say, “Nate, when you call
home from the nurse’s office, you might want your mom
to bring you some toothpaste or something when she
comes cause your breath is nasty.” Then turning into the
school, you say, “Come on, Nurse Jackie is this way.”
Nathan staggers more than once as he follows you,
and you count both yourself and him lucky that no one
else is in the halls to see it because you would both surely
be talked about if anyone did. Finally, however, you make
it to the nurse’s office and are surprised to find that
others are already there. The place, for that matter, is
already full. Pushing the door open, you say, “Nurse
Jackie,” and when she looks up from her desk where she is
filling out some paperwork, you add, “Nathan was outside
throwing up in the bushes. I thought he should come see
you.”
“Another one, oh dear. Okay, let’s have him come
back here, and I’ll take a look at him.”
Following her, you set Nathan’s bag down on the
floor next to the chair she indicates. Turning around to
see Nathan, you notice all of the people in the room look
almost as bad as Nathan does, and you get a little
squeamish about the idea of getting whatever it is that
they all have. Conveniently remembering the dean’s
words just then, you say, “Ma’am, Miss Ski said she
wanted me to hurry up and get to class. Now that he’s in
here, can you write me a pass so I can don’t get a tardy?”
Reaching for a pad of sticky notes, she says, “She’s
right, you do need to get to class. All right, here, just let
me…,” and scribbles something down as her sentence
trails off.
When she hands you the note, you thank her and
head out as quickly as you can without letting it look like a
run. In the hall, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized
you were holding and begin to make your way to your
locker.
In years past, the students’ lockers were all
grouped together by their grade level, and it formed
zones where seniors, juniors, sophomores, and freshman
each congregated. This year, however, the school tried
something different. They assigned the student’s lockers
by the students’ first hour class. They claimed that it
would bring the school together and help to avoid cliques
which might ostracize certain students. It also had the
added bonus of reducing first hour truancy as well.
Stepping up to your locker, you spin the dial, 50
right – 22 left – 34 right, and lift the handle only to find
that the door doesn’t open. You try jiggling the latch a
few times, but when it still doesn’t open, you go back to
spinning the dial. Just as you turn to the last number
again, the classroom door next to you opens, and you find
your first hour teacher, Miss Dikeo, staring you down.
“Late again, I see,” says Miss Dikeo.
Fumbling in your pocket, you say, “It’s not my fault,
Ma’am. Nathan got real sick outside, and I helped him to
get to the nurse.”
A bit of the teacher’s glacial stare seems to melt at
your words, but not enough to avoid a titanic amount of
trouble she’s clearly worked herself up into, as she asks, “I
assume you have a pass, or some sort of proof that this is
where you were?”
Pulling out the note from your pocket, you present
it to her and say, “Yes, Nurse Jackie wrote it just a minute
ago, see?”
You can visibly see her letting go of her anger, but
before it completely ebbs away, she says, “I’m sorry that
he is not well, but in the future I’m sure he will be able to
make it to the nurse without your help.”
It’s true that you could have let this be the last
word on the subject and let her think she had said her
peace and taught you something, but because she was
who she was, and you were who you were, you can’t help
but add in one more comment to defend yourself.
“Actually, Miss Ski was the one who told me to make sure
he got to the nurse, Ma’am. I was on my way here when
she saw me. You can check.”
Not having anything to say,
home from the nurse’s office, you might want your mom
to bring you some toothpaste or something when she
comes cause your breath is nasty.” Then turning into the
school, you say, “Come on, Nurse Jackie is this way.”
Nathan staggers more than once as he follows you,
and you count both yourself and him lucky that no one
else is in the halls to see it because you would both surely
be talked about if anyone did. Finally, however, you make
it to the nurse’s office and are surprised to find that
others are already there. The place, for that matter, is
already full. Pushing the door open, you say, “Nurse
Jackie,” and when she looks up from her desk where she is
filling out some paperwork, you add, “Nathan was outside
throwing up in the bushes. I thought he should come see
you.”
“Another one, oh dear. Okay, let’s have him come
back here, and I’ll take a look at him.”
Following her, you set Nathan’s bag down on the
floor next to the chair she indicates. Turning around to
see Nathan, you notice all of the people in the room look
almost as bad as Nathan does, and you get a little
squeamish about the idea of getting whatever it is that
they all have. Conveniently remembering the dean’s
words just then, you say, “Ma’am, Miss Ski said she
wanted me to hurry up and get to class. Now that he’s in
here, can you write me a pass so I can don’t get a tardy?”
Reaching for a pad of sticky notes, she says, “She’s
right, you do need to get to class. All right, here, just let
me…,” and scribbles something down as her sentence
trails off.
When she hands you the note, you thank her and
head out as quickly as you can without letting it look like a
run. In the hall, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized
you were holding and begin to make your way to your
locker.
In years past, the students’ lockers were all
grouped together by their grade level, and it formed
zones where seniors, juniors, sophomores, and freshman
each congregated. This year, however, the school tried
something different. They assigned the student’s lockers
by the students’ first hour class. They claimed that it
would bring the school together and help to avoid cliques
which might ostracize certain students. It also had the
added bonus of reducing first hour truancy as well.
Stepping up to your locker, you spin the dial, 50
right – 22 left – 34 right, and lift the handle only to find
that the door doesn’t open. You try jiggling the latch a
few times, but when it still doesn’t open, you go back to
spinning the dial. Just as you turn to the last number
again, the classroom door next to you opens, and you find
your first hour teacher, Miss Dikeo, staring you down.
“Late again, I see,” says Miss Dikeo.
Fumbling in your pocket, you say, “It’s not my fault,
Ma’am. Nathan got real sick outside, and I helped him to
get to the nurse.”
A bit of the teacher’s glacial stare seems to melt at
your words, but not enough to avoid a titanic amount of
trouble she’s clearly worked herself up into, as she asks, “I
assume you have a pass, or some sort of proof that this is
where you were?”
Pulling out the note from your pocket, you present
it to her and say, “Yes, Nurse Jackie wrote it just a minute
ago, see?”
You can visibly see her letting go of her anger, but
before it completely ebbs away, she says, “I’m sorry that
he is not well, but in the future I’m sure he will be able to
make it to the nurse without your help.”
It’s true that you could have let this be the last
word on the subject and let her think she had said her
peace and taught you something, but because she was
who she was, and you were who you were, you can’t help
but add in one more comment to defend yourself.
“Actually, Miss Ski was the one who told me to make sure
he got to the nurse, Ma’am. I was on my way here when
she saw me. You can check.”
Not having anything to say,
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