Substitute

by Nicholson Baker

  But I was a sub, and my job was to enforce the status quo, so I spent ten minutes stuffing homework worksheets in the SMILE notebooks. I spent another five minutes reassembling the antonym Easter eggs in the green bucket. Then I called my wife and talked to her about the documentary movie she was editing. I told her about the Mother’s Day bags and Popsicle-stick birdhouses. “Love you madly,” I said. I stood outside the music classroom and peered into the window. The kids were dancing to a pop song. The PA lady came on, calling some kids to the office.

  After music, my class was feral. I made an eraser disappear to get their attention. When they were quiet, I showed them the trick of how to do the egg drop. “You say some things that might not mean much, like ‘Alaka zoomidoo, I’m going to make this eraser go to the zoo.’ And then you go like this.”

  “I want to try!” said Tracy.

  “I’ll go get some more erasers!” said Jake.

  “Can I tell you about the nightmare that I had?” said Leyla.

  “Guys, please be quiet,” I said. “We’re hearing about a nightmare.”

  Leyla said, “I was watching this cursed mirrors thing, and then when I fell asleep I had a dream where it was the same kind of mirror as in the episode. There was one dark side, and I thought I saw this golden thing in the mirror. And then it hooked toward me, and I thought, I’m just going to get out. And then I dived toward it.”

  My sympathetic reaction was cut short, because Calvin was throwing crayons. “Kiddo? What the heck are you doing? Come over here and sit right there. Right there.”

  “Mr. Baker, your hair’s falling out,” said Deena.

  “My hair’s falling out?” I slapped my hands on my head. “Oh my god! It’s seriously falling out.”

  The class’s next task was one of those mystery picture grid things, where you color in the squares after doing something with rows of base-ten blocks.

  “We know how to do it,” said Simon.

  “That’s easy,” said Calvin. “Easy, easy.”

  “Dude,” I said fiercely, “if it’s easy, let’s see you do it.”

  While the kids were chattily coloring their mystery pictures, Ms. Boissiere told me that there was going to be a change to the schedule: she might be telling everyone to get their backpacks ready early. I went around helping the children who didn’t understand the math mystery picture. The instructions said, Use the base ten blocks to solve the problem. Write your answer on the line. Then color your answers with any color in your chart.

  “Any color?” said Krista. “You can choose whatever color you want?”

  Well, no. You had to use the color that corresponded to that number in the number key, and the two possible colors were red or green.

  Simon started to count loudly, “FIVE, TEN, FIFTEEN, TWENTY.”

  I made an announcement. “If you have to say numbers to yourself, say them in a whisper, so you don’t distract the person next to you. All righty?”

  The kids who finished quickly went back to making erasers disappear. “Does anyone want to know how to do the magic trick?” said Sarah. Ms. Boissiere began helping kids pack up their backpacks early.

  Another ed tech arrived, and she and Ms. Boissiere conferred briefly. Then Ms. Boissiere took control of the class. “Boys and girls! Listen! I gave you guys a couple of directions. That was to grab your backpack and coat, and pack up your bag with your Mother’s Day cards. I did not ask you to stack your chairs, Calvin, or sit on the tables. You guys are kind of not really listening, so it’s making it very difficult for me to give directions. There should be nobody sitting on tables.” Calvin climbed off the table. “We have a special treat this afternoon,” Ms. Boissiere continued. “Mrs. Norris sent in cupcakes for us. So all the tables need to be cleared off. Put your names on your math packets and put them in the Not Done box.” She handed out white cupcakes with white frosting and sparkles on top. “They’re all vanilla,” she said.

  “Aw,” said Calvin.

  “These look awful scrumptious,” I said, wolfing mine down. Something was afoot, though. Ms. Boissiere passed around some shark fruit snacks. I asked her what was going on.

  She whispered, “It’s Danny’s last day.”

  While I washed the frosting off my hands, the other ed tech, Mrs. McChesney, said, “Should we say what this is about?”

  Ms. Boissiere said yes.

  “Boys and girls, I need you looking at me,” said Mrs. McChesney. “Do you guys know why we’re having this party?”

  No.

  Mother’s Day!

  “Nope, nope,” said Mrs. McChesney. “I’ve got to wait till it’s quiet and everybody’s looking at me. I’ll give you a few more guesses. What do you think?”

  “Danny’s birthday?”

  “You are the closest one. Danny loves sharks, right? Danny is moving to go live with somebody else. He’s going to be living pretty far away, so he’s going to go to a different school. So we’re all going to miss him very much. So we’re having a goodbye party for him. So should we all say goodbye to him?”

  Goodbye, Danny, said the class.

  “We will miss you,” said Mrs. McChesney. She gave Danny a shark book and a shark mug and a small rubber shark. Danny was happy and giggly. “Raise your hand if you want a second cupcake.” Really?

  I went over to Danny. “Glad I got a chance to get to know you,” I said. “Hope things go well.”

  When the party was almost over, Ms. Boissiere thought of a number between one and ten. “Randall, you can go first.”

  “Nine?” guessed Randall.

  “Five?” guessed Simon.

  “It was three, so Simon is closer,” said Ms. Boissiere. “So do you want some more shark gummies?”

  Simon got the whole packet.

  Ms. Boissiere said, “Everybody tell Danny how much you’re going to miss him!”

  WE’RE GOING TO MISS YOU, DANNY, said the class.

  “I’m going to miss you one thousand times,” said Simon.

  “I’m going to owe you a million dollars,” said Randall.

  Anne-Marie went over and hugged Danny.

  “Aw, are you guys getting married?” said Leyla. “Danny, are you moving to China?”

  “No,” said Danny, smiling.

  Sarah turned to me. “I know how to remember north, south, east, west. Never Eat Soggy Waffles.”

  I started picking up the cupcake wrappers and the half-eaten second cupcakes. Ms. Boissiere clapped the class to order. “I think we have time for maybe one round of silent ball. But first you need to stack and pack.” Mad chair stacking. “Wow, this table looks ready over here,” said Ms. Boissiere. “Nice job, Destiny, Dwight, Calvin, Emily, looking good!” When everything was packed and stacked, Ms. Boissiere said, “You guys know the rules. You talk, you’re out. You’re over by the bags. If you talk when you’re out, you’re against the wall.” Emily turned off the lights. “So starting now, no talking. You talk or make a noise, you’re out. Danny, since it’s your last day, you start. Go ahead.” She gave the ball to Danny, who held on to it, laughing a snuffly laugh.

  “Silent ball, remember,” said Ms. Boissiere, warningly. Finally Danny threw it to Calvin. Then he cleared his throat noisily.

  “Danny, you’re out,” said Ms. Boissiere. Danny went over by the backpacks and sat down. Calvin said, “No.”

  “Calvin, you’re out,” said Ms. Boissiere. “Nope, you’re out. Calvin, you’re out!” Calvin sat down on the rug.

  Randall said something.

  “Randall, you’re out, sorry.” Randall went sadly over to the backpacks and sat down. The ball hopped around the room. The girls were able to keep their mouths shut.

  Calvin was fiddling with something. “Calvin, put that away,” said Ms. Boissiere. Jake failed to catch the ball.

  “Jake, you’re out.” Danny, Calvin, Ra
ndall, and Jake started snickering softly. “Shh! Boys on the rug!” Danny started laughing harder. “Shh,” said Ms. Boissiere. “Jake, sit. Last warning.”

  Deena didn’t catch the ball. “Deena, you’re out.” Tracy dropped the ball. “Sorry, Tracy,” said Ms. Boissiere. “Jake, I said last warning, you go over to the wall.”

  Randall began clapping his hands softly and rolling his eyes. Calvin and Danny thought that was very funny. I didn’t want them to get in more trouble, so I waved at them and whispered, “Totally silent.”

  “Go a little faster,” said Ms. Boissiere to the remaining players. “All right, Simon, you’re out.” Huge snickering from the rug. Krista threw the ball wrong and said, “Oop.”

  “Sorry, Krista,” Ms. Boissiere said. “Silent ball.”

  What a nightmare of a game—more public humiliation.

  Ms. Boissiere checked the clock and abruptly took control of the ball. “I know we’re playing a game, and it’s Friday, but can I have you guys’s attention one second?” she said. “Since Danny’s leaving, I am actually leaving as well.”

  Aw, said the class.

  “So today’s my last day as well. But I just wanted to let you guys know that I enjoyed working with all of you, and I had a lot of fun.”

  “And I bet they had a lot of fun working with you,” I said.

  A bell bonged. “That was actually the bell,” said Ms. Boissiere. “That was a great game of silent ball. Why don’t you guys all go to the rug. If you’re getting picked up or going to Y care, please grab all your stuff and line up. Grab your Mother’s Day things, or else they’re going in the trash.”

  I said goodbye to the kids who were lined up.

  The PA lady came on and called about twenty names to the office. Simon was one of them.

  Anne-Marie was sobbing. She hugged Danny again and tried to wipe her tears. Ms. Boissiere comforted her. “You know, he’ll come back and visit,” she said. “It’s a good thing.”

  Randall pointed to my nametag, which said VISITOR. “Is that your name?”

  “That’s VISITOR,” I said. “V for visitor.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “A person who is visiting the school.”

  The PA lady came on again to dimiss K through two.

  Bye, bye-bye, I said. See you. Bye. Have fun.

  I wrote a note to Mrs. Ferrato and neatened up her desk. The PA system came on. “Happy Mother’s Day to everyone who is a mother,” said Mrs. Norris, “and happy Teacher Appreciation Week. Thank you all.” I found a last unmatched piece of an antonym egg, good, and matched it with its opposite, bad. I put the egg in the green bucket, turned in my badge, and drove home.

  End of Day Sixteen.

  DAY SEVENTEEN. Monday, May 12, 2014

  LASSWELL HIGH SCHOOL, TENTH-GRADE ENGLISH

  NON-NEGOTIABLES

  BETH CALLED AT FIVE FORTY-FIVE A.M. to say she had a job for me at the high school teaching Mrs. Kennett’s tenth-grade English classes. I got there more or less on time, donned my substitute lanyard, greeted Paulette, and found room 15, Mrs. Kennett’s classroom.

  Above her desk Mrs. Kennett had taped pictures of her mom and dad wearing party hats, and her husband, who was a rock climber, and her daughter, in a princess dress, and her dog, with a Frisbee in his mouth. There was also a quote from Through the Looking-Glass: “Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.” On the wall, in addition to the familiar taxonomy-of-learning poster, was a wall chart with advice on what to do before, during, and after reading:

  BEFORE READING

  Activate Prior Knowledge

  Set a Purpose

  Identify Text Structure

  DURING READING

  Visualize

  Take Notes

  Ask Questions

  Monitor Comprehension

  Reread

  AFTER READING

  Summarize

  Connect

  Discuss

  Activate Prior Knowledge! Identify Text Structure! Monitor Comprehension! It sounded like Spaceteam, the shouting-game app.

  Steve, in a gray T-shirt, sat at one of the six-sided tables, his backpack in front of him, waiting for the day to begin. He looked about twenty and was built like a linebacker.

  “What’s been happening in here, anything?” I asked.

  “Hm?” Steve said, politely plucking out an earbud.

  “What’s been happening in here?”

  “We’ve been working on soundtracks,” he said. “For our book that we just read.”

  Beep. The PA lady called Ron Bonacki to the main office, please. There were no sub plans on the desk, so I looked over a grading rubric for the soundtrack project. The assignment was to make a sort of playlist for Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried, about the Vietnam War. “Choose 12 chapters to depict through song,” said the rubric, downloaded from iRubric.com. “You will need to identify the mood and tone of each chapter and then find one song that best represents that. For each chapter, fill out an analysis form.” The analysis forms were filled with blank lines, where students were supposed to write what they thought the mood of each chapter was, give quotations from the text that supported the assigned mood, give quotations from the lyrics of the songs, and offer an explanation of “how this song depicts the mood/tone of the chapter.” There was a full-page chart explaining what got you a good grade on the soundtrack project and what didn’t. “Student is able to support all song choices with developed explanations, using lyrics and quotes that relate to the main idea of the scenes.” That got you a 4. “Student does not have a grasp of the content. The explanations of the song choices do not show a relationship to the scenes chosen. Lyrics and quotes do not relate or were missing.” That got you a 1. You also got a 1 if the analysis sheets had “four or more spelling, punctuation, and/or grammatical errors.” Jeepers, I thought, how to lay waste to pop music and Tim O’Brien at the same time.

  The head of the Language Arts Department, Mr. Markey, came by to give me a printed-out email of sub plans from Mrs. Kennett. Block 1 was the soundtrack project, he said. Blocks 2, 4, and 5 were all doing the same thing in my class and in his class—watching a YouTube video. He didn’t say what the video was about.

  The PA woman had announcements: “Drew Eschenbach to the main office. AP Bio students should be in the great room of the North Building to take your AP Bio test at this time. Nicholson Baker to the main office, please.”

  I hustled to the main office. Paulette had a change to the schedule. For block 3, I was covering for a chemistry teacher in room 22. The six beeps and the pledge happened while I was on my way back to class.

  “So Mrs. Kennett is absent,” I said to the class. “You’ve got an extra day to work on the soundtrack project.”

  “Awesome,” said Kaylee.

  Artie was in this class, and so was Sebastian, who seemed fine—jokey and cheerful and loud—getting more sleep these days, I guessed. He wasn’t drinking mango juice this morning. Keith was eating a bagel with cream cheese. Mrs. Meese, the kindhearted ed tech from Mr. Bowles’s room, walked around the class asking each kid if he or she had finished the project. “I think we should wait a little bit to take attendance,” she said, “because I know some of them went to get breakfast.”

  Sebastian and Brad launched into a joshing argument. “You’re such a jackass,” said Sebastian.

  I took attendance—it was a big class of twenty-six kids—while the students gossiped about iPad restrictions. Steve put his head down to take a nap.

  I asked the class if they’d had any luck finding songs that went with the mood of the chapters.

  “I’ve had no luck,” said Steve, looking up. “I’ve been sleeping for the past week.”

  Mr. Clapper, the principal, stuck his head in the door. “You
can disregard that third block,” he said. “We’re all set.” No chemistry for me today.

  Kaylee loaned me her copy of The Things They Carried. I read, Henry Dobbins carried his girlfriend’s pantyhose wrapped around his neck as a comforter. I read, You can tell a true war story by its absolute and uncompromising allegiance to obscenity and evil. I said, “Theoretically everybody’s read the whole book?”

  “Theoretically,” Pearl said.

  “I don’t want you guys talking at this table,” said Mrs. Meese, to a crowd of big-voiced boys.

  I let Mrs. Meese police the class. “What are you working on?” she asked, over and over. She had a nice, loose, jokey way of dealing with these “low-performing” students; she seemed resigned to the fact that none of them were going to do much in the way of actual work. I asked Steve if Mrs. Kennett had read any of O’Brien’s book aloud.

  “No,” he said, “me and Keith read the last book out loud. We made a deal with her that if we read the book out loud to the class we didn’t have to do the assignment.”

  I asked Brandon what chapter he was working on. He held up an analysis page for a chapter called “Enemies,” half filled out. He said, “I’ve done like five of these. You’re supposed to do eight. Or twelve, sorry.”