Twenty-two hours and thirty minutes later …
“Here are your instructions,” Mr. Acevedo said, hopping onto his desk. “I want everyone to get a journal.” He pointed to the composition notebooks on the windowsill behind Red and me. “Put your name on it, and then go stand on your table.”
Go stand on your table.
Red raised his fists to his face and tapped his cheeks.
“Just be careful,” Mr. Acevedo said. “I don’t want to have to write an incident report on my third day.” He jumped down and scooted to Avery. “What can you do, Ms. Goodman?”
She curled her lip. “Well, I can’t exactly stand on my table.”
“I didn’t think you could.” He tapped her armrest. “But you’re a member of this class, and everyone in Room 208 participates. So what can we have you do instead?”
“Whatever,” she said.
“Nope.” Mr. Acevedo shook his head. “We need to come up—”
“I can climb,” she interrupted.
“Excellent. Be right back.” He slide-stepped to the door and leaned into the hallway. “Ms. Waldon,” he called, “can you send one of the custodians our way?”
Ms. Waldon, the parent coordinator.
She hadn’t been at her desk these first three mornings, and I was afraid to ask where she was. Ms. Waldon knew everything about RJE. Everything. Mom called people like Ms. Waldon indispensable.
I pushed my chair away from the table, reached back, and grabbed two notebooks. I placed one in front of Red, who still had his hands by his face. He was swaying, too.
Whenever we had writer’s workshop or a new writing assignment in ELA, Red always worked with Ms. Yvonne.
I wrote RIP in all caps on the cover of my notebook and then tapped Red on the shoulder. “Come on,” I said, standing up. “This could be fun.”
He continued to sway.
I shook out my hair. I was pretty sure Red would be fine once he was up. Everyone was doing the assignment, too. It wasn’t like he was being singled out.
“Come on,” I said again.
“Okay, Mason Irving,” he said softly.
We both climbed onto our table.
“Freeze!” Mr. Acevedo suddenly shouted.
Everyone froze.
“Without moving your feet,” he said, “turn and look my way.” Mr. Acevedo stood in the doorway with his arm around Mr. Goldberg.
Mr. Goldberg, the head custodian.
“If you don’t know who this man is,” Mr. Acevedo said, “you need to learn. This is Mr. Goldberg. After the twenty-six of you in Room 208, this gentleman right here is the most important person in the school. Not only does he know where everything is, he also has the key to every door. That means, he has access. That means, we’re always kind to this man.”
Mom called people like Mr. Goldberg indispensable, too.
“We’re doing a writing activity.” Mr. Acevedo turned to him. “Would it be possible to borrow a stepladder?”
“Coming right up.” Mr. Goldberg ducked into the hallway.
“Can we unfreeze?” Trinity asked. She was standing with one foot on her chair and one foot on her table.
“Not until the ladder arrives,” Mr. Acevedo said.
It arrived a few moments later.
“Here you go, Ms. Goodman,” Mr. Acevedo said, opening it next to her. “Do you need help getting—”
Avery was already lifting herself out of her chair. She began pulling herself up the ladder.
I’d never seen Avery out of her chair. I’m pretty sure most of the other kids hadn’t either.
Everyone stared.
“What are you looking at?” she said when she reached the top rung.
Mr. Acevedo handed Avery her journal and then sprang onto his desk. “This activity is about perspective,” he said. “Room 208 looks very different from up here. We’re looking at things from a new vantage point, a new point of view. That enables us to see the things we always see in a different way. It also allows us to discover new things right in front of us. I want you to write down what you see. How do things look different from up here? What new things have appeared?”
“Can we draw?” Sebi asked.
“Absolutely,” Mr. Acevedo answered. “Draw, write, whatever, and for this exercise, don’t worry about full sentences, capital letters, or spelling. Just get your ideas and observations down on the page. Use your senses. What do you see? What do you hear? What do you feel? Give me details. Lots of specific details. Details make our writing come to life.”
It sounded pretty cool. And I loved that he said don’t worry about full sentences, capital letters, or spelling!
I did my best:
Rip Thursday, September 5
STANDING ON TABLE ASSIGNMENT
The light bulbs are humming
There’s a dead wasp in the ficture, I can see it’s legs.
The top of the ficture has never been dusted.
The top of the cieling projector has never been dusted
It’s hot up here
Red isn’t writing
Mr. Acevedo has a tattoo on the back of his neck.
A ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for. That’s what his tattoo on his arm says.
Out the window. the tops of the portables.
Out the window. the soccer field on the other side of the portables.
Out the window, part of the fence around the playground
Red still isn’t writing
At first I was nervous standing up here. Now I’m not.