Page 35 of The Tattered Gloves
“I know you’re all bustling with energy after this weekend. No doubt there is plenty to talk about, but unfortunately for you and for me, it’s Monday, which means it’s time to work.”
Groans were heard throughout the classroom.
“For those of you who actually follow the syllabus I passed out all those weeks ago when we started this semester, you’ve noticed that a good chunk of your grade is based on something called a personal project. What is that? Well, today, you shall find out.”
More groans followed as well as a few disgruntled heads hitting desks.
I sat quietly in my desk, trying my best not to study the back of Sam’s head.
I was failing miserably.
“If you have any older siblings, which I know some of you do, you might be familiar with the personal project. It requires you to delve into your past — specifically, the history of your family. It’s something I’ve required for decades since arriving at Sugar Tree, and for some students, it’s what they look forward to upon entering their junior year.”
Several students looked around the room, wondering just who might be crazy enough to actually look forward to schoolwork. I was one of them. I might be a decent student, but I didn’t come here, begging for stuff to do.
“This year, however, I’ve decided to switch things up a bit,” she announced, causing a few heads to rise in interest. “You will still be studying your past, learning about your family and ancestry, like the classes before you. But, this year, you will do so with a partner. This year, you will not only be learning about your history, but also the legacy of one of your fellow students. And, at the end of this assignment, you will write a report of what makes you individual and unique in addition to sharing any similarities you and your partner might have in common. This is your chance to learn about other cultures, to discover various circumstances outside your own. After all, isn’t that what history is?”
It was a nice speech; I’d give her that.
If she’d delivered it to anyone but a room of high school students, I was sure the response would have been overwhelmingly positive.
But it wasn’t.
Instead, we all looked at her like she was insane.
Completely, totally insane.
“Now, to make sure this is fair,” she continued, seemingly unfazed by the lack of enthusiasm to the revised assignment, “I’ve already preselected your partners.”
If she was hoping for a response, she found it with that announcement.
Instant pandemonium.
If there was one thing that could cause a riot among young girls, it was telling them they couldn’t work with their friends.
Heck, even I was upset, and I barely knew anyone in the entire class.
“Good,” Mrs. Landers continued, ignoring our outcries of injustice. “I’ll be posting the pairings at the end of class. The requirements along with the due date will be added to the class’s online Blackboard. Please feel free to see me if you have questions. Let’s move on.”
I wasn’t sure anyone paid the least bit of attention to the lecture she gave as we all sat on the edges of our seats, waiting for that list to be revealed.
I honestly didn’t care who I was paired with. I mean, how bad could it be? I didn’t know anyone, so really, one person was just as bad as the next.
Unless…
No, that would never happen.
Would it?
My anticipation doubled.
While I waited for the period to be over, forty minutes easily became a hundred forty as the clock seemed to move backward,
Is the clock freaking broken?
Finally, the bell rang, and we all jumped from our seats. Mrs. Landers slowly walked to her desk, reaching for a manila envelope. From inside, she pulled out a single sheet of paper and casually took it to the door. All at once, she was crowded by twenty students, wrangling for a look at the list.
Somehow, maybe because of her tiny figure, our teacher made it out of the fray alive and sat back in her desk chair. A happy smile was on her face as she watched everyone jockeying for positions near the list.
