A Terrible Beauty: What Teachers Know but Seldom Tell outside the Staff Room by Dave St.John Page B

to class is the VP’s. Why would
you say what you did to the boy you sent out?”
    “I’ve kicked too many horse’s hind ends out of class
just to have them come back five minutes later with a big grin on
their face, bragging that nothing happened, that’s why. As far as
most administrators are concerned, you see a problem, you made it;
it’s your fault. After a while even teachers get the message.”
    What he thought of her shouldn’t matter, but it did.
It did matter. “You hate all of us, don’t you?”
    “I’m not talking about you,” he said, tearing open a
pack of gum and offering her a piece. “I don’t even hate the
gutless wonders. They’re just trying to keep their jobs. Their
hands are tied—the courts have seen to that. An administrator’s job
now is to avoid lawsuits. I’ve even seen principals called on the
carpet because of too many kids expelled for drugs and alcohol. You
see, we want it both ways, Drug Free keep the stats low, we
tolerate just about any behavior the kids dish out. I’m not saying
they’re the heavies, I just see it from a teacher’s point of view,
that’s all. Things look different from down here.”
    She blew against a pane, breath fogging the glass.
“What if —” She hesitated, afraid she had said too much. Afraid he
would laugh…not wanting him to.
    “What?” he said, guessing her thought. “If an
administrator cared about more than keeping her job? if she had
scruples? if she had the guts to stand firm on standards, to stand
up to parents and board members?”
    “Yeah,” she said, more than a little surprised by his
guess.
    He shrugged. “They might last six, eight weeks. The
thing you’ve got to remember is, the moment you try to do what’s
right, you make enemies, because everybody wants something from the
system. Good grades, free babysitting, a cushy job—everybody wants
something, but nobody wants any trouble.”
    The halls were silent, now, the wind filtering in
around the icy panes.
    She could think of nothing more to say. “You’re
probably right.”
    He passed out some dog-eared math workbooks. “Wait
until you meet this bunch.”
    “Isn’t it time for History?” He shook his head.
“Bonehead Math. We operate on a variable schedule—we call it zoo
schedule. We shuffle the class order every day—I say Parnell tosses
dice, Helvey says it’s darts. It’s supposed to keep the kiddies
from getting bored. It’s just something we do to make sure that no
one really knows what’s coming next. Can’t have things getting too
predictable, can we?”
    She set her laptop out on the desk, opened it. “So
what’s so special about this group?” He made a face. “I won’t spoil
it for you.” The bell rang and she mentioned that it was quieter
here than in the hallway below.
    “It used to knock me out of my socks every time it
went off. I got up in the attic and cut the hot wire. No one’s
noticed, so I guess it didn’t hurt anything.”
    Her laptop she switched on.
    “Oops.” He winced. “Just gave you one, didn’t I?”
    “Yup,” she said, hands moving over the keyboard as
she met his eye. “Don’t forget I’m the enemy…I won’t.”
    They scared her. From her seat in the back of the
room she watched boys file in, many wearing earphones and baseball
caps turned bill to the back.
    O’Connel stood guard at the door and they slapped
them on the counter as they came. A tough looking blond with an
earring slammed down his binder and, for no reason she could see,
took a shorter boy in a head lock. O’Connel barked and they
sat.
    The room filled and still she had seen no girls. How
odd to have a class with only boys—with this group, how
nightmarish.
    The blond turned to stare at her with the eyes of an
unfriendly dog. “Who’s she?”
    “Miss Gonsalvas is the assistant superintendent.”
    She didn’t like his eyes. There was no intelligence
there, only conniving malevolence. The thoughts of an animal seemed
to dart behind them.