Page 12 of Between the Lines

“Would you like to dial, or should I?”

I lean back in my chair to give him a bit of space as Sawyer explains to his mother that he will be serving an after school detention for a punishment fitting of the crime—scrubbing each doodle off the walls, as well as spending his study hall for the remainder of the week helping our custodial staff. I can hear her barking at him over the line before he hands the phone over my desk with a sniffly,She wants to talk to you.

Once I finish up with Mrs. Bruning and send Sawyer on his way, I check the next task on my list.

Oddly, there isn’t one. I tense immediately. A blank schedule is time for idleness, and idleness allows demons in—which I can’t have. Not after I’ve kept the lid vacuum-sealed over them since I was seventeen years old.

I am immediately up and out of my seat, my office a ghost town by the time I’ve made it into the main hub of the middle school. Part of my job is to make rounds on the classrooms and their teachers, so that’s what I’ll do until I have another task to fill my list.

I check in with two first-year teachers, reassuring them that drowning is all part of the job, and that they’re doing just fine. Then, I decide to pop in on a few of our long-term substitutes.

I head to a sixth grade math class whose teacher is out on medical leave until the beginning of October. I plan to make a lap of the classroom, ask the sub how things are going and if there’s anything I can do to help, and be on my way. Unfortunately, instead of walking into a sixth grade math class, I come across a zoo.

I thought these scenes were strictly out of Hollywood, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.

There is a student standing by the door when I enter, tossing a paper airplane. Several others stand in the opposite corner, cheering when it coasts all the way across the classroom on one single glide. A group of students have their Chromebooks open to a game site that is definitely not for educational purposes. Four girls are sitting on desks with their makeup products scattered around, giving one another makeovers. Several students have their phones out. One student is actually sleeping—head down, hood over it, face buried into the crook of his arm.

Thereisone group of three students huddled in the back corner with their textbooks cracked open. They seem on edge. I wonder how they’re getting any work done.

“What in theworldis going on in here? All of you, back to your seats.”

The entire class freezes. Once the initial shock of my booming voice settles, they scatter back to their desks. In a span of sixty seconds, this looks like an actual classroom again.

“Where is your teacher?” I ask from my perch in front of the class.

They all point, heads on swivels, to the back corner.

I guess shedidblend into the chaos.

Sitting in the teacher’s desk is Carol McMann. At fifty-eight years old, she has her headphones plugged into her cell phone. She missed that entire scene.

She must sense the thirty sets of eyes on her, because she suddenly looks up. Her eyes bug, and she peels first one, then the other earbud from her ears.

“Oh! Nate, you scared me!”

She is all smiles. I am flabbergasted. I have so many questions, and yet, can’t seem to utter one.

“Were the kids too loud? Sorry about that.”

My head tilts more and more in confusion as my gaze narrows.

“Class, what assignment are you supposed to be working on?”

One of the students whohadbeen working when I entered the room raises her hand and says,Chapter 2, lesson 4. I instruct them to get to work while I ask Carol to follow me into the hall.

“What can I do for you, Nate?”

I don’t know which throws me off more—the fact that she is all smiles, or the fact that she calls meNate. In a professional setting, I kind of expected my staff to address me as Mr. Harding. While a lot of the teachers here are more informal, anddocall me Nathan, Carol is a guest in the building. It’s almost as if she sees our age difference before she sees me as a figure of authority. It makes me uneasy.

I clear my throat, then say, “I’m just a little confused as to what was going on when I walked in.” When she makes no move to cover her tracks or defend herself, I continue, “Would you care to elaborate?”

“Today was Chapter 2, Lesson 4. That’s what they were supposed to be working on,” she says with a shrug, still wearing an expression that says she doesn’t have a care or concern in the world.

“Right,” I trail off. “That’s what one of the students mentionedwhen I asked. However, when I walked in, there were only a few students actually doing math. What about the rest of them?”

“They might have been done.” She shrugs again, still aloof. I really don’t want to come off as the harsh new assistant principal, but I dig in my heel.

“Mrs. McMann?—”