Under the Pile

I did a lesson on pattern with the middle school art classes. (The art teacher who is not new, Mr. S, gave me some lessons to do with the classes while I'm there.) They were to "collect" ten different patterns. 

I had graded their papers, and I returned them. But, several students had not even turned the paper in. I know that they had done it, as I watched them do it. 

After returning all their papers, I announced to the class that if they did not get a paper back, I had never received theirs. If they had it, they could still turn it in. 

(I mean, I called for it on the day it was due. A couple times. But middle schoolers.)

Oscar: "I did it." 

Me: "But you didn't turn it in." 

So, he went to look for it. He opened his backpack... 

This is the third week of school. Right? And he already... 

Oscar's backpack was filled with papers. In a wad. Just shoved in the backpack willy-nilly. No notebooks. No folders. No organization whatsoever. 

On the first day of school, I told the class to get a pocket folder for the class. That way they could keep their papers organized. I know the other teachers give similar instructions. (Math classes ask for spiral notebooks. English classes ask for three ring binders. But there's guidance on what they'll use.) 

I asked him about a folder. He said he didn't have one. I said he might want to consider getting folders for each of his classes, so he could find what he's looking for more easily. 

He had handouts from English and history. Eventually, under that stack, he found the patterns assignment. Yup, it was done. And correctly. 

Will Oscar take my advice and get a folder? Probably not. Even though a nearby boy piped up with, "This folder only cost 25 cents." And the folder? Completely appropriate for the class. 

The Tardy Boys

Friday. Passing period to eighth period. 

I was outside, greeting students. The room is a bungalow, and it is up a couple steps. Years ago, they installed a ramp over those stairs, and there's a railing along the ramp. I leaned against it. 

Oscar and Russell arrived. (I can't remember which showed up first, but one was waiting for the other.) They both parked themselves on the railing to get the "fresh air". (The kiddos don't like how I blast the air conditioner, but it was 90℉ outside.) 

The bell rang, and I headed inside. As I got class started, I noticed that neither Oscar nor Russell were in their seats. 

Initially, the boys both sat together at the same table. They, along with a third boy, made eighth period difficult. I had separated them the previous class period, and the whole class mellowed. It was lovely. (They had begged for "one more chance" the period before that. I informed them that that had been their "one more chance" and they blew it.) 

I poked my head out the door. Oscar and Russell were both still sitting on the railing. Um...

"You know you're both now late, right?"

They protested. They had gotten to their railing before the bell. I explained that they needed to be inside and in their seats at the bell. Sitting outside getting "fresh air" is not in class ready to learn. 

I had explained to the class in the first week that on time meant in their seats at the bell. I would, of course, give them a bit of grace if they were in the room and heading for their seats at the bell. But sitting outside and not coming in until I retrieved them? Nope, that's not how this thing works. 

Those two boys... Once I separated them, they mellowed. Once they get going, they're fine. But this is the moment where if I let them get away with stuff, they'll be trouble the whole school year. I won't do that to the incoming teacher if I can help it. 

Hopefully that's the only time I have to mark them tardy. We'll see...

Recognized and Remembered

At the continuation high school there is an orientation class. It is a class for the newcomers, the ones that have just transferred from their other schools. 

On the second day of school, I was surprised by this orientation class fourth period. The school is making some adjustments with how they do things (some practices were out of date, and it was time to rethink and redo them). And so now Mr. G has a period of orientation. Okay, then...

As with every new group, there were several students I did not recognize. But there were a couple who I did. And I was not surprised to see them. 

I did not say anything to Jensen even though I immediately recognized him. 

But, on Friday, Jensen brought it up. 

Jensen: "Do you remember me from the alternative education center?"

Me: "Yup. I even remember you from [traditional high school]."

Jensen: Looking confused. Then recognition dawns. "Oh, the English class..."

Yeah, among others. 

The good news: Jensen can't really roam like he did at the traditional high school as there's nowhere to roam. And he seems to have matured a little. (Very little.) 

But now I get to see him when I go to the continuation high school. Of course, that means he can't escape me as well. *evil grin*

Caught Out

Thursday. Tenth grade English, honors. Fourth period. They had a test on Act Five of Macbeth. 

We're right up on the end of the school year now. The day this post goes live is our last day of school. So, I was kind of surprised when one of the kiddos was absent. But whatever. 

About halfway through the period, Andrea arrived. At that point, only one student was still working on the test. I told Andrea that there was a test and that she could get started. She questioned if she had enough time to finish it. I figured she did. (Logically, if she still had half the period and the class was done, the test should only take her half the period, which was the time she had left.) Besides, when was she going to have time to make it up? Best to get it done. 

She sat down, but then she came back to me. She said that she usually takes her tests in her counselor's office, so could she go and take the test there? So, I let her go. 

I thought nothing of this. Some students have various accomodations, and my philosophy is trust. But verify. 

The next day I ran into Ms. S (the teacher). She stopped me to ask a question. Because, it turns out that Andrea has never taken her English tests in her counselor's office. 

Uh oh. 

(Because, yeah, I made a note of it. I always make a note of it.) 

Ms. S was not pleased. She wasn't upset with me. She said that Andrea had been trying to get around things all school year. 

But I was able to put Ms. S's mind at ease about a couple things. First, Andrea had left her cell phone in the classroom. (Ms. S had required all the kiddos to turn in their phones before the test. Andrea had as well.) Second, when Andrea left the room, she left her belongings behind. 

Could she have cheated? Of course. Ms. S knows who her counselor is, so she can verify if Andrea went there for the test. Odd that she'd try this on this last test. But whatever. 

There is a reason I keep detailed notes. It's so the teachers can catch the kiddos out when they pull this stuff with subs. 

Caught Red-Handed

Monday. Period four. We had finished up chapter six of The Great Gatsby in the last class period, so on this day they had an assignment analyzing quotes from the novel (chapters four through six). 

They had a similar assignment for chapters one through three. I was saddened as I read through their work. Their analyses were too good. Great word choice. Some insightful takes on the scenes. 

Yeah, that wasn't their work. 

Too many of them said the same thing. I didn't go back and check, but if I did, I know I would find that some papers were exactly the same. They talked of the themes in the novel. They hinted at things that were to come (that they hadn't read yet). I know they pulled answers from elsewhere. 

(Not everyone. Some clearly had done their own work.)

So, I pointed this out to period four as they began. 

I took a couple strolls around the room. Some of them were working. Some were not. 

Virgil was sucked into his phone. I sidled up behind him and glanced at what was on his phone. 

ChatGPT. 

Me: "You need to do your own work. Get off the ChatGPT." 

Virgil visibly startled. I don't think he heard me come up behind him. 

I remember reading Virgil's chapter one through three assignment. Him being on ChatGPT did not surprise me at all. 

He put the phone away. And then proceeded to do no work for the rest of the period. Deep sigh. 

That Teen Attitude

Thursday. Third period.

It was a pause day in our reading of The Great Gatsby. The students had an assignment on various quotes from the book, and I was giving them the period to complete it. It was also some time for them to go over the chapters to prepare for an upcoming quiz. 

I had explained the assignment, solicited questions, and released them to work independently. The room settled. I took a quick walk around the room to make sure they knew I was available for questions. 

I passed behind Aria. She had a computer out, but propped on it was her phone. With a movie playing. Deep sigh. 

"Are you going to get to work?" I asked, in my sweetest, quietest voice. 

Aria turned towards me with a look of such malevolence that I was surprised her head did not continue all the way around in a full circle. 

This is the girl who complained that I didn't give them more in class time to complete a previous assignment. 

And so many of them had phones out and were clearly not working on the assignment. 

Ah well. I suppose they don't need class time to finish their work anymore. Fine by me. I'd rather spend time on the chapters, anyway.

No Spoilers

Monday. Seventh period. 

It was the end of the period. The kiddos had put away their Chromebooks and were lining up at the door. 

Elliot: "Oh my god! Chapter seven..."

The eleventh grade English classes are reading The Great Gatsby. I may have mentioned this once or twice. On Monday, they had a quiz on the first three chapters. And then we started reading chapter four together. 

However, some students are reading ahead. I'm not sure why as we will be reading the whole thing together, but whatever. I'm not going to stop them. 

Elliot's been a chapter or so ahead for over a week. He was kind of bragging how far ahead he was. But this day, he was blown away by the events of chapter seven. 

And... Well... Yeah. I'm not giving spoilers for those of you who may be tempted to read it. But here's a link to the chapter summary for those of you who would like a reminder or aren't worried about spoilers. Anyway, chapter seven is a humdinger of a chapter. 

I nodded in understanding. Dennis, who sits next to Elliot, was also a bit blown away, as he said he looked over at what Elliot was reading. Elliot pointed out that Dennis really needed to read the prior chapters as they set the scene for chapter seven. 

"Just don't spoil it for the rest of the class, please," I asked. 

Elliot: "Oh no. I want to see their reaction when they read it." 

Me too, actually. 

Although, considering how bland their expressions are, I rather think they won't visibly react. We'll see. 

As for the quiz, they did pretty well. So, maybe they're not reacting, but it seems like they're following along with the plot just fine. 

Make Work

Last week we started our annual state testing. (This week we'll finish it up.) I explained the schedule on Wednesday. As I mentioned yesterday, what this meant for me was that I had two hours of "free" time to get some things accomplished. Which meant some things got done that I might not have gotten to otherwise...

Before spring break, the eleventh grade classes did a whole lot of anticipatory stuff for reading The Great Gatsby. We talked about the 1920s. They read about the author, F. Scott Fitzgerald. And they had a couple videos to watch. 

I had them take notes. And then I gave them points for taking the notes (mostly because I expected that they'd ignore the material and spend the time on their phones if I didn't). Or, rather, I gave them points for the first day of notes, but for the rest of them I wasn't going to bother. Because it was practically spring break. 

Thursday. Jocelyn had to go home early. She came to class briefly to find out what the assignment was going to be. She got the title of the video so she could watch it and turn in the notes so she wouldn't miss any assignments. 

I would have told her not to bother, but she did this so fast. Mostly, what I was concerned about was that the video, a biography on F. Scott Fitzgerald, briefly discussed The Great Gatsby including how it ended. This part I skipped over while showing it in class (as we didn't want spoilers before reading the book), but how did I explain this to Jocelyn? 

When I wrote last week's blog post mentioning the video, I looked it up, searching for it rather than clicking on the link Ms. A left. And, surprisingly, the first video to pop up on YouTube is without spoiler. Someone edited it out! Meaning, Jocelyn most likely saw the version without the spoiler. Big Whew!

Then, on Friday, during eighth period, I informed them they'd need to take notes...

Evan: "I'm not going to take notes. You're not going to grade them." 

Yeah, so now I have to grade them. 

So, when all this time opened up this week, the first thing I did was to grade all the notes from before spring break. 

Because, seriously? I'm pretty easy going most of the time, but when someone challenges me like that? Don't tell me I'm not going to do something. I will so do that thing. 

Under the Printer

It was the Thursday before spring break. On Wednesday, a kiddo delivered a couple paper Easter eggs with a note. Later, I saw an email which said the same thing. The student leadership had come up with a school-wide game. My job: hide the Easter eggs in the classroom. 

Okay, then. 

They looked like this:

On the back were the instructions. The finder could take the egg to the ASB office and exchange it for candy. 

I pondered where to hide them. It had to be someplace the students would be. I didn't want to make it impossible, but I didn't want to make it too easy. So, I hid this one behind that poster on the wall: 

And I put the second one on the other side of the room, under the printer:

For context:

(If you'd like more context, if you look at the classroom pic at the top of this post, the heart egg is on the left side, just beyond the picture, and this printer is on the right.) 

I had eleventh graders in third period, the period of the game. I wondered if they'd care. 

When, in the morning announcements, they talked about the game, I interjected that the eggs were hidden in the classroom. 

Nadine piped up. "I know where one of them is."

Me: "Go ahead and claim it." 

She jumped up and retrieved it. 

Then she looked around for the second one. I did not look in its direction. She did not see it. But Madden did. Again, I gave him permission to retrieve it. 

He got up, retrieved it, and headed back to his seat. On his way, he gave Nadine the egg. 

Me: "Uh... You found it. You can keep it."

Madden shrugged. He didn't really want it. But Nadine did. 

Um, well, okay. I mean, he earned it. But, that meant that he could do with it as he pleased. And he chose to give it to Nadine. 

There were also three golden eggs hidden, and the prize for those was a gift card to Raising Cane's. Nadine wondered where those were. I explained that they would be hidden for their lunch time, and it would be hidden outside. 

The game finished, we got into our lesson for the day, which was a documentary on F. Scott Fitzgerald. They'd be reading The Great Gatsby once we returned from spring break. (Which will be as you read this. I saved my subbing stories for when we're back at school.) 

Today's A to Z Challenge post brought to you by the letter

Idyllic Transition

The day had finally arrived. The day I had been anticipating since September (or October). I would be taking over Ms. A's classes for 30 days. 

Ms. A has been out since the middle of February. But because emergency teaching credentials only allow us subs to cover 30 days total in one class, and because Ms. A planned a 14-week maternity leave, two subs would be needed. Ms. A told me she wanted me to do the second half. 

The first half had been done by Ms. S, who I had worked with in the past. We were given two days of transition, which are days where she tells me what I need to know to keep the class going. Only, as I had covered Ms. A's classes before, I knew what I was in for.

That is not to say that the transition wasn't needed. It's good to have a couple days where I get up to speed before teaching the class. It's way better than the scramble I usually find myself doing. 

But, we really only needed a couple hours of transition, not two days. (We both got paid for them, so I'm not going to complain too much.) 

I recognized many of the faces in the classes. I had had many of them before, most notably in the math class I covered at this time last year. 

On the first day of transition, Ms. S taught the classes. (They had "study hall", so there wasn't much to do.) On the second day, we were beginning talking about The Great Gatsby (which is what we'll be reading until pretty much the end of the school year), so I took over. 

We started with a bit of background on the 1920s, and then they had an article to read on the author's life. They were to annotate it. I uploaded the article into their Google Classrooms, and then I explained to them what they were to do.

To annotate an article online, they use the comment feature on Google Docs. They highlight the passage, and then they can add a comment to it. Easy enough. 

About halfway through class, Aria approached. I have had Aria in classes for the past couple years. I may have written about her before, but I can't remember what alias I used. Sigh. 

Anyway, Aria had a problem. She had made all sorts of comments on the article (allegedly), but they all vanished. 

Upon some digging, we figured out what went wrong. Aria had clicked on a check mark on the comments she made. Which, if you've ever used the feature, is the thing that tells the program that you have "resolved" the issue from the comment, thereby deleting it. 

And there's no way to retrieve the comments. 

On the bright side, I now knew of one issue that might again crop up, so I made sure to warn every other period about it. 

But Aria's comments... Knowing her as I do, I just said I'd take her word for it and not make her redo the comments. (She wouldn't redo the comments.) 

At the end of the day, Ms. S was again free to do day-to-day subbing assignments. And now I'm in another long term. Should be interesting. 

Today's A to Z Challenge post brought to you by the letter

The Gambler

Wednesday. Second period, sophomore math. (Yes, the same group I discussed yesterday.)

Second period had four boys who just... They'd spend the period hanging out, not paying attention to the math of it all. 

Mr. Y (the co-teacher) had enough, and on Wednesday he separated them to the four corners of the room. So, of course, the obvious happened. Rather than keeping their little party to themselves, they were now talking across the room. Sigh. 

The topic of conversation turned to sports betting. Because one of the boys, Ximenez, has a problem. In the previous class, he talked about how he had won a parlay, but he lost all his winnings on other bets. 

Funnily enough, I was only aware of the terminology at all because my Sunday night show's topic had been about sports betting on apps. In case you'd like to take a look:

(I suppose I should warn you about John Oliver. The show is on HBO, and they take advantage of being allowed to use all the adult language. And the jokes can be a bit juvenile. Along with some good info.)

I held it in as long as I could, but then I spoke up and explained to Ximenez that perhaps the gambling wasn't a good idea. (Especially since I caught him watching a baseball game on his phone rather than taking down the notes that Mr. Y had been giving them earlier in the period.) 

Of course Ximenez didn't see my point and denied that he had a problem. Sigh.

(Okay, so before you ask, yes, Ximenez is a minor. Sophomore. I just looked up his age. He's actually a junior. He's 16--he'll be 17 in a bit under two weeks. I am not surprised this junior is in a sophomore-level class. Clearly he failed a math class in his high school career.) 

He claimed that he'd give it up after... Oh, I don't know. He gave me a couple different times he'd give it up, and I wasn't listening. Because there was a guy in one of the clips Oliver showed that said the exact same thing. Which I pointed out. But Ximenez again wasn't seeing my point. 

This is how gambling problems start. Sadly, there was nothing I was going to say that Ximenez would hear. Not now.

I did recommend the episode. (I knew they post it on YouTube after the episode airs.) Yes, I know it's not really a good show for a minor, but if anyone could get through to him, it'd be through humor, not preaching. 

Ximenez's response? He had a parlay going, and if he won, he'd get $400. And he'd give me $20. (I told him to keep the money. He assumed he'd win. I rather thought the opposite.)

By the time you read this, we should know how that bet went. I don't believe that Ximenez is going to actually follow up with me (and I will likely forget the next time he's in class). 

Edited to add: On Monday Ximenez informed me that... he lost the parlay.

The Boys

Sophomore math. Second period. Monday.

Second period is the class. Every teacher has one. The difficult group. 

This class is made difficult by four boys. They all sit over in one corner of the room, and they spend the period goofing off. Although, they held it together for their test. But during working time...

The previous class period (Wednesday, the day we found out), had been the test. So, on Monday they were starting a new unit on geometry. They had a "what do you remember?" worksheet. And while most of the class was busy trying to remember things (or looking them up on their phones--this was permitted), the boys were playing around. 

They were eating in class even after being asked specifically not to. (Ximenez: "But it's fruit.") They were discussing some new album that some rapper had released. They were talking about gambling. (Jasper to Ximenez: "You keep all but $10 of your winnings, and then bet the $10. You don't bet all of your winnings...") 

If I had been alone and writing this incident in my note to the teacher, I would have said the boys "were having way too much fun". It's not that they shouldn't have fun, but they were clearly not on task. 

But that rap album was too hard to resist. One boy had to play it out. (They have headphones/earbuds. They can listen to music on their own and not blast it for the whole class to hear.) 

Mr. Y warned them to turn it off. And they did, for a time.

But then they played it out again. And again. And again. 

I warned them that it was time to take their phones if they couldn't be trusted to not play music in class. (Me: "I don't want to hear anything coming from your phones.")

But, of course...

This time, Mr. Y went over there and took the phones from two of the boys. Who both claimed that they were not the ones playing the music. 

And yet, the music stopped after that. 

I doubt the boys got any of the work completed. The period finished, and everyone left. Everyone, except the two boys whose phones Mr. Y still had. 

Mr. Y looked at them. I pointed out he still had their phones. 

The boys: "We'll tell you who was playing the music..."

No one knew when class was in session, but after... Yeah. Getting their phones back was a great motivator. 

Not that Mr. Y was going to keep their phones. (He could turn them in to the main office, but considering the situation, it was way more trouble than it was worth. This is a minor cell phone infraction, really.) 

Once the boys left (with their phones), Mr. Y expressed his frustration with the class. Yup, I understood. So, because the boys had been getting on his last nerve, Mr. Y decided it was time to break the group up. New seats for them all.

They did not like this. It helped settle them enough so Mr. Y could teach the class the next period. But after, when they were doing independent work, the boys continued their conversation... across the room. Sigh. 

The Get-Out-of-the-Test-Free Card

Thursday. Sophomore math. Third period.

I had been in the class since Tuesday as the teacher had some foot injury that meant he couldn't put any weight on it. I was supposed to start Monday, but I stayed home with a cold. 

On Tuesday, the students got the study guide for Thursday's test. (Block schedule. The classes meet every other day.) They had some time to work on it, and then Mr. Y, the co-teacher, went over the problems so the students knew how to do them. (They were studying solving quadratic equations.) 

Then Wednesday happened. (If you haven't seen yesterday's post, you might want to check it out.) 

As first period ended and third period began, I was not surprised at the arrival of the principal, an assistant principal, and three counselors. Because, you see, the student had been in this class, and their passing would be very noticeable. 

(The student sat in the back of the room, so maybe some of them wouldn't have noticed. But one tends to at least have a passing acquaintance with the students in one's classes.)

I mean, this is when it would hit you, if you didn't have the student in another class before this. And three girls huddled in the middle of the room, one bawling while two others held her. Mr. Y found the tissue and made sure to distribute it. 

The principal talked about where the students could go for support. There's a whole system in place currently. The others said a few words. And then, when none of the students had anything to say, they left. 

Test time? Nah. Mr. Y wasn't going to make them take a test. Not now. 

While some of the students weren't close with the student who was now gone, some were. And, it just wasn't the day for it. 

Many of the students spent the period on their phones. Some talked. Some cried. I assume some were avoiding thinking about it. I understand. 

After class, Mr. Y wondered about when he'd give the test. I advocated for just cancelling it for them. (All the other classes took it.) Giving it the next week would throw third period off the same schedule as the rest of the classes. They'd be a day behind. 

(And, it was hard for Mr. Y as well. The previous class he sat with the student and talked to them for a bit. Later, before I left school on Tuesday, Mr. Y told me the student seemed off that day.)

Ultimately, Mr. Y will discuss this with Mr. R (the teacher I was subbing for), and they'll make that decision. (It'll hit Mr. R hard, too. All the teachers who had that student are feeling this.) 

It's such a weird time. I think missing one test won't make all that much difference in the grand scheme of things. 

That Day

It was the end of second period. An announcement came over the PA. Administration needed the staff to meet in the gym during snack. While technically that included me, I figured I really didn't need to be there as subs tend to be exempt from these sorts of things, so I headed to the restroom instead. I was sure I'd hear about whatever it was later. 

I had just gotten back from the restroom when the in-class phone rang. It was the secretary, and I just knew what she was going to ask. The fourth period she wanted me to cover was choir, not too far from the room I was in for the day. The bell was just about to ring, so I headed over. 

And here's where this all makes a very hard left turn...

As security let the class in, Mr. C, the band teacher next door, clued me in to the issue. Ms. C, the choir teacher (no relation--different C-name), was on campus. That announcement? It had to do with the death of a student. 

And it hit the choir teacher hard. 

Mr. C texted the choir teacher for plans, and he got the class started. They had a competition coming up the following weekend, and they needed to do a run-through. Better if the teacher is there, but the student leaders know enough to get something accomplished when a sub is there.

(Think Glee when I say "performance". Singing. Dancing. Contemporary radio hits music. I've covered the choir class before, but not lately. The current choir teacher replaced the choir teacher who retired last year.) 

The students hadn't been informed of the death yet. They were going to do it in waves. Just as soon as they got the counselors in place. 

The class got set up. The girls warmed up. (All-girl choir.) They got into position. They started working on blocking. 

I sat and watched. It hit differently when I knew what was coming. 

Then the phone rang. I was to send two students to the library. The notifications were starting. 

I sent the girls on their way. 

They were curious as to being sent to the library. (When students get called out of class, they are never called to the library. Attendance office, usually. Sometimes counselor's office. Maybe health office. Or front office.) But they went. 

Then security showed up with another list. Another five students headed to the library. 

After those girls left, an email went out school-wide. Student wasn't named, but the student's passing was announced. 

The remaining choir girls started doing some figuring. The student must have been involved in the school musical as the choir girls already gone had all been in the musical. As had their teacher (been involved in staging it). 

They managed a run-through of their show. This was a little weird as all their soloists were in the library. But, the backup gets rehearsed alone quite a bit, so they were able to do it. 

They had just finished a full run through (which took about 20 minutes) when Ms. C returned to the class. She knew that the girls had already heard. I let her know that while they had heard much of it, they did not know the student's name. 

Ms. C provided it. 

And that's when I realized I knew who the student was. 

It was the end of class, and several of the students were in tears. Some had returned from the library. They were processing. Naturally. 

I headed back to the class I was in for the day. And the day prior, and the day following. 

During sixth period (statistics), I had a couple students I recognized from period four. One did not make it to sixth from fourth period. She had been one to be summoned to the library. I was not surprised to not see her in class. 

While the statistics students didn't do their work (I was warned they've got senioritis and weren't going to be very productive), I perused the online attendance for the class. The school is on a block schedule, and we were on the even day. 

I took the attendance back a day. Looked at third period. Then I took the attendance to the next day and looked at third period. 

Yup. They had removed the student from the attendance. They wouldn't be in class the next day. I had seen them the day before. In class. 

I... Yeah. This might hit me harder than I thought it would. (There's more story here, but this post is long enough.) 

The Stranger

Tuesday. Sophomore math, period five. 

I had been scheduled to cover the full week, but I called out sick on Monday. I wasn't feeling 100% on Tuesday, but I was feeling a whole lot better. (And if I don't work, I don't get paid, so...)

It was a co-taught math class, and they were due to have a test the next class period (block schedule, so that was Thursday), so they were working on a study guide. I started off by passing out the study guide. 

This is a pretty simple procedure. At the front of each row, I hand the student enough copies for them and the students behind them. They pass them back. The only thing that complicates the procedure is when a kiddo at the front of a row is not paying attention. 

At the fourth row, a kiddo wasn't paying attention. Joaquin. He was completely turned around, talking to someone cattycorner to him. 

I waved the papers. Nothing. I said something to get his attention. He turned... 

"I don't talk to strangers." 

Um...

As I explained that he didn't need to talk to me to take the assignment from me, his neighbors pointed out that he needed to take the papers so they could get their work. 

Sigh. Some kiddos...

Joaquin was on stage, and the rest of the class was his audience. Or so he thought. 

And me, a stranger? Well, yeah, sort of. 

But, considering the situation, not so much. I was clearly the substitute teacher. At this point in his schooling career, this cannot be the first time he's encountered one of us. And his usual co-teacher was there, not doing anything to get rid of me. 

Too logical, I suppose. The other students had no issue with me. (Many of them knew me from previous classes.) 

(Joaquin was absent the following Thursday for the test. The rest of the class seemed rather happy about this. His audience? Not as entertained as he thinks they are.) 

Keeping an Eye on Him

Last Friday was my last day in the special ed math/history class. It was also assembly day. Ugh. 

Third period. This is the same group I wrote about yesterday. 

First, I passed out leis to the kiddos who had made the honor roll last semester (had a GPA of 3.0 or higher). That was basically the whole class except for the two students who managed to disappear on the way to the counselors the previous class. 

Before we left, I questioned Elian on what had happened. I mean, it wasn't like it was a distance, but somehow he disappeared. He hemmed and hawed, but he didn't have a great reason for vanishing. I pointed out that he missed his chance to register for classes. He said he'd already done it. 

We headed out to the gym for the dreaded assembly. But this time, I was going to keep an eye on Elian. (The girl who disappeared the previous day was absent.) 

And I did, up until we were almost at the gym. My mind wandered, and I took my eye off Elian. And he was gone.

Crap!

I backtracked, looking around. I was just about to talk to one of the security personnel when Elian appeared. Phew. 

They weren't letting us into the gym yet. I knew where Elian was, but the rest of the class wasn't in sight. Ms. S said she'd seen them, but she didn't see them anymore. 

Me: "Yeah, but I trust them."

And sure enough, when we finally got let into the gym and found the section where the sophomores were supposed to sit, the entire rest of the class was sitting there, together. 

My trust wasn't misplaced. 

Elian? I'm not sure where he got to, but I did see him enter the gym. So, at least he was nominally where he was supposed to be. 

After the assembly, the rest of the class got back to the classroom in a timely manner. Elian? He took his time, but he eventually returned. 

It's too bad my time with them was over. I had just gotten to the point where Elian was on my radar. Although, considering how many days he had been absent, that might not have been much of a consequence for Elian. 

Disappeared

Wednesday, third period. I got a call from one of the counselors. Apparently, we were supposed to be meeting with them so the kiddos could finish registering for classes for next year. Alas, no one had informed me. 

I briefly went over the chaos of this class in my first post about this assignment. The counselors probably emailed their previous teacher, who left at the semester, and didn't require a response. 

The students were working on group projects (that they had just started). I could pivot. It wasn't like I was planning on having them finish that day. 

I had them pack up, and we headed on out. As this shift was unexpected, it took them a few minutes to get things put away. I told the kiddos who were waiting to go ahead and head on over while I waited for the two students who were putting their papers into their folders. They finished, and we followed them. 

I had seven students in the class. When we got to the counselors' room, I found five students. 

Wha...? 

The distance wasn't far. There's no way they could have gotten lost. Nope. They ditched. 

Deep sigh. 

The counselors called a couple of the students in. One boy, who is moving before next school year, complained that he didn't need a schedule for next year. The others went pretty quickly. A lot of it is confirmation of stuff they filled out in the paperwork. 

The two students who ditched lost their chance to verify that they're getting the classes they want next year. They were hurting themselves, really. (And I told them where we were going and why.) 

Sophomores. *shakes head* It's an interesting age. (10th grade. 15-16 years old.) Some of them have matured and are reasonable kiddos. And some of them are still playing the games they played as freshmen. 

When the counselors called for the missing kiddos? I let them know they somehow hadn't made it. 

Slow It Down

Monday. Third period world history. It was standardized test day. 

I just went on a search to find where I'd explained this particular test, and it appears I have yet to do so. Even though I've administered this thing many, many times. Basically, it's designed to figure out where the kiddos are in relation to their grade level. So, do they read at grade level, above, or below? Same with math. And then they test them twice a year to see if they've improved and if so by how much. 

I had warned the kiddos that we'd be doing the test, so they weren't surprised. I informed the class that I would be giving them extra credit points if they did not incur the wrath of the slow-down sloth. 

In an effort to reduce rapid guessing (thereby making the test results worthless), if the students go too fast at any point, their test gets paused and they get a screen with a sloth that says "slow down". It is then my job to remind the kiddos that they aren't to just guess, they should actually try to figure out the answers, and then I release the test again so they can finish. 

I logged in from my end and gave the kiddos their test credentials. (The test is online.) 

I was still confirming students when Jalen announced that I might as well give him the release code for the slow-down sloth. We weren't more than two minutes in, and Jalen had already gotten flagged for rapid guessing.

Deep sigh. 

If Jalen thought he could just rapid guess his way through the test...

Me: "If you get the slow-down sloth three times, your test is then stopped and you have to do the whole thing over." 

Every time before that I've had to warn students of this, I felt bad. Apologetic. This time? I would have enjoyed making Jalen start all the way over. 

Jalen did not see the slow-down sloth again. 

Stealth Mode

(If you haven't seen my Monday post, you probably should. It's here.)

Monday. Seventh grade math, second period. 

They were working on a study guide for their next test. And a review thing online, also for the next test. (The next test was likely the next class period, but I'm not 100% sure.) 

A student asked to move to work with his friend. I said no. The student moved anyway. Grrr. 

So, as I walked around the room, I came up behind the pair. And... 

They were actually working on the assignment. 

The boy who moved was actually explaining the problem to the other boy. As I listened the boy gave a good explanation of how to find circumference. 

Okay, then. I'm irritated, but the boy needed help, so I'll let that go. 

While hovering, boy two turned a bit... and about jumped out of his skin.

"When did you get there?" 

I had been behind him for maybe thirty seconds. Long enough to see that they were on task. But I didn't tell him that. 

"Seriously, how long have you been standing there?" 

I'm not a small woman. I'm not particularly graceful. But apparently I can sneak up on students quite well. This isn't the first time I've startled a student by being right behind them when they didn't realize I was there.

Of course, it might just be that they don't hear me when they have their earbuds in their ears, they're talking to their classmates, and they're not paying attention to their surroundings. 

It was fun to watch him wonder. Once I saw that he was working fine, I moved on to hover over someone else. 

Third Period, Starring Jonas

Wednesday. Third period.

Class started. I explained what they'd be doing. (See Wednesday's post about testing.) They got to work. 

Then Jonas made his entrance. Late. 

He announced that he was late. He announced a couple things. And he loudly asked what we were doing in class. 

The rest of the class was quietly working. 

Some students... They never quite get the memo that when you're late, you don't walk into the room like you're the star walking onto a stage. But some students are the stars, and they behave like this. 

I had already explained what we were doing for the students who were on time. I also had the agenda typed out nicely on a cute slide that was projected on the classroom TV. 

I pointed to this in response to Jonas. He could figure it out on his own. 

Sometime during class, Jonas then asked when Ms. B would be returning. Loudly.

The previous week I had said in two weeks. Apparently this was not specific enough for Jonas. He acted like I had not answered the question. 

I had a couple students finishing up their testing. I was keeping a quiet room. If Jonas had raised his hand and asked quietly, I probably would have answered. But he just announced to the quiet room, "When is Ms. B coming back?" 

Yeah, not responding to that. 

Besides, I was going to tell them on Friday that it was my last day. 

Which is what I did. On Friday, I made the announcement that Ms. B would return on Monday. My time with them was finished. 

Jonas? Was absent that day.