“ . . . acting
like this. You need to calm down.”
I looked up
from my computer to see who was talking.
The principal stood at my door with a small boy standing by her side. I did a double take because the little boy
looked exactly like Macaulay Culkin from “Home Alone.”
“Hello Mrs.
Jones,” said the principal. “This is
Edward. He’s a 6th grader and
needs a place to sit for the next hour. With
all the construction it’s too noisy in the office, and I wondered if it would
be OK for him to work in here.”
So much for a plan period. “Sure,” I said brightly.
Edward
walked over to a desk and set his books down.
The principal mouthed “Thank you,” and walked out. I turned back to my unfinished report.
The room
was quiet for about two minutes until I heard a high whinny voice say, “You
teachers are all alike.”
I looked
up. “Pardon me?”
Edward was
glaring at me, breathing fire. “You all
hate me.”
I raised my
eyebrows. “Edward, I don’t even know
you. Why would I hate you?”
“Because you’re
a teacher!” he snapped. “Teachers hate me. You all want me carted off to the looney
bin.”
Edward
looked like a little bull huffing and puffing.
“Ohhhh . .
. I don’t think so,” I said. “Is that
schoolwork you have there? Why don’t you
try working on some of it?”
Edward spit
his words like darts. “I can’t.
I’m mad.”
I tilted my
head, studied him a moment, then shrugged.
“OK,” and turned back to my computer. I ignored the heavy breathing for exactly 60 seconds.
“Aren’t you
going to try and calm me down?”
I finished
typing a sentence then turned to him. “How would I do that?”
“I don’t
know! You’re the teacher. It’s your job. You’re supposed to calm me down.”
“Uh . . . ,” I looked around my room searching for an
answer. “Maybe if you just sit quietly
you’ll be able to calm yourself down.”
Edward’s
eyes blazed. “You all just want to send
me away so you can have . . . have a party! And you’re going to . . . you’re going to
drink lots of whiskey. And you’ll all get . . . alcohol poisoning!”
Oh, the principal owes me on this.
I got up
from my desk and walked over to Edward.
“How ‘bout we look in your planner and see what homework you have
written down.”
Edward
slammed his books onto the empty desk next to him and opened his planner. The week was blank except for three tiny
letters on tomorrow’s date. “RPD.”
“What does
this mean?” I asked tapping the letters.
Edward bent
his head down until his nose almost touched the planner.
“R . . . P
. . . D . . .” he whispered.
He raised his
head slowly and scrunched his face, concentrating. Then he slowly said, “Reading . . . project .
. . due.”
“You’ve got
an outside reading project due tomorrow?”
“Yes.” Edward’s face relaxed. He had solved the mystery.
“So you’ve
gotten a book and read it?”
Edward bent
over again and studied the letters. Suddenly
he jerked his head up. His eyes were
wide, panicked.
He slapped
both hands to the side of his face and hissed, “I’M SCREWED!”