bunch of other people. Apparently there was a surge in the TV cable line around the university area at quarter after ten last night. I’ve already seen a couple of players that people brought in early this morning.”
“A surge, huh,” Sheila remarked.
“My TV blew up,” Pitt said.
“At least my TV’s okay,” Sheila said.
“Was it on when the VCR blew?” Kerry asked.
“No,” Sheila said.
“Well, that’s the reason it didn’t pop,” Kerry said. “If it had been on you would have lost your picture tube.”
“Can the VCR be fixed?” Sheila asked.
“Not without essentially replacing most of the guts,” Kerry said. “To tell you the truth it’s cheaper to buy another one.”
“Too bad,” Sheila said. “I’d finally figured out how to set the clock on this one.”
CASSY HURRIED UP THE STEPS OF ANNA C. SCOTT HIGH School and entered just as the bell announced the beginning of the first period. Reminding herself that getting freaked out was not going to help anything, she rushed up the main stairs and down the hall to her assigned class. She was in the middle of a month-long observation of a junior English class. This was the first time she’d been late.
Pausing at the door to brush hair from her face and smooth the front of her demure cotton dress, she couldn’t help but hear the apparent pandemonium going on inside the room. She’d expected to hear Mrs. Edelman’s strident voice. Instead there was a mishmash of voices and laughter. Cassy cracked the door and looked within.
Students were haphazardly sprinkled around the room. Some were standing, others were sitting on the radiator covers and on desks. It was a beehive of separate conversations.
Cracking the door further, Cassy could see why there was such chaos. Mrs. Edelman was not there.
Cassy swallowed hard. Her mouth had gone dry. For a second she debated what to do. Her experience with highschool kids was minimal. All her student teaching had been at the elementary-school level. Deciding she had little choice and taking a deep breath, she pushed through the door.
No one paid her any attention. Advancing to Mrs. Edelman’s desk in the front of the room she saw a note in Mrs. Edelman’s script. It said simply:
Miss Winthrope, I will be delayed for some minutes. Please carry on
.
With her heart accelerating Cassy glanced out at the scene in front of her. She felt incompetent and an imposter. She wasn’t a teacher, not yet anyway.
“Excuse me!” Cassy called. There was no response. She called more loudly. Finally she yelled as loudly as she could, which brought forth a stunned silence. She was now graced with close to thirty pairs of staring eyes. The expressions ran the gamut from surprise to irritation at being interrupted to outright disdain.
“Please take your seats,” Cassy said. Her voice wavered more than she would have liked.
Reluctantly the students did as they were told.
“Okay,” Cassy said, trying to bolster her confidence. “I know what your assignment was, so until Mrs. Edelman arrives, why don’t we talk about Faulkner’s style in a general sense. Who’d like to volunteer to get us started?”
Cassy’s eyes roamed the room. The students who moments earlier were the picture of animation now appeared as if cut from marble. The expressions of those who were still looking at her were blank. One impertinent red-headed boy puckered his lips into a silent kiss as Cassy’s eyes briefly locked onto his. Cassy ignored the gesture.
Cassy could feel perspiration at her hairline. Things were not going well. In the back of the second row she could see a blond-headed boy engrossed with a laptop computer.
Stealing a glance at the seating chart in the middle of the desk blotter, Cassy read the boy’s name: Jonathan Sellers.
Looking back up, Cassy tried again: “Okay, everyone. I know it’s cool to kinda zone out on me. After all I’m just a student teacher and you all know a lot more about what goes on in here
“A surge, huh,” Sheila remarked.
“My TV blew up,” Pitt said.
“At least my TV’s okay,” Sheila said.
“Was it on when the VCR blew?” Kerry asked.
“No,” Sheila said.
“Well, that’s the reason it didn’t pop,” Kerry said. “If it had been on you would have lost your picture tube.”
“Can the VCR be fixed?” Sheila asked.
“Not without essentially replacing most of the guts,” Kerry said. “To tell you the truth it’s cheaper to buy another one.”
“Too bad,” Sheila said. “I’d finally figured out how to set the clock on this one.”
CASSY HURRIED UP THE STEPS OF ANNA C. SCOTT HIGH School and entered just as the bell announced the beginning of the first period. Reminding herself that getting freaked out was not going to help anything, she rushed up the main stairs and down the hall to her assigned class. She was in the middle of a month-long observation of a junior English class. This was the first time she’d been late.
Pausing at the door to brush hair from her face and smooth the front of her demure cotton dress, she couldn’t help but hear the apparent pandemonium going on inside the room. She’d expected to hear Mrs. Edelman’s strident voice. Instead there was a mishmash of voices and laughter. Cassy cracked the door and looked within.
Students were haphazardly sprinkled around the room. Some were standing, others were sitting on the radiator covers and on desks. It was a beehive of separate conversations.
Cracking the door further, Cassy could see why there was such chaos. Mrs. Edelman was not there.
Cassy swallowed hard. Her mouth had gone dry. For a second she debated what to do. Her experience with highschool kids was minimal. All her student teaching had been at the elementary-school level. Deciding she had little choice and taking a deep breath, she pushed through the door.
No one paid her any attention. Advancing to Mrs. Edelman’s desk in the front of the room she saw a note in Mrs. Edelman’s script. It said simply:
Miss Winthrope, I will be delayed for some minutes. Please carry on
.
With her heart accelerating Cassy glanced out at the scene in front of her. She felt incompetent and an imposter. She wasn’t a teacher, not yet anyway.
“Excuse me!” Cassy called. There was no response. She called more loudly. Finally she yelled as loudly as she could, which brought forth a stunned silence. She was now graced with close to thirty pairs of staring eyes. The expressions ran the gamut from surprise to irritation at being interrupted to outright disdain.
“Please take your seats,” Cassy said. Her voice wavered more than she would have liked.
Reluctantly the students did as they were told.
“Okay,” Cassy said, trying to bolster her confidence. “I know what your assignment was, so until Mrs. Edelman arrives, why don’t we talk about Faulkner’s style in a general sense. Who’d like to volunteer to get us started?”
Cassy’s eyes roamed the room. The students who moments earlier were the picture of animation now appeared as if cut from marble. The expressions of those who were still looking at her were blank. One impertinent red-headed boy puckered his lips into a silent kiss as Cassy’s eyes briefly locked onto his. Cassy ignored the gesture.
Cassy could feel perspiration at her hairline. Things were not going well. In the back of the second row she could see a blond-headed boy engrossed with a laptop computer.
Stealing a glance at the seating chart in the middle of the desk blotter, Cassy read the boy’s name: Jonathan Sellers.
Looking back up, Cassy tried again: “Okay, everyone. I know it’s cool to kinda zone out on me. After all I’m just a student teacher and you all know a lot more about what goes on in here
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