Dirty

2. Mikaela

MikaelaThe capital of Illinois is _______________?

I’ve read that question about twenty times and have yet to have one student write anything else but “Chicago” in that blank. My red pen is working hard today – not too pleased about that. I make a note in my small, black teacher’s notebook to revisit the difference between state capitals and big cities on Monday.

After I finish grading the last test, I place everything in a neat, orderly stack. Each is in their place, in alphabetical order by last name. Then, I tuck them into the student’s individually color-coded file. Each file has a color-coordinated note from me about their grade and progress. Everything is exactly as it should be. Tidy, neat, sensible.

I stare out at the empty desks in front of me, studying the uniformity. Three straight rows with straight lines. I even made “x” marks so students know where their seats should be placed if they scoot them together to do group work. Today, only one desk is out of place. I roll my eyes as I stand up from my teacher’s chair and walk towards Maddie Ross’s desk. This has got to be the hundredth time this year I’ve moved hers back in place.

I look down at the wooden top. She’s managed to carve her initials in the wood with who knows what. Maybe scissors? It’s crude, but I can clearly make out a big, looping M and a jagged R. Just another thing to add into my book of what to talk about with her once lunch and recess are over.

That reminds me that my lunch period is almost up. I only get a short amount of time to get everything I need done and ready for the second half of school, which basically leaves me zero time to eat. I quickly grab my wallet that’s hidden behind the placard that reads “MISS SPRINGER” in gold letters and walk out the door into the hallway of Washington Grade School.

I always love walking outside the classroom between lunch periods. The hallways are relatively quiet this time of day. The little ones are napping away, tuckered out from an earlier lunch. The big kids down in the middle school wing, meanwhile, are still in their first block of courses. And the primary kids are on the other side of the building or outside for recess.

...except today, they’re not. As I head out into the hall, I enter into complete chaos. The hallway is absolute anarchy. A third grader comes running past me totally uncaring who I am. He’s shouting towards another third grader, “She’s gonna kill him! She’s gonna kill him! Go tell Randy!”

My stomach rumbles, but I can’t ignore that threat. There should be other teachers or supervisors to handle this, but from the looks of it and the sounds coming from around the corner of my classroom, I’m guessing none knows. Or, worse, maybe no one cares.

I pull off my heels and run off towards them. They come to a stop in front of a group of about thirty other students who are already gathered in a circle next to the lockers. Fists are raised high as the kids cheer and clap wildly. I hear the all-too-familiar noise of a body being slammed into the metal locker. And then a small, shrill voice cries out, “Don’t you f*****g talk about my mother like that, you asshole!”

I waste no time, pushing myself through the kids. Once I get to the center, I watch for a moment as a small girl with dark curly hair and a tattered red sweater is straddling a boy about twice her size. Her fists are small, but they land several punishing blows to his face, connecting square on his nose and eyes. Small splatters of blood pool around the boy. Tears stream down his face.

The girl shouts again at her victim, “Who do you think you are, Johnny? Who the f**k do you think you are? You’re nothin’, you worthless piece o’ s**t! You fuckin’ hear me? Nothin’!”

She lifts another fist high as he turns his head quickly in anticipation. I've got just enough in me to grab her by the arm, taking her down next to him. I scream at the crowd, “You’ve got exactly one second to clear out before I assign all of you detention!” I watch the onlookers slowly file out, looking back at the girl, the boy, and me all crouched on the floor in exhaustion.

“Maddie Ross!” I shout, but realizing I can’t let my temper get the better of me, I take a deep breath and continue more quietly, “What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

“Miss Springston!” Maddie protests defensively. “Johnny was talking s**t about my mom, saying my dad killed her! He doesn’t know nothing!” She’s panting, trying to get every word out of her mouth as quickly as she can, but her work is done. The boy she beat up is in pretty bad shape. His face is already turning a sickening shade of purple, blue, and green. He can’t even defend himself; his mouth is too bloody to get out a word.

I don’t have a moment to sort through any of this before I hear a familiar click of heels on the tile floor behind me. Then, a shout rises from the quiet, “Miss Springston! What is going on here?” There’s a pause as I watch Principal Western kneel down and examine Johnny. She then reels her head towards Maddie and me noting how I’m still holding Maddie in place. Ms. Western’s voice peeks as she exclaims, “Maddie Ross! I should've known…” Ms. Western speaks into her walkie talkie, requesting the security guard and the nurse be brought immediately to us.

I stand, taking Maddie with me. I get a second to whisper to her, just out of earshot, “Go back to the classroom. Don’t you dare go anywhere else. Wait for me there.” She runs off quietly, avoiding Ms. Western while her back is turned.

The scene is picked up quickly as Johnny is led away by Nurse Granville and Officer Bell. The janitor arrives seconds later with a mop as the blood mixes with the white tile on the floor. Finally, Ms. Western returns her attention to me. “What happened here, Mikaela?”

I hesitate, knowing that what I'm about to say could've consequences way beyond my control, “I was walking to the teacher’s lounge for my lunch when I saw a few third graders running and shouting. I followed them and found Maddie Ross and Johnny Dunlap fighting. When I separated them, I sent the other kids back to recess and talked to Maddie. She said it start—”

Ms. Western interjects, uncaring what the rest of the story is, “I don’t want to hear excuses, Mikaela. This is Maddie Ross’ third fight this quarter. She's expelled.”

“What!” My head races at her instant judgment, “You can’t expel her. Johnny Dunlap clearly started this by talking about Maddie’s dead mom. There’s obviously something bigger going on here!”

Besides being OCD about things like lines and color-coordinating, I stand up for my students, and I don’t back down. I don’t know much about Maddie Ross, but I know she has a tough life. And being someone who also lost her mom at a young age, I know how hard it is to be ten and motherless. This girl doesn’t deserve swift punishment; she needs understanding and guidance. And I’m not going to back down from this.

But neither is Ms. Western, “Are you questioning my call, Mikaela? I'm the one who sets the rules. It’s your job to enforce them. If you can’t do your job properly, I suggest you start looking elsewhere for teaching positions!”

She stamps her feet and clicks off, away from where I stand like stone, unable to move. I take a few deep breaths before heading back to the classroom. Maddie is sitting alone, in her desk. Her messy black hair covers her head as she lays face flat on her desk. I walk slowly towards her and then take a seat at the desk next to her. “Maddie,” I begin slowly, “This is your third fight this quarter, and you really hurt Johnny. Ms. Western wants to talk about expelling you from this school.”

I hear her begin to cry. Her body shakes as she gives up the tough girl act I’ve always known her to have. She sniffles a bit, sucking in air as she lifts her head and looks at me. Her red and swollen eyes looking more pained than Johnny’s, “Please, Miss Springston! You’ve gotta understand. I couldn’t just let him talk s**t about my mom!”

I crouch beside her, placing my hand on her back. My voice lowers to a whisper as I say, “I know. I know. But you didn’t have to beat him up so badly. Do you see where that is wrong?”

Maddie shakes her head no. “My daddy would've done the same thing. I seen him do it. You gotta stand up for somethin’, you know!”

A dad that beats people up for talking trash? Maddie has it worse than I can imagine. I stand and walk towards my desk. I slowly and carefully write a note on a piece of blue paper that has my information on the top. When I’m finished, I hand the note to Maddie and say, “I can’t let you stay in school today. Go home, and give this to your dad. Tell him I expect to see him tonight before 7pm. I’ll be waiting.”

“Am… am I bein’ expelled?” she asks, rubbing her nose with the sleeve of her red sweater and coughing back the rest of her emotions.

“Your dad and I will work that out between us. Maybe we can talk it through and figure out a solution. Until then, I will see you soon. Go home and get some rest.” I watch her as she walks out my door and down towards the exit. The note is clutched in her shaking hand.

Something tells me her father, the infamous Colton Ross, isn’t going to take my note or his daughter’s expulsion too well.