Page 10 of The Write Place

I should probably start acting like the professional I am and cut this off, but before I can, it’s Neve’s turn to speak up, not raising her hand as usual. “So, what is your book about?”

“It’s about a group of teachers struggling with the modern landscape of education.” It’s a smooth and rehearsed line, and it’s so vague that, if he were one of my students, I’d probably wonder if he actually had any idea for a novel at all or if he was just faking it.

Neve and most of the other students look skeptical, too, but before I can think too much about it, Warren says, “That doesn’t sound very thoroughly planned.”

Daniel clears his throat loudly, but he manages to respond. “It’s a work in progress.”

“Okay, so why Miss Mac?” This time, it’s Aimee Olsen’s bright cheerleader voice.

Daniel doesn’t hesitate on this one. “She comes very highly recommended.” I’m feeling pretty proud at the way most of my students nod as if this is a reasonable response.

“Have you written anything we would have heard of?” Haze asks from the back of the room. At this, Daniel looks slightly taken aback that they wouldn’t know his work, and I fail to stop a snort of laughter from escaping. The students all shift their attention to me at the sound. Isabel makes a noise of disapproval, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she knows exactly who Daniel is and what he’s written, nor if she had read every single one of his novels. That kid is always reading something, and it’s usually contemporary fiction.

I narrow my eyes slightly. Daniel has probably suffered enough for one day, so I say, “Believe it or not, Mr. Evans is a well-known, award-winning author, and we are very fortunate to have him here. If you haven’t heard of or read any of his works, I suggest you look them up. Maybe even for your independent reading project due at the end of the semester.” I tip my head to the side and smile broadly in over-exaggerated excitement at the prospect. There is a collective groan from the class, and I use this time to segue to the lesson for the day. I ignore Daniel’s grateful glance, and he goes back to writing in his notebook, though he seems to do so with less vigor than I’ve seen him do all day.

After the last student files out at the end of class, Daniel puts his pen down. His eyes follow me as I move around the room, collecting the activities the students left on their desks.

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” he asks. I stop, holding the stack of papers in one hand, and face him, trying very hard not to be annoyed.

“Sure.” I know my voice is clipped, but if he can tell I’m irritated, he doesn’t show it.

“Would you say this was a pretty typical day for you?”

“Yeah. I mean, aside from this,” I circle my free hand in his general direction. “Why?”

He lets out a long breath through pursed lips. “I’m exhausted just watching you. Did you sit down at all today?”

I pause, considering. “I ate lunch while you were off buying a sandwich somewhere, so I probably sat down to do that. And during my off-hour.”

“So, for a 25-minute lunch period, you sat to eat and also answer emails, and for a few minutes during some time off you sat to grade some papers, but you also left to make copies.”

“What’s your point?” I ask, not unkindly.

“Well,” he starts slowly, “I guess I had no idea how physical teaching high school would be. I would think as the students get older, the job gets easier.”

I sit at one of the student desks near him, putting my stack of papers down. “I think it’s clear you have no idea how almost anything in education works, which is why you’re here.” I look at him pointedly. He makes an expression as if this is a fair point. “But that aside, I don’t know that I’m necessarily representative of all the teachers in this building. Personally, I like being up and around the classroom. I like talking to the students about their assignments and their lives. Why do this job if you don’t actually like the kids, you know?”

“People do this job but don’t like the kids?”

“It’s a good job,” I explain. “It’s relatively secure, and you have a lot of control over your day. If you need to relax, you can schedule your class to do something independent. If you need to get out some energy, you can schedule something more active. Most people don’t get into teaching thinking they don’t actually like interacting with students, but it’s easy to get a bit jaded as time goes on.”

“And how long have you been teaching?”

“This is my seventh year.”

Daniel hums and then starts writing in his notebook again. I watch him write for a minute. His entire expression changes as he scribbles quickly on the very full page in front of him. The pages curl a little at the corners after he’s written on them, and his face is almost reverent. He’s more focused than he’s appeared to be all day. He looks lost in it, as if he wouldn’t even hear me if I spoke to him.

Eventually, his pen slows. His eyes shift toward the window and narrow in thought. I clear my throat and he drags his attention to me again.

“Is it my turn?” I ask, a corner of my mouth tipping upward.

“Your turn?” He frowns in confusion.

“To ask a few questions.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you were also doing action research,” he says a bit sarcastically.

“I just think if you’re going to be sitting here every day for six weeks, I have a right to know a few things.” I clasp my hands in my lap, the picture of innocent curiosity. Daniel puts his pen down on the desk and leans back in his chair, motioning for me to continue. “What is your novel about?” I ask as he folds his arms across his chest.