Page 5 of Between the Lines

“I wonder what Rocco Thatcher’s parents are going to say when I call to tell them their son didn’t show up to his first day of seventh grade.” I shrug. “They’ll probably be worried since they spent so much time getting hisHugh Jassout of bed. Wasted gas on driving hisHugh Jassto school. I’ll even bet that his momma did him the honor of making hisHugh Jassa real nice PB&J for lunch.”

I sigh dramatically, basking in the fact that I have every single one of these kids simply captivated.

“I wonder if hisHugh Jassis going to be in big trouble when the office calls to tell them he never showed up. What a shame.”

Hugh—Rocco—is the color of the Patriots football I tossed to him ten minutes ago back in the hallway. I can barely see the Rudolph tip of his nose past the desk, since he has slunk nearly to the floor.

“And don’t even get mestartedon Ben?—”

“I’m here! And I’m Liam.”

His partner in crime is as white as a sheet. I stand, attendance clipboard in hand, and with a narrowed yet powerful gaze, I turn the clipboard to him. Liam takes it, furiously erases his joke, and corrects it.

“Name: Liam. Adjective: Sorry. I’ll accept it. And, Hugh?”

Rocco swallows, shimmies up in his seat, and takes the clipboard. I make a show of reading his answer, the entire homeroom waiting on baited breath.

“Rocco. Terrified.”

I smirk, and gaze out over the sea of glittering faces. The warning bell rings, notifying students and teachers to get ready to switch for first period.

“My name is Ms. Benson. Welcome to seventh grade.”

three

nathan

It isfive-forty-two by the time I actually sit at my desk chair. The almost brand-new cushion absorbs my body, and I sink even further into the plush leather as I sigh, expelling everything from the first day of school and letting it sink to the floor.

All in all, it was your typical first day of school. Kids were excited to see friends, happy not to have homework on the first day, and generally in good spirits. There were a handful of behaviors, but mostly, I helped with clerical work and crowd control. Kids whose schedules were inaccurate. The handful of students who showed up on the first day without being registered, throwing entire class loads for a loop. There were a few stray behaviors that I addressed with my strong, firm hand, reminding students that nonsense will not be tolerated.

It was a decent first day. No blood, minimal tears, and my mind was pulled away from the nightmare that the day began with. I take a moment to close my eyes for a deep, centering breath, and then get back to work. There were two students I didn’t get the chance to speak with today, despite the fact that I anticipated seeing them both. Liam Spencer and Rocco Thatcher. Both seventh graders. Both notorious for starting trouble—though, Rocco serves more as a ringleader while Liam follows—which I learned during my shadowing year last year when they were sixth graders. I caught them playing football in the hall this morning.

Of my seven long-term substitutes, I only failed to check in on Claire Benson. Then again, I got enough of her before the sun rose this morning. I purposely put her to the bottom of my list, and didn’t end up checking in by the time most of the teachers were gone for the day.

I pinch my eyes closed again, picturing the football in her hand as she’d so carelessly tossed it right back into the hands of the boy who was bound to throw it again. I have money on that ball being confiscated, awaiting parent pick-up on my desk, by tomorrow at the final bell.

Between maternity and paternity leaves, and several staff out on medical leave, we are stretched thin. Several more teachers and staff will be out throughout the year. But between all of them, we’ll have Claire effectively through the end of January since she’s covering three vacancies back-to-back.

Right now, I have more pressing issues than Claire Benson, like the math teacher currently knocking at my door.

“Mr. Petersen. Come in.”

Joe Petersen has been at River Valley since before the middle school was even in this current building—he probably dates back to the conception of the school itself. He has claimed retirement three times now, from what I’ve heard, and then gone back on his word because he, “Will be too bored,” and, “doesn’t golf.”

Joe slowly ambles to one of two leather chairs situated in front of my desk and takes his time sitting down.

“Did you have a good first day?”

He waves his hand in the space in front of him.

“I’ve had a thousand first days, Nate. They’re all the same. I’ll cut the bullshit and tell you why I’m here.”

He takes his square, wire-rimmed glasses from his face and beginsto clean them with a lens cloth that he produces from his front shirt pocket as he speaks.

“I’m not doing this new curriculum.”

At least he’s honest and to the point.

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