The Report Card (12 page)

She swung her eyes slowly across her audience and said, “About a year ago we had a problem with vandalism at the junior high school. Lockers were damaged; mirrors in the washrooms were broken; walls were written on, and books were destroyed. And I'm sorry to report that it took more than eight months to get that vandalism completely stopped. Why did it take so long? It's very simple: because the principal of that school did not jump on that problem soon enough—or
hard
enough. Our situation today is not quite as serious as vandalism, but it's not so different
either. If the children who got zeroes on those quizzes go to lunch forty minutes from now and start laughing and bragging about what they've done, this defiant attitude could easily spread to the rest of the school. And that must not happen. That is why we have to handle this problem forcefully . . . and immediately. Every student in the Philbrook schools must understand that tests and grades are serious business. Every student in our schools must always try to do his or her best to earn excellent scores. That's what education in Philbrook is all about—excellence. And right now those students in the library are confused about that. So we've got to solve this problem in the next thirty minutes. Mrs. Hackney?”

Mrs. Hackney smiled briefly and nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Tersom. What we're going to do is have a meeting with the whole Blue Team, right now, just across the hall in the media center. We are going to stay focused on the facts, and we are going to point out the mistakes that have been made. We are going to make it clear that this kind of behavior
cannot
and
will not
be tolerated ever again. And to
emphasize the seriousness of this matter, Mrs. Tersom and I have decided that Nora Rowley and Stephen Curtis are suspended from school for two weeks—effective immediately.”

My first thought was for my mom and dad. Mom gasped and then sat there like a statue, her back straight and stiff, and I could see the beginning of a tear at the corner of her eye. Dad's face showed pure disbelief. I felt terrible for them.

And then I saw Stephen, sitting there trying to get his mind around what that meant—“suspended from school for two weeks.” His face was pale, and both his mom and dad were looking right at me. There was no doubt in anybody's mind: I was the cause of this whole mess. And that's how I felt too.

I imagined what would happen at the big team meeting. There would be a long lecture with Mrs. Hackney shaking her finger a lot. And Mrs. Tersom would be frowning at our friends and threatening to kick everyone else out of school—just like they were suspending Stephen and me. And of course, Merton Lake would be sitting there the whole time with a
smug little smile on his face. Awful. And there was nothing I could do about it.

Fact: Once a plan starts to collapse, it comes crashing down fast. All you can do is try to jump out of the way. And sometimes you can't.

Mrs. Hackney was about to say something else when Mrs. Byrne raised her hand. The principal said, “Yes, Mrs. Byrne?”

Mrs. Byrne stood up and smoothed the front of her skirt. “Mrs. Hackney, I need to say something. I do not agree with this punishment.” Her voice wasn't loud, but it was strong. “I think that the motives of Nora and Stephen should be taken into account here. The things they did may have been naive, and they have certainly caused some problems for Mrs. Noyes and Mrs. Zhang and our fellow teachers. But these two weren't simply trying to stir up trouble. And what they've been doing has absolutely
nothing
in common with vandalism, Mrs. Tersom. Vandalism is mindless and destructive, and what Nora and Stephen have been doing is anything but that.”

Mrs. Hackney stood up and leaned forward
with both her hands on the table. “That's quite enough, Mrs. Byrne. This is neither the time nor the place for personal opinions.”

But Mrs. Tersom held up a hand. “It's all right, Mrs. Hackney. We have nothing to hide here. Our school district has always been a place for free and open discussion. So please continue, Mrs. Byrne.”

Mrs. Byrne nodded at the superintendent and said, “Thank you. As I was saying, these are good kids, and their motives were good. These students were simply trying to get everyone to look more closely at some of the negative side effects of testing and grading. The teachers at this school, and at every other school in our town, have raised the same kind of concerns. And teachers all across Connecticut have pointed out that this focus on test scores is unhealthy—especially the CMT scores. Nora has experienced these issues firsthand, and she's intelligent enough to have noticed the problems, and she and Stephen have been brave enough to try to do something about it—braver than some of the rest of us have been. So I want to go on record here. I am flatly
opposed to these suspensions. And I think that many of the other teachers in our schools—and perhaps a good number of the people in the town of Philbrook—would agree with me.”

When Mrs. Byrne finished Einstein would have loved it. It was like that timeless moment before The Big Bang.

Then the universe began to explode.

There was a short burst of applause as Mrs. Zhang and Mrs. Noyes got up from the table and walked over to stand beside Mrs. Byrne. They were “fellow teachers” like Mrs. Byrne had mentioned, and teachers stick together.

My mom stopped holding her breath. My dad nodded at Mrs. Byrne and said, “That's right—maybe Nora's on to something here,” which got him a gentle “Shush!” from my mom.

Mrs. Curtis patted Stephen's arm, and Stephen began to get some color back in his face. Then my mom and Mrs. Curtis started talking back and forth above my head. Stephen's dad took out a handkerchief and blew his nose, and then wiped his forehead—which was the wrong order, if you think about it.

Merton's mom had one eyebrow lifted and she whispered something in her husband's ear. Merton sat there with a twerpy grin on his mug and he tried to catch my eye, but I ignored him.

Mrs. Hackney tried to keep her face muscles under control, and in the middle of all the noise and chatter she kept saying, “Let's stay focused, people!”

The superintendent looked around and kept her lips pulled back into a tight smile, but her eyes told the real story. I could see her imagining what might happen if this issue broke loose and started bouncing all over town.

The school secretary had given up trying to take notes, and when she started talking with Mrs. Drummond, words and phrases floated across the table. “Really? . . . Oh, yes. Because on Monday it was only . . . and when she told me that . . . noo! You're
kidding
! . . . Yes, I heard that too!”

Dr. Trindler just smiled and tapped his fingertips together. The psychologist was enjoying himself.

And me? I was trying to see everything at once.

Then I looked at Mrs. Byrne. She was in her chair again, her hands folded on her lap. We exchanged a look, only for a second. A lot was said during that glance. It was not a kid-to-teacher moment. It was person to person.

Finally Mrs. Hackney pushed her voice up an octave and said, “Come to order, please. Everyone! Please, quiet down!” And when the room was quiet, she said, “Thank you. Now, I have an idea or two, but perhaps our superintendent should give us her thoughts first.”

Mrs. Tersom kept her smile locked in place, but I could tell she had no clue what to do. Again her eyes gave her away. I could see her problem—everyone could: If she took too strong a stand, she might have a
real
rebellion on her hands. And if she took too weak a stand, then she would lose some of her authority.

Mrs. Tersom said, “Well, I . . . I really think that, all things considered, we shouldn't try to handle this at the district level. This is a local school issue, and since you're the principal, Mrs. Hackney, I think we should hear your ideas first.”

It was another Einstein moment, time and space suspended, all eyes on Mrs. Hackney's face.

Everyone could see what was happening. Two powerful, intelligent women were each scared to take the next step. And I felt bad for both of them. After all, I was the one who had gotten everyone into this mess in the first place. I wished I could help them.

Then something began happening. Something new.

I've always been the lightbulb girl. Thoughts would come blasting out of nowhere, like a lightning bolt on a sunny afternoon—BOOM!—and I'd have a new idea.

This was different. An idea was definitely coming, but softly. It was like I was looking at a broad, green lawn, and then there was a passing cloud or a shift in the wind, and every blade of grass snapped to attention, sharp and crisp.

And there across the lawn I could see the footsteps of an idea, a simple path, and I could see it had always been there. And the path was for me.

All I had to do was the next good thing.

I raised my hand.

Mrs. Hackney had never been happier to call on someone. “Yes, Nora?”

I don't know why I stood up before I started talking, but I did. I said, “If it's all right with you, Mrs. Hackney, I'd like to talk to the whole Blue Team. I think . . . I think I need to say something . . . to everyone. And then, whatever you and Mrs. Tersom decide to do about punishments and everything, that'll be okay with me.”

And instantly Stephen stood up and said, “Me too.”

There we were again, equal partners.

Mrs. Hackney looked from Stephen to me, and then turned to look at Mrs. Tersom. Mrs. Tersom turned to look at me, and then she looked back at Mrs. Hackney. And then Mrs. Hackney looked at me again and said, “That sounds like a reasonable request. I think we should all walk across the hall to the library right now.”

It must have felt like a reasonable request to everyone, because the whole room seemed to heave a sigh of relief.

As people started getting up and moving toward the door of the office, my dad leaned my way and whispered, “I sure hope you know what you're doing.”

I whispered back, “Me too.”

I
t took a while to get everyone settled in the media center. The chairs and tables were pushed aside and the kids sat on the floor in the middle of the room. All the grown-ups and teachers sat on chairs at the edges and in the back.

It didn't feel like an assembly or a weekly meeting. There was no squirming, no whispering, no giggling. There wasn't even any smiling. It felt like a funeral—
my
funeral.

Mrs. Hackney stood in front of the main desk and waited until the last grown-ups were seated. I stood beside her and Stephen was next to me. My mom and dad were sitting off to the left. They seemed a million miles away, and I thought how nice it would feel to be sitting there between them again.

It was hard to breathe. I knew what I wanted to say, but I wasn't sure how to begin. Or how to end. Then I thought,
What about
Stephen? What's
he
going to say? I mean, a guy who could make that kind of a handout could do anything! What if he raises one fist and shouts, “Hey, everyone! Kids rule! Let's get this rebellion going!” and then he starts running around the library, ripping books off the shelves and breaking the furniture? Or . . . or what if Mrs. Hackney changes her mind all of a sudden, and she stands there and points at us and says, “Nora and Stephen have been wicked, wicked children, and I've decided that they shall both be expelled from school forever! Out! Get out of here, both of you!”

Imagination can be torture, so I was glad when Mrs. Hackney started talking.

She looked around the room slowly as she spoke. “We are here this morning because some serious mistakes have been made. I think all of you know what I'm talking about. Nora Rowley has asked if she could speak to the whole Blue Team, and I've given her permission. Stephen Curtis has something to say too.” Then she looked at me. “Nora?”

No long speech, no extra time to think. A few quick sentences and now it was all up to me.

I looked out over those faces and I froze. I gulped. I opened my mouth. I tried to begin, but nothing came out.

So Stephen said, “Nora and I started talking about something last week, and that's what she wants to tell you about.”

I nodded, and I gulped again, and then I said, “Yes. It was about grades. I've been worried about grades for a long time. I think a lot of kids do that, but I wasn't just worried about getting good grades or bad grades. I was worried about grades themselves, about the whole idea of grades. Because grades and test scores can make kids feel like winners or losers. And I didn't like that. Because I saw some kids start thinking they were dumb after we all took the Mastery Tests last year. And they weren't dumb, not at all. So I wanted to do something about that. And I guess it wasn't so smart to think that I could change everything by myself, or even with Stephen's help. Or that everything could change quickly. Because that's not how things happen. But I felt like I had to do something . . . anything. And then Stephen and I got this idea about getting zeroes, but that
made it look like we thought school was a joke or something. And it's not a joke. We don't think that. We just wanted everybody to look at the numbers and the letters and the test scores and really think about them. But things went too far, and then everybody got upset, and I don't want that. I know school's important, and it's important to do good work, and I think almost every kid does—good work, I mean. And the teachers do, too. And I didn't understand how a lot of teachers feel sort of the same way I do about testing and grades. So we have to do things together. To make things better. And that's all I wanted to say. That I'm sorry about the trouble. Because there are other ways to make things better.”

Stephen nodded and said, “Yeah, I'm sorry too. And especially for that stuff about rebellion. I know why it happened, though—like, why I made that flyer and everything. Because it was exciting. I mean, all of a sudden I felt like my grades didn't have this huge power over me. And I guess I got carried away. Even so, I learned a lot. And I'm not going to be afraid of tests and grades anymore, not like I
was. But I'm sorry about the trouble, like Nora said.”