dutifully worked individually and in very quiet groups while the teacher graded papers. No one was policing, yet there was quiet and order. Even Mom was weirded out by everyone’s focus. And my new teacher, from what I saw, smiled endlessly for no apparent reason.
“Hello,” she said, walking up to Mom and me. “I’m Mrs. Lewis.” Then she extended her hand to me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mishna. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Mrs. Lewis got me settled at my new desk while she talked to me like I was thirty. “Mishna, I think you’ll see that once you get used to how we work, you’ll find it very satisfying. You can work at your own pace, and when you’ve finished one project you’re free to move to the next . . . you don’t have to wait for permission or for the rest of the class.”
I needed to clarify. “So, um . . . If I just wanted to just do nothing?”
“I don’t believe you really want to do nothing. Do you? I don’t believe in laziness. If you are feeling bored with something you’re working on, tell me, and together I think we can find a way to make it interesting for you.”
I knew there was a catch. “So you really mean, I can work at the same pace as the class . . . or I can work faster?”
Mrs. Lewis looked at me as though I would understand better if I wasn’t so poor and said, “You could look at it that way, but that’s not exactly it.”
Lesson number one, my teacher talked in riddles, and trying to make sense of what she was saying only made her talk more. Lesson number two, the more she talked, the crazier she sounded.
______
I spent my first week at my new school pretending to read a book and taking in as much as I could. And keeping my integrity was proving mighty easy, because everyone was so unusual to me that I was terrified to open my mouth and divulge any information about myself besides what I was wearing—which I found out early on wasn’t good enough. I also learned my new classmates had boats and ponies, and they didn’t have to go to the library to use the encyclopedia; they had their own! Their clothes were warm enough, and their parents packed ridiculously well-balanced lunches in their plastic lunchboxes with matching soup-filled thermoses. For the first time in my life I felt a weird feeling in my stomach like a pang—like hunger. It was jealousy. Not that I wasn’t hungry, too.
I tried to bury my jealousy as best I could—I found just hating everyone worked a little and so did chewing on rubber bands. I also kept in mind that my neighborhood was where I lived, and that I wasn’t supposed to belong with these rich white kids, which oddly made me feel a little bit better than everyone.
But as the days went on and I started to feel lonely, the lunches and recesses were brutal. Dad wasn’t there and neither were any of my friends from Kimball. And on day three at my new school, I had my first little moment of sorta wanting school to be more than just class.
It was at recess. I sat alone on a playground structure near a group of girls playing foursquare. One of them, a redhead named Marylyn, said, “I’m tired of going to London, its just people doing the same stuff we do here.”
I thought,
London! Wow! I want to ask her about London. Would it be bad if I just talked to her? I won’t forget that my neighborhood is where I live. How can I live there!
She continued, “We go, like, every summer.”
“That’s how I feel about Disneyland,” said a brunette named Claire.
And I craned my neck farther in to listen to them.
“This summer I want to go to soccer camp instead,” said Marylyn.
“I’m going to soccer camp,” said another girl.
I was dumbfounded. Soccer camp over London? You gotta be kidding me! And at that moment I wanted so badly to be in proximity to people who could be blasé about Disneyland or Europe. I couldn’t even be blasé about soccer. And there they were below me—kids that got to do stuff no
“Hello,” she said, walking up to Mom and me. “I’m Mrs. Lewis.” Then she extended her hand to me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mishna. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Mrs. Lewis got me settled at my new desk while she talked to me like I was thirty. “Mishna, I think you’ll see that once you get used to how we work, you’ll find it very satisfying. You can work at your own pace, and when you’ve finished one project you’re free to move to the next . . . you don’t have to wait for permission or for the rest of the class.”
I needed to clarify. “So, um . . . If I just wanted to just do nothing?”
“I don’t believe you really want to do nothing. Do you? I don’t believe in laziness. If you are feeling bored with something you’re working on, tell me, and together I think we can find a way to make it interesting for you.”
I knew there was a catch. “So you really mean, I can work at the same pace as the class . . . or I can work faster?”
Mrs. Lewis looked at me as though I would understand better if I wasn’t so poor and said, “You could look at it that way, but that’s not exactly it.”
Lesson number one, my teacher talked in riddles, and trying to make sense of what she was saying only made her talk more. Lesson number two, the more she talked, the crazier she sounded.
______
I spent my first week at my new school pretending to read a book and taking in as much as I could. And keeping my integrity was proving mighty easy, because everyone was so unusual to me that I was terrified to open my mouth and divulge any information about myself besides what I was wearing—which I found out early on wasn’t good enough. I also learned my new classmates had boats and ponies, and they didn’t have to go to the library to use the encyclopedia; they had their own! Their clothes were warm enough, and their parents packed ridiculously well-balanced lunches in their plastic lunchboxes with matching soup-filled thermoses. For the first time in my life I felt a weird feeling in my stomach like a pang—like hunger. It was jealousy. Not that I wasn’t hungry, too.
I tried to bury my jealousy as best I could—I found just hating everyone worked a little and so did chewing on rubber bands. I also kept in mind that my neighborhood was where I lived, and that I wasn’t supposed to belong with these rich white kids, which oddly made me feel a little bit better than everyone.
But as the days went on and I started to feel lonely, the lunches and recesses were brutal. Dad wasn’t there and neither were any of my friends from Kimball. And on day three at my new school, I had my first little moment of sorta wanting school to be more than just class.
It was at recess. I sat alone on a playground structure near a group of girls playing foursquare. One of them, a redhead named Marylyn, said, “I’m tired of going to London, its just people doing the same stuff we do here.”
I thought,
London! Wow! I want to ask her about London. Would it be bad if I just talked to her? I won’t forget that my neighborhood is where I live. How can I live there!
She continued, “We go, like, every summer.”
“That’s how I feel about Disneyland,” said a brunette named Claire.
And I craned my neck farther in to listen to them.
“This summer I want to go to soccer camp instead,” said Marylyn.
“I’m going to soccer camp,” said another girl.
I was dumbfounded. Soccer camp over London? You gotta be kidding me! And at that moment I wanted so badly to be in proximity to people who could be blasé about Disneyland or Europe. I couldn’t even be blasé about soccer. And there they were below me—kids that got to do stuff no
Similar Books
