing, wanting another book. I said, “Do you want to read about Israel, or about the hungry planet?”
“I already read those,” said Amos.
“I’ll show you a good book.” I pulled out Charlotte’s Web, but he said he’d already read that. I flipped through some more.
“All of these have pictures,” said Amos. “I don’t like the pictures.”
I pulled out a simplified version of Frankenstein. “This is a sort of dumbed-down retelling,” I said.
“Dumbed down?” said Amos.
“If I’m done, can I draw instead of read?” asked Theresa.
“Of course.”
Amos said, “I want to draw!”
“Yeah, draw, draw,” I said.
Everett brought up his sheet again. On the reverse side, he’d written several small treatises on immigration, and his sentences were skillful. “Everett, you are good. That’s all I can say. I can’t say anything else.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“Just take another close look at the spelling of immigrant.”
He looked at it.
“Spelling has no correlation with intelligence,” I said. “But it is useful to spell things right.”
“And then what do I do?” said Everett.
“You can read, draw, compose music, do whatever you want.”
“I need help,” said Wendell, pointing to a question.
I tapped the relevant paragraph. “It’s usually hidden away in the text somewhere,” I said.
Jonas came up with his sheet and I scanned it. “Oh, I like what you did here,” I said. I pointed to immagrant. “Just check the spelling on that. I think you pulled it off of Everett’s.” I showed him the word on the whiteboard.
There was a whoop of laughter in the corner. I went over. “I’m your favorite student,” said Aurelia.
I checked a few of their papers. “That’s a work of art if I’ve ever seen one. Avery, congrats. Now you can read, you can create a new form of rocketry.”
He held up his paper. “What am I going to do with this?”
“I don’t know what you can do with it. It looks great. I’ll take it and give it to the teacher.” He’d also copied immagrant from Everett.
“He’s going to sell it,” said Wendell.
“Yes, I’m going to sell it on eBay,” I said. “Rare, collectible worksheet, filled out by Avery. Well done. What happens now?”
“Now it’s study hall,” said Everett.
“With the same kids?”
“Yes.”
Ms. Heath said, “Wendell, sit down at your desk.” I was very glad she was there. With so many kids there were a million questions to answer. The speedier kids helped the slower ones, and in this way everyone’s immigration worksheet got done, more or less.
Mrs. Ricker, the English teacher, came in through the adjoining door. “OKAY, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. Remember last week, we instituted a study hall from twelve thirty-five to twelve fifty-five?”
Yes.
“Okay. That is twenty minutes for you to get some work done. It is not twenty minutes for you to socialize with your friends. It is twenty minutes for hundreds club, pronouns packet, whatever else it is that you have on our board that says ‘Due whenever.’ It is NOT social time. At twelve fifty-five you will go to your STAR class, and we are switching today. If you want to listen, I can go through the list.”
YES.
“BUT I WILL NOT DO THAT IF YOU ARE TALKING. Because I will not talk over you. I will actually tell both rooms at the same time, just to save my voice. Give me a moment.” She disappeared into her classroom and talked to them.
“Mr. Baker,” said Brody, “can I go get my ruler from my locker?”
I held up a finger.
Mrs. Ricker returned and read off twenty-one names. “All of you go to Ms. Plancon’s STAR. None of you should be asking me where you’re going, because you’re listening, right? This group is going to be with Mrs. Yancey.” She read off more names. “If I just said your name, you’re with Mrs. Yancey.” She turned back to us. “Okay? Everyone knows where they’re going? Give me a thumbs-up?”
Thumbs went up. She went back to her class.
I called Beth back. “I know it sounds silly because it’s a lot of money,” I said, “but I think I’d be happier filling in when you need me as a sub than committing to a Monday-through-Friday schedule till the end of the year.” She said that was fine.
I helped Amos with a math exercise meant to teach order of operations. Aurelia’s iPad wasn’t working, so she rebooted it.
Theresa made a loud, revolted screech.
“All right, where’s my clipboard?” I said.
“He just made me lick a pencil,” said Theresa, pointing to Amos.
“Somebody’s name is going to be on the board now,” said Amos.
“Yeah, Amos,” said Theresa.
“Do you feel a sudden wave of fear passing through you?” I said to Amos.
“Yes,” said Amos. “But she did it to me, too. I have a red mark on my arm.”
“It’s all over now,” I said.
“It’s not all over, it never happened,” said Amos. “So that means you’ll never write my name on the clipboard.”
“He looks constipated,” said Aurelia, laughing, leafing through a book.
I said to Theresa, “Do you know Lord of the Rings?”
“Yes,” said Theresa.
“I feel like Sauron. My eye looks over the classroom. Wong, wong. Nobody cares.”
Aurelia, Theresa, and Amos began laughing themselves sick at a photograph in an art book. I glanced at it—it was a picture of a wizened, bare-breasted tribal woman making dinner in clay pots.
“I think it’s a man,” said Theresa.
“Does it make a difference?” said Amos. Wild giggling.
“That is totally out of control,” I said.
“They keep on pointing this stuff out,” said Theresa.
“SHH!” I said. “I’m on the hook. You’ve got to be quiet, you’ve got to be cooperative.” I pointed to a hole in Amos’s desk. “You’ve got a hole in your desk, man.”
“It’s been there for a while,” Amos said.
Aurelia said, “He scrapes it.”
“No I don’t!”
“What do you know about the order of operations?” I asked. “What do you do first?”
“Parentheses,” said Theresa. “Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally.”
“Parentheses,” said Amos. “Exponents. Multiply. Divide. Add. Subtract.”
“You’re my favorite teacher,” said Aurelia.
“Thanks, it’s very nice of you to say that,” I said.
“You’re the only one who can pronounce her name right,” Theresa explained.
“That’s why I like you,” said Aurelia.
Study hall was over. Children shuffled in and shuffled out.
—
STAR CLASS WAS IN SESSION.
“Hi, Hugo,” said Marty.
“Hi, Marty,” said Hugo.
“You’re still my friend, right?”
Brandon came over. “I have to go to the library to take a test.”
“Do you need a note from the librarian?”
“No, the health teacher is the librarian.”
“Rocket! I’m here,” said Kent.
“Okay, guys, listen,” I stage-whispered. “The door to that room is open. It is silent reading, am I right? Because this is STAR. Every one of you will shine silently.”
“Can we sit on the floor?” said Kent.
“You can sit on the floor if you’re silent,” I said. “I’m going to turn the lights down.” The class began reading.
Mrs. Ricker appeared and saw kids on the carpet. “NO, NO, NO. You can’t be seated on the floor.”
I said, “I’m sorry, I said they could sit on the floor.”
Mrs. Ricker explained to me that they’d decided to do a special activity during the first half of STAR, rather than during the second half. To the class, she said, “You’re heading into my room. I will not talk over you, so settle down for directions. You must bring a pencil with you, and a positive attitude. Both of those things.”
“What if we don’t have a positive attitude?” asked Jarrod.
“Then shape up, buddy, shape up.”
I asked Mrs. Ricker if there was some way I could help.
“Crowd control would be great,” she said.
The doubled crowd assembled in Mrs. Ricker’s room. “So who does not have a seat?” she said. “Grab a clipboard. Back up. Ross, grab a clipboard. Grab a clipboard. Ladies. Back up. Brett, you need a paper from the desk, you need to grab a clipboard. Okay, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. We’re going to be working on a learning target in this STAR group. We’re going to be rotating these STAR groups every five days. Clipboards are right here. As I was looking at the learning targets, I realized, Yikes, yikes, yikes, we don’t have enough days to get through everything that we need to get through. So in this STAR group we’re going to work on synonyms and antonyms. Most of you have probably done some synonyms and antonyms work in the past, and that’s really okay, it just gives you a little background knowledge—right?—that helps you to be really successful when we do our synonyms and antonyms work. I know you’re packed in here like sardines.”
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