Page 13 of Between the Lines
“Carol is fine, sweetie.”
Thesweetieprobably isn’t meant to sound condescending, but that’s exactly how I take it.
“Mrs. McMann,” I repeat, “I’m just concerned about how much the students were actually getting out of the lesson. It’s only ten minutes into the period. Was today a review day, or did you just teach the lesson that quickly?”
She laughs. Pure joy glitters in her eyes.
“Oh, Nate, sweetie, they’re just using the book for that. I wrote the lesson on the board and told them to ask me if they needed help.”
And herein lies the issue.
I reign in the exasperated breath I want to exhale, and instead, I tilt my head and rub my thumb and index finger along my brow.
“So, just to clarify, you’re not actually teaching them?”
She guffaws again, then puts a motherly hand to my shoulder.
“I wouldn’t know a variable if it bit me in the ass, Nate. This is just crowd control.”
With that, she heads back into the classroom, still wearing a smile, like those last five words didn’t just ruin my day.
Crowd control?
I rub my temples in slow circles, hoping that will dull the ache of those two dreaded words. Sydney King, one of the students who had been working when I entered that math class, knocks on my office door, looking like a deer in headlights. After pulling up her scheduleto figure out which class to call her from, it appears that she is on the advanced track, and has probably never seen the inside of the school office.
“Am I in trouble?” she asks as she perches on the edge of one of my chairs.
“No,” I say, donning a tense smile. “You’re not. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about your math class.”
I ask Sydney about a typical day, and over the course of the next ten minutes, come to find out that this sixth grade class has essentially been attempting to teach themselves from the book while Carol McMann sits on her phone with one headphone in and the other out. Apparently, she’s been listening to audiobooks, and according to Sydney, hasFinished five so far! A new record!
By the time I make it to Don’s office to report what has been going on, I have a tension headache.
“Nate! Take a seat, my man.”
I perch on the edge of one of the fine leather chairs that sit opposite Don’s desk.
“What can I do for you? Things going okay so far?”
I nod once.
“I have an issue that I wanted to discuss about one of our long-term positions. I’m not sure how to handle it.”
He nods, an indication for me to continue, and I detail the scene I ran into this morning.
“Okay? Were there any behavior concerns I need to know about?”
My gaze narrows as I lean forward. He looks almost annoyed that I brought this to him. When I don’t respond, he blows out a breath.
“Look, Nate, she’s a warm body in a classroom. You wanna know what the alternative was? No one. So unless you’re looking to fill in and teach sixth grade math until their teacher is back, she’ll have to do.”
What I wouldn’t give to be back in the classroom.
“They’re teaching themselves!” I exclaim.
“But,” he pauses, lifting his index finger, “there’s an adult in the room, and so far, no one has gotten hurt. Look, my hands are tied.”
And that’s the end of the conversation.