Page 12 of Napkins and Other Distractions
Ruth’s signature smile skates over her face.
“Okay,whoare you thinking about?”
“Regina. Her shaved head.” Ruth takes a deep breath, clearly reminiscing.
“Call her,” I say.
“Mr. Lester, that ship has sailed. It’s out of port. Lost at sea.”
I shrug and hook my arm in hers, attempting to keep pace.
“Are you ready for today?” she asks, changing the subject from completed to impending disaster.
“To learn entirely new software from someone who knows nothing about teaching or education? To convince the entire staff it’s critical only to discover it doesn’t work and/or something better comes along in a year? To do all this by spring break? Sure, why not.”
“That’s the spirit.” She slows her pace and hooks her arm in mine.
“If I’m unable to demonstrate our kids are learning, I mean in the way the board approves of, well, my contract is annual. They’ll have no problem finding a new principal.”
“I know you know this, but listen carefully,” she says, gripping me closer, the heat from our bodies warming us as our pace slows.
“I have the unique perspective of seeing every child in the school. And I hear the teachers in the staff room. The children and, dare I say, the teachers here, are happy. Kids are learning. They’re thriving. No data, and certainly no fancy software, will change that.”
I know Ruth is right. But Dr. Cutler and the school board care about one thing. Scores. For them, testing data is the barometer to judge a school’s efficacy. Hopscotch is supposed to help teachers collect information more frequently and capture more successes. I know I’m a damn good leader, but a tiny voice taunts me. Maybe I don’t actually know what I’m doing. What if this all reveals I’m a fraud? Having no choice, I do my best to press forward with optimism.
“I know. It will be fine,” I say. “And maybe it will help instruction. Teachers having more frequent and accurate data might not be a bad thing.”
“There’s my Pollyanna.” Ruth pats my belly affectionately.
We head toward the school—and even with her tiny, compact frame, as usual, Ruth buoys me.
“Mr. Lester, Good Morning! Your mail is on your desk, and I bought snacks for the meeting.”
Helen greets me, her glasses slightly askew against her fair skin. We both tend to be disheveled, and I’m grateful she assures I’m not the only one falling apart at the seams. While Helen Hall may lean a tad chaotic on the outside, her brain and a bevy of sticky notes hold all the critical information for running the school. I may be the principal, but as our secretary, Helen is the heart of the school.
“Thanks, Helen. What time do we begin again?”
“Nine. You can do arrival and check-in but be back by 8:55.” She dips her chin and stares over her glasses. “Please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I’m not exactly sure how old Helen is, and I’m not asking. She’s definitely younger than me. And I will still call her ma’am every single time. She’s in charge. Full stop.
Walking into the conference room, I spot bottles of water and a basket of snacks. Helen stopped at the store on her way in. She didn’t have to do that. She never has to, but she always does.
I was told two people from Hopscotch would be coming. Shreya Shaan, our school’s STEM teacher, will join us. Her role is to work with Hopscotch’s technology person to make all the back-end pieces work. But Shreya will also help me understand how to explain all this to the staff. In her midtwenties, Shreya has a verve and understanding of technology I attempted to grasp when flip phones were all the rage but soon lost. The children adore “Miss Shaan” almost as much as I do, with her wildflower tattoos and nose ring a constant source of questions from them.
“Mr. Lester,” Shreya says. There’s a bounce to her step, and I don’t know if it’s the platform sneakers or simply the adrenaline that comes from being in your twenties.
“Miss Shaan, how are you this morning?”
“Well, I was up until four this morning checking code, so I’m running on a cocktail of coffee and energy drinks.” That’ll do it. She shakes her head and smiles, jutting her shoulders back. “How are you?”
Besides being our school’s STEM teacher, teaching basic programming, tech, and engineering skills to the entire school, Shreya spends her free time with a group of college friends creating a fantasy video game filled with dragons, elves, and magic.
“Is everyone in the world still alive?” I ask.
“Avandia? So far, yes. I mean the main characters. But Philiador is fuming, and it’s never smart to piss off a dragon.” Shreya moves a stray piece of hair behind her ear and her thin gold bracelets twinkle against her skin.
