Misconduct

Not only was he not performing up to his potential in class, but he also challenged me on occasion. Whether it be tardiness, flippant behavior, or distracting other students, he seemed to have a penchant for disobedience.

And as much as he tried to hinder me from doing my job, the person I was outside of the classroom couldn’t help but admire him a little.

I knew from experience that misbehavior came from a need for control when you lacked it in other venues. And while I sympathized with him – and whatever he wasn’t getting at home or elsewhere – he clearly thought he could get away with it here.

“That’s a good question,” I told him, walking around my desk. “Why do you think we don’t use the textbooks?”

He laughed to himself and then pinned me with a look. “What I think is that you give me more questions when I just want answers.”

I stiffened, my smile falling as students in the room either tried to cover their laughs with their hands or stared between Christian and me wide-eyed and waiting for whatever would happen next.

Christian had a self-satisfied look on his face, and my blood heated with the challenge.

I swallowed and spoke calmly. “Everyone open up to page fifty-six.”

“Ugh.” Marcus groaned. “Nice job,” he shot over his shoulder, not looking at Christian.

Everyone dug their books out of the compartments under their desks, and the sounds of pages flipping and students grumbling filled the classroom.

I picked up my teacher’s manual and cleared my throat.

“Okay, this chapter covers the contributions of Patrick Henry, Benjamin Franklin, and Betsy Ross,” I went on. “I’d like you to read —”

“But we already learned about them!” Jordan Burrows, the girl sitting next to Christian, called out.

I pinched my eyebrows together, cocking my head and feigning ignorance. “Did we?”

Another student jumped in. “We did the book study in groups two weeks ago and the virtual museums,” he reminded me.

“Oh.” I played along. “Okay, pardon me,” I said, moving on. “Turn to page sixty-eight. This chapter covers the presidencies of George Washington through Thomas Jefferson —”

“We already learned that, too.” Kat Robichaux laughed from my right. “You uploaded our campaign posters to Pinterest.”

I looked up at Christian, who hopefully was getting the idea.

We had been learning everything in the textbook, even though we hadn’t learned it from there. Students absorbed more when they sought knowledge themselves and put it to practice by creating a product instead of merely reading from a single text.

“Ah,” I replied. “I remember now.”

Christian shifted in his seat, knowing full well the point had been made.

“So,” I went on, “on page seventy-nine, there are twenty questions to help us prepare for our unit test tomorrow. We can spend the rest of class answering them silently on paper, or we can take ten minutes with the responders and then move on to start researching slave ships online.”

“Responders,” the students cut in without hesitation.

“We could take a vote,” I chirped, not really trying to be fair but to drive the point home for someone in particular.

“Responders!” the students repeated, this time louder.

The class picked up their remotelike devices. For the next ten minutes, I displayed multiple-choice questions on the board, giving them about a minute to answer on their devices, and then, once their responses had been recorded in the program, I displayed the bar graph showing how many students answered a certain way.

Afterward, we jumped on our laptops while I continued to project on the Smart Board as we dived into the next unit with some questions and research online before the end of class.

As the students walked out, moving on to their next class, I watched Christian inching slowly along and peering out the window as he made his way out the door.

“Christian,” I called as he passed by my desk.

He stopped and looked at me like he usually did. With boredom.

“Your questions are important,” I assured him. “And very welcome in this class. But I do expect you to use manners.”

He remained silent, his eyes staring off to the side. I knew he wasn’t a bad kid, and he was certainly smart, but the curtain over his eyes lifted very rarely. When it did, I saw the kid inside. When the curtain was drawn, he was unapproachable.

“Where is your phone?” I asked. “You need it for class, and you haven’t had it.”

He’d also failed to return my battery.

Not a big deal, since we used the same brand of phone, and I was getting by with his, but the students were allowed to use their phones in class – kept in the corner of their desks on silent and facedown – to access their calculators, random number generators for our activities, and other apps I’d found useful for engagement.

I’d found the more you allowed them their technology, the less they tried to sneak it. And since all of these students carried phones, I didn’t worry about anyone feeling left out.

“If there’s a problem, I can speak to your father,” I offered, knowing Christian probably wouldn’t choose to be without his phone himself.

But Christian broke out in a smirk, meeting my eyes. “You will speak to him.” He jerked his chin toward the window. “Sooner than you think.”

And he turned, walking out and letting the heavy wooden door slam shut behind him.

What had that meant?

I twisted my head toward the window, and stood up to head over to the window to see what he’d been referring to.