The Great Expectations School by Dan Brown Page B

figured games are a necessary part of school, and this could also be a bit of preassessment for our future multiplication unit. I scolded Maimouna for poor sportsmanship when she gloated in Gladys Ferarro's face, but otherwise everything looked good, like a real classroom. Even Lakiya played.
    Midway through the third game, Lito and Cwasey (mortal enemies earlier in the week when the former stomped the latter's glasses) teamed up to use the fake-penny game pieces as projectiles, targeting Eddie. Eddie immediately retaliated, tossing his board and pieces across the room.
    My brain exploded. Fury, building from Guiterrez's early visit, suddenly frothed over. I felt a unique blast of air erupt from my lungs:
“DO NOT THROW!”
My face became boiling and screwed up, my words fraying into a guttural bellow. I wheeled, locking my demented-looking eyes with Cwasey's fearful ones, and in a moment I stood over him. Everyone froze.
    Keeping my crazed gaze fixed on the small, sitting boy, I dealt commands in a low voice. “Jennifer, collect the game boards. Dennis, take the plastic bag from my desk and collect the pieces.”
    Cwasey piped up in protest, “But he was throwing them at
me
—”
    â€œZAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”
I cut him off with anotherdragon-cry. Cwasey shut his mouth. Lakiya grinned. I had outcrazied them all.
    During my prep, I sat in the Teacher Center with my head down. I was sure that I was losing my mind. Through the wall, I could hear Melissa Mulvehill screaming at her class. I realized everyone on the floor had heard me raging like a banshee.
    Thirty minutes into the period, Mulvehill appeared in the Teacher Center doorway, as if looking for some quick advice. “I just had a kid piss his pants on purpose,” she said in a rush, her voice registering something between horror and twisted amusement.
    At least I didn't have that going on, I thought. Besides coaching several baby-teeth extractions, I had had no encounters with fluids since the previous week when Tayshaun Jackson puked up a pack of sour apple Now-and-Later candies at lineup.
    During lunch, I brought Sonandia, Jennifer, Destiny, Evley, and Tiffany upstairs. They were excited to be in the classroom at an unusual hour. I gave each kid a fun-size 100 Grand bar and a printout of the Birthday Bar Graph procedure. They copied happily.
    On 4-217’s direct cafeteria-to-auditorium route for our first assembly, Marvin Winslow tapped me on the arm. “Mr. Brown,” he said, looking at the floor, “I'm not good. I'm a bad kid.”
    â€œNo, no, come on, Marvin. I know that's not true.”
    â€œI'm bad. I do bad things. I ate lunch by myself.”
    â€œYou did? I'll make sure that doesn't happen again. I saw you hanging out with Dennis when I picked up the class. I'm sure Dennis will want to eat with you,” I said.
    â€œYeah!” Dennis enthused from the line. I didn't know he could hear us.
    â€œBut I'm bad,” Marvin insisted.
    â€œWe're friends!” Dennis cheered. “Right, Marvin? We ate lunch.”
    Suddenly caught between his inferiority complex and his new buddy, Marvin hesitated. “Yeah,” he mumbled.
    â€œWe're friends, Mr. Brown!” Dennis repeated. At that moment, I loved him.
    â€œMarvin, I'm a good judge of character. I can tell you've got a good heart. We're going to work together. I know you had problems at your old school, but you're not there anymore. You're at P.S. 85 with Mr. Brown.”
    Marvin nodded and fell silent.
    The assembly was a gargantuan letdown. Mr. Randazzo spent a huge chunk of time raising and lowering his arm, trying unsuccessfully to implement the Silent Signal. The teachers had to mimic Randazzo's arm movements, like monkeys. Eventually he achieved quiet and gave a banal speech about being one month through the new school year. Then he announced the September scores from his morning lineup rubric.
    Four-two-seventeen was dead last, deep