Chapter 68
INNER CHILDREN
Do you know what situational irony is? Ms. Olsson pop-quizzed us on it a couple of weeks ago. It’s when you expect one thing to happen, but something completely different happens.
The Scream Out gave me a mini revelation about how I couldn’t change people. And then this happened:
Everyone in the class is staring at the chalkboard. Nobody speaks. I think most people are too afraid to ask if she really means it about the pop quizzes. Because—you know—what if she doesn’t?
But I have to know. “Um, excuse me, Ms. Olsson,” I say. “Did you write that on the board? About the pop quizzes?”
“I don’t remember calling on you,” Ms. Olsson snaps.
I put my hand in the air.
“Yes, Ms. Clarke?” she says, starting the conversation over from the beginning. So I repeat my question.
“Yes, I have written that on the board. It has come to my attention that pop quizzes are a great deal of pressure—perhaps more than necessary. My main objective is to be sure that you are completing and comprehending the reading. So I am instituting a new policy: I will assess your understanding of the reading by gauging your participation in classroom discussion. Every single person in this room is expected to make at least one comment per class. Your grade depends on it.” And then she smiles at us.
Tebow makes a low whistling noise, and I realize that Ms. Olsson is serious. This is a bit of a shock to my system. I feel a little like you do when you jump into a cold pool—at first, it takes your breath away. Then you realize that you feel pretty good. Ms. Olsson just wants us to talk about books? I can handle that.
Some of the teachers were at the rally, and everyone must have heard about it, because there is definitely a kinder, gentler vibe in school. In math, Mrs. Rosewater gives us a pep talk. Well, sort of. She reads from Oh, The Places You’ll Go!, which is one of my favorite books. It kind of makes me feel like I’m back in kindergarten… in the best possible way.
“Do you think this is because of the rally?” Brainzilla asks me during PE class, where our dodgeball unit has somehow been converted into a unit where we help one another over a wall, perform trust falls, and work together to untie human knots.
“That or a full moon,” I reply, casting a sideways glance at Bloom, who has managed to avoid making eye contact for the entire day. I guess it’s the best we can hope for from the Haters. And it’s fine with me.
We didn’t change what we’d expected to—but we did change something. So I’d give our Operation Happiness an A-minus. And that’s not bad.