Friday’s important events went perfectly. Stephen and I were all set for the next steps on Monday or Tuesday. But once again I learned that things don’t always happen according to plan. Because Friday after school, as I sat in the library doing my outside reading, Mrs. Hackney came marching up to my table and said, “Nora? Please follow me.”
The principal turned around and marched out of the media center, across the hall, and into her office. I barely had time to glance at Stephen, and he gave me a quick thumbs-up as I hurried after Mrs. Hackney. We hadn’t thought this part of our plan would begin until after the weekend.
Mrs. Hackney stood behind her desk and said, “Please sit down, Nora.” When I was in the chair across from her, she held up three pieces of paper and said, “I want to know something and I want to know it right now. This is your spelling test from this morning. And you got a zero on it. This is your math test from fourth period. And you got a zero. And this is your science test from two hours ago. Another zero. Three tests and you got a zero on each one. I want to know the meaning of this. We all know you are a brilliant child, Nora. And the only possible conclusion is that you have gotten these zeroes on purpose. And I demand to know why. Right now. Out with it—why did you get these zeroes?”
I had told Stephen I would be brave when our plan started to heat things up. And now I was having my hardest test of the day—the angry-grown-up-shaking-papers-in-my-face test.
Mrs. Hackney repeated the question. “Why did you get zeroes on these tests?”
I had been rehearsing my answer to that one. I said, “I got zeroes because I got all the answers wrong.”
Mrs. Hackney’s face bunched up until her eyes were little slits below her eyebrows. Then she found her voice and it wasn’t pretty. “Don’t you dare be smart with me, young lady! Why did you deliberately get every question wrong on these tests? Tell me!”
I looked her right in the eye and said, “Because all three of these tests are nothing but simple memorization, same as almost all the other tests we take. So I decided to express my opinion about this kind of testing. These tests each got the score they deserved. Zero.”
This was the tricky moment. Because if Mrs. Hackney just kept getting madder and madder, I could get suspended. Or even expelled from school.
I was hoping something else would happen. And it did. Because Mrs. Hackney wasn’t just a shouter, and she wasn’t just some lady with an office. She was mad, but she was still a teacher—the top teacher of the whole school. She was in charge of the learning program for every grade, and I had just thrown down a challenge.
Mrs. Hackney glared at me for another few seconds, and then she sat down in her chair and began to look at the tests.
About a minute later, in a much calmer voice she said, “I see what you mean, and it’s true that these tests all require students to memorize a lot of information. But knowing basic information is important. It’s like the foundation. You get bored with this kind of test because you’ve been trying to pretend you’re average—and you’re not. This kind of test is fine for most of the kids. You need to be in the gifted program, Nora. In the gifted program you’d have lots of creative challenges. That’s what you need. I’ve already talked with your mother, and I have recommended that you start that program as soon as possible. Maybe you should even skip ahead into sixth grade. Or even eighth.”
I could tell Mrs. Hackney liked that skipping-grades idea. Even skipping to sixth grade would move me right out of her school. It was the instant solution: no more Nora.
But I shook my head. “What about all the other kids? I get to go and do creative and exciting things, and all the other kids get worksheets and memorization and the same old stuff, week after week. That’s not fair.”
Mrs. Hackney was still the principal, and she wasn’t going to sit around and argue with a fifth grader.
So she stood up and said, “You may go back to the library now. I’m sorry I lost my temper, but you have upset all your teachers. A gift like yours comes with responsibilities, Nora. I want you to think about that. You have responsibilities. You may go now. But this matter is not over.”
As I walked back into the library, I obeyed Mrs. Hackney: I thought about what she had just said—how a gift like mine comes with responsibilities.
Mrs. Hackney was absolutely right. I did have responsibilities. Except she and I had different ideas about what those responsibilities were.
And Mrs. Hackney was absolutely right about something else, too: This matter was not over.