“Ready for the onslaught?” She turned and saw a gray-haired woman. She was wearing jeans, a faded T-shirt with the name of a band on it, and sandals. She looked like she was still on vacation and it was a warm day in New York. She smiled when Victoria turned around with a startled look. Victoria had worn a short black cotton skirt, a loose white linen top, and flat shoes. The baggy top hid a multitude of sins, and the reasonably short skirt showed off her legs. But she wasn’t looking to seduce them, only teach them.
“Hi,” Victoria said with a look of surprise. She had seen the other woman at the teachers’ meetings, but hadn’t met her and couldn’t remember what department she was in, and didn’t want to ask her.
“I’m social studies. I have the classroom next to you, so if they start a gang war, I can help you. My name is Helen.” She was smiling as she came to shake Victoria’s hand. She looked to be around Victoria’s mother’s age, somewhere in her mid to late forties. Victoria’s mother had just turned fifty. “I’ve been here for twenty-two years, so if you need a cheat sheet or a guide, just ask me. They’re good people here, except the kids and their parents. Some of them anyway. Some of them are great kids, in spite of the privileged circumstances they live in.” As she said it, a shrill bell rang, and a few minutes later they could hear footsteps pounding up the stairs. It sounded like everyone was running.
“Thank you,” Victoria said, not sure what else to say. The statement she had made about the students and their parents was pretty damning, and an odd position to take for a woman who worked in a school full of rich kids.
“I love my students, but sometimes it’s hard to get them to deal with reality. How real is it when your parents have a boat, a plane, and a house in the Hamptons, and you spend every summer in the South of France? That’s the way it is for these kids. What the rest of the world deals with is pretty remote to them. It’s up to us to introduce them to the real world. And sometimes it’s not easy. Sooner or later you can get there, with most of them. But not very often with their parents. They’re past it, they don’t want to know how the other half lives. I guess they figure it’s not their problem. But the kids have a right to know and make choices.” Victoria didn’t disagree with her, and she hadn’t thought a lot about the lifestyles of these kids and how it would affect their view of the world. But Helen sounded faintly bitter about it and resentful of the kids. And Victoria wondered if she was jealous of the privileged lives they led. And as she thought it, the first student walked into the classroom, and Helen went back to her own.
The first student was a girl called Becki. She had blond hair to her waist, and was wearing a pink T-shirt, white jeans, and expensive Italian sandals. And she had the most beautiful face and body Victoria had ever seen. She took a seat in the middle of the classroom, which meant she wasn’t anxious to participate, but she wasn’t one of the shirkers in the back row either. She smiled at Victoria as she sat down. She had a casual air about her and looked as though she thought she owned the world. She had the cockiness of seniors Victoria had seen before. There were only four years separating the two young women, and Victoria felt a tremor sensing Becki’s self-confidence, but she reminded herself that she was the boss here. And they didn’t know exactly how young she was. She realized that she was going to have to earn their respect.
As she thought about it, four boys bolted through the door, almost at the same time, and sat down. They all looked at Becki, and obviously knew her, and glanced in Victoria’s direction with mild curiosity. A flock of girls entered the room then, laughing and talking. They said hi to Becki, ignored the boys, glanced at Victoria, and took seats in a block at the back of the room. That meant to Victoria that they wanted to keep talking and exchange notes, or maybe even text each other throughout the class. She would have to keep an eye on them. More girls then, more boys, a few stragglers who came in alone, and several in groups. And finally, after a full ten minutes, her first class had arrived. Victoria greeted them with a big smile and told them her name. She wrote it on the blackboard and then she turned to them.
“I’d like you all to introduce yourselves so I can put the faces with the names.” She pointed to a girl in the front row, to her extreme left as she faced them. “Let’s go all around the room.” And they did. They each said their name as she looked at the list she had on her desk for that class. “Who knows where they want to apply to college?” Less than half the hands in the room went up. “How about telling us?” She pointed to a boy in the back row who already looked bored. She didn’t know it yet, but he had been Becki’s boyfriend the year before, and they broke up before the summer. Now both of them were unattached. Becki had just gotten back from her father’s villa in the South of France. And like many of the students at Madison, her parents were divorced.
The boy Victoria had asked about the colleges he was applying to reeled off a list. Harvard, Princeton, Yale, Stanford, Duke, Dartmouth, and maybe MIT. He had every top school on that list, and she wondered if he was telling the truth or pulling her leg. She didn’t know the cast of characters yet at all. But she would.
“What happened to the circus college in Miami?” she asked him with a blank expression, and everyone laughed. “That might be fun.”
“I want to take chemical engineering, with a minor in physics, or maybe the other way around.”
“How are your grades in English?” she asked him. He was the kind of boy who would think an English comp class was a drag. But it was a required course, even for him.
“Not so good,” he admitted sheepishly in answer to her question. “I’m stronger in science.”
“What about you?” she asked the others. “How are you at English comp?” It was a reasonable question, and they were honest with her. Some said they sucked and others said they were good at it, and there was no way for her to know the truth, particularly not this soon.
“Well, if you want to get into those colleges, and I assume that several of you do, then you’re going to need decent grades in English. So let’s work on it together this year. I’m here to improve your writing skills. It should help you with the essay on your college app, and I’ll be happy to assist any of you with those applications, if you like.” It was an interesting spin on the purpose of the class, and the point hadn’t been lost on them. They sat up and listened to her more closely for what came next.
She talked about the value of being able to write clearly and coherently, not in flowery prose, but to be able to write an interesting story with a beginning, a middle, and an end. “I think we ought to have some fun this year too. Writing doesn’t have to be dreary. And for some people, I know it’s hard.” She glanced at the boy who wanted to go to MIT—English comp was clearly not his thing. “You can add some humor to what you write, or write it tongue-in-cheek. You can write social commentary on the state of the world, or a story that you invent from beginning to end. But whatever you write, make it simple and clear, and make it something special that others will want to read. So in that vein, I’m going to ask you to write something that we’ll all enjoy reading.” As she said it, she turned around and wrote on the blackboard that ran the length of one wall of the room, behind her desk. She wrote in a clear hand that they could all read easily: “My summer vacation.” And as she did, everyone groaned, and she turned around to face them again. “There’s a twist to it, a little spin. I don’t want to hear about the summer vacation you did have, which might be as boring as mine with my family in L.A. I want you to write about the summer vacation you wish you’d had. And when you’re finished writing it, I want to wish I had that vacation too. And I want you to make me understand why. Why was that the vacation you wanted to have, or wished you had? You can write it as an essay in first person, or as a story in third. And I want some really great stuff. I know you can do it if you try.” She smiled broadly at them then, and said something they didn’t expect. “Class dismissed.” For a moment they looked at her, a little stunned, and then they let out a whoop and got up, and star
ted shuffling out of the room. She tapped her desk once, and told them that the assignment was due the next time the class met, in three days. With that, they groaned again, and she got more specific. “And it doesn’t have to be long,” she said as they beamed.
“I wish I’d spent my summer vacation in a bordello in Morocco,” one boy said, and everybody laughed at his irreverence. Making fun of a teacher was something kids always enjoyed at every age. It was a thought Victoria couldn’t imagine the boy saying, but she didn’t react. Kids that age liked to shock adults. She gave no indication that he had.
“That would work,” Victoria said calmly, “as long as I believe you. If I don’t, you’re out of luck. That’s the hitch. Make me believe you, make me care, make me fall in love with the characters, or with you. That’s the whole point of writing, to convince the reader that what you’ve written for them is real. And in order to do that, you have to believe it too. Have fun,” she said, as the rest of the students left the room.
Victoria had a break between classes then, and sat at her desk making a few notes, when Helen, the teacher from the next classroom, walked back in. She seemed to be interested in everything Victoria did. Carla Bernini, the teacher on maternity leave, was her best friend, and Victoria wondered if she was defending her buddy’s turf, or at least keeping an eye on it for her.
“How did it go?” she asked as she sat down in one of the chairs.
“Pretty well, I think,” Victoria said honestly. “They didn’t throw things at me, or hit me with any bottle rockets. No stink bombs. And I kept it short, which always helps.” She had done that with her student teaching too. You couldn’t sit around forever, talking about writing. You just had to do it, no matter how hard and daunting it was. “The assignment I gave them was easy. It’ll show me what they can do.”
“It must be difficult stepping into someone else’s shoes,” Helen said randomly, and Victoria shrugged.
“I try not to think about it. We each have our own style.”
“What’s yours?” Helen asked with interest, as though she were interviewing her.
“I don’t know yet. Today is my first day. I graduated in May.”
“Zow! That’s got to be pretty unnerving. Aren’t you a big brave girl.” Her tone reminded Victoria of her father, but she didn’t care. She knew she had done a good job. And Helen could challenge her all she wanted, for whatever reason. Victoria knew she would have to prove herself to the teachers too, not just the students. But so far she thought it had gone well.
Victoria’s next class came in an hour later, and this time several of them were seriously late. They were seniors too.
The assignment she gave them was different than the first one.
The topic this time was what I want to be when I grow up, and why. “I want you to put some serious thought into it. And I want to respect and admire you when I’m through reading. It’s okay to make me laugh. Keep it light, unless you want to be an undertaker or embalmer. But short of that, I want to laugh.” And then the second class left too. She had held her own with both groups. And she had met all her seniors now. They seemed like good kids and hadn’t given her a hard time. But she knew they could if they wanted to, and she was very young. They didn’t have any particular allegiance to her yet, but she knew it was too soon. She hoped they would in time. And she knew that the level of their respect depended on her. It was her job to make them care.
Helen stayed and talked to her for a few minutes, and then they both packed up their things and left their classrooms. Victoria checked her mailbox on the way out, and then sat in the teachers’ lounge poring over a stack of memos from the headmaster and the dean of students. There were several announcements, mostly about policy changes that impacted the school. She went to an English department meeting that afternoon, and when she left the building, it took her ten minutes to walk home. She loved living so close. She wanted to walk to work every day.
When Victoria got to the apartment, everyone asked how her day had gone. They were all there.
“It was actually terrific,” Victoria said happily. And Gracie called her and asked her the same question an hour later, and she gave her the same answer. Essentially, it had gone really well, and she liked the kids. They might have been around the world with their parents, and had every lesson known to man, yet there was something innocent and endearing about them. And she wanted them to learn to think intelligently, use good judgment, and wind up with the life they wanted, whatever and wherever that was. Her job, as she understood it, in this school or any other, was to open the door into the world for them. And she wanted to open many, many doors. They had begun.
Chapter 10
Victoria met her junior and sophomore students on the second and third days of school, and she was surprised to find them much harder to deal with than the seniors. The juniors were stressed about the heavy workload they’d have that year, which would count more than any other year in their applications to colleges, and they were afraid she’d give them too much homework. And the sophomores were unfriendly and almost belligerent, and there was no harder group to teach than fifteen-year-old girls. It was everyone’s least favorite age, and Victoria’s too, with the exception of her sister Grace, who seemed nicer than most girls her age. There was a nasty quality to them, and Victoria heard two of the girls talking about her size as they left the class. They talked just loud enough for her to hear them, and she had to remind herself that they were just bratty kids, but their comments cut through her like a knife. One of the girls had referred to her as “fat;” the other one said she looked like a tank in the dress she’d worn. She took it off that night and put it in a pile to give away. She knew she wouldn’t feel comfortable wearing it again. And when she went out to the kitchen in her apartment that night, she finished off someone’s pint of Ben and Jerry’s, in a flavor she didn’t even like.
“Bad day?” Harlan asked as he walked in and made himself a cup of tea, and offered one to her.
“Yeah, sort of. Sophomore girls can be pretty nasty. I met my sophomore class for the first time today.” She looked seriously unhappy as she sat in the kitchen and sipped her tea, eating the brownies she had bought on the way home.
“It must be tough being so young, and teaching high school students who’re almost as old as you are,” he said sympathetically.
“I guess so. The seniors were pretty good actually. The younger ones were the worst so far. They’re just bitchy. And the juniors are always scared to death, because it’s the most important year before college, so they’re under a lot of pressure, from us and their parents.”
“I wouldn’t want your job,” he said, grinning ruefully. “Kids can be so tough. Standing up in front of thirty of them would do me in.”
“I don’t have a lot of experience with it yet,” Victoria admitted, “but I think I’m going to love it. My student teaching was fun, but I was assigned to freshman kids. This is pretty different, and these are very high-end kids. They’re a lot more sophisticated than the ones I did my student teaching with in Chicago. These guys are going to keep me on my toes. I just want to keep my class interesting for them. Kids that age can be very unforgiving.”
“They sound dangerous to me,” he said and pretended to shudder, and Victoria laughed.
“They’re not as bad as that,” she defended them. “They’re just kids.”
But the next day when she met with her seniors again, she was inclined to agree with Harlan. She was expecting both groups to hand in their writing assignments. Less than half of each class had done them. When she first realized it, Victoria looked disappointed.
“Is there some reason why you didn’t?” she asked Becki Adams.
“I had too much work to do for my other classes,” Becki said with a shrug, while the girl sitting next to her laughed.
“May I remind you that this is a required English class? Your English grade this term will depend on what you do here.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Beck
i said, turning to the girl next to her to say something in a whisper. And she glanced up at Victoria as she did, which made her feel they were talking about her. She tried to regain her composure, collected the papers that had been done, and thanked the students who had completed the assignment.
“For those who didn’t,” Victoria said calmly, “you have till Monday. And from now on, I expect you to turn your assignments in on time.” It threw off the assignment she had planned to give them to do over the weekend. But less than half the class had done the work.
She discussed the power of the essay then, and handed out some examples, explaining why they worked, and pointing out the strengths of each piece. And this time the entire group ignored her. Two girls in the back row were wearing iPods, three of the boys were laughing at a private joke, several of the girls were passing notes, and Becki pulled out her BlackBerry and sent texts. Victoria felt like she’d been slapped and wasn’t sure what to do. They were five years younger than she was and behaving like total brats.
“Are we having a problem here?” she finally said quietly. “Are you under the impression that you don’t have to pay attention to this class? Or even be polite? Do you care about your grades at all? I know you’re seniors, and your junior transcript goes on your college apps, but if you flunk this class, it’s not going to look so great and may keep you out of the college of your choice.”
Big Girl Page 10