Pushout by Monique W. Morris Page A

irritating.’ She [said], “You going to make me lose my job.” I was like, ‘Okay, we can just fight ’cause you seem like you threatenin’ me, talking about “you going to make me lose my job.” I got a mama that will beat your ass’ . . . I’m like, yeah . . . so she [took] me to the office. And then when we get to the office, she [said] that she didn’t say that I was going to make her lose her job. I was like, ‘Why is you lying, ’cause the principal right here?’ . . . I will tell them what I said . . . I’ma admit to what I said. Ain’t no reason for me to lie. I’m like, ‘Why you can’t admit to what you said?’”
    I looked at Stacy as she cocked her head to the side, folded her arms, and slumped into her chair.
    â€œShe know I don’t take smack from nobody,” Stacy said, still visibly irritated by that experience.
    Remember: hurt people hurt other people.
    These girls’ stories remind us that a classroom inside of a locked facility is not exempt from being a location for the use (or abuse) of suspension and other disciplinary actions that remove children from their learning environment. We are also reminded that for girls accustomed to using violence as a response to feelingdisrespected, being in a hyperpunitive environment may only reinforce negative behaviors that result in marginalization from schools. For confined Black girls, the juvenile court school can further alienate them from their education, sometimes for the most minor “infraction,” such as asking a question or making a comment to themselves. The problem is that this hyperpunitive classroom management structure affects girls’ perceptions about the function of school and their relationship with it. This practice may trigger girls who are in trouble with the law and who are already marginalized from school in any setting. The structure fails to meet girls where they are and guide them through their problems, which in all likelihood leads to exacerbated challenges on the other end instead of leading them down healthier, safer paths.
    A majority of the girls I spoke with perceived the level of the coursework to be below their grade level. Irrespective of age or grade level, girls in the juvenile court school were educated in a single classroom and learned the same material. This was a source of great discontent and anxiety among the girls. Those who felt that the work was beneath their skill level were concerned that they were not learning enough to recover credits and return to school with the necessary information to successfully reintegrate into the classroom.
    â€œSchool here’s really frustrating for me,” Destiny said. “The teachers here know that we’re here temporarily, so I feel like they don’t make sure that we’re really learning.”
    Another student said, “[This school] don’t teach you nothing. I’m in high school. They’re teaching middle school stuff.”
    The work in the juvenile court school was described by several young women as “the same,” or repetitive, and the girls felt that their learning was stagnated by the absence of challenging material. However, for the younger participants who felt the work was above their grade level, there was a concern that they had missed critical information that might impact future learning and performance in their district school. For example, Mia said, “You’reteaching tenth grade while I’m still really in the seventh and the eighth . . . so you’re not helping me. You’re teaching me tenth-grade stuff and yeah, I get that stuff because you’re teaching it to me now , but what’s going to happen when I don’t know the other stuff? You know what I’m saying?”
    â€œI’m Not Retarded, I Just Got a Learning Disability”
    Mecca was a seventeen-year-old foster child who had been