I let out a big sigh and tried not to think about how stupid I would look on stage when I fell out of the turn and continued with class trying to distract myself from the worries. Another 45 minutes went by and class was over. She dismissed us and I walked to the front corner of the rectangular room to grab my sweatshirt that I had placed on the floor earlier that class. I then headed to the door and was about to exit the class when I heard a soft voice.
Right after she said that, she went silent. I wondered why she was not mentioning anything about her meeting with my teacher, Mr. Frick. I became very anxious, even though I could not recall a time when Mr. Frick had gotten
As an observer who often sees students getting in trouble for what they have done, I never would have thought that one day, the student would be me. I am unable to recall exactly what day of the year it was, but I remember what happened clearly. That day, everything seemed to go so well; I had a great day with my friends and the school day was coming to an end. Suddenly that evening, at 2:12 PM, my day began to get worse, as if I got jinxed. During passing period before my last class, I decided to go use the restroom and unsurprisingly, the girls restroom was packed. By the time I got to class, I remember clearly that I had arrived a second or two after the last bell had rung. That day, my teacher happened to be standing by the door during passing period and when I got to class she said, “I want you to write me a page on why you
I feel a warm presemce on the back of my neck. I turn and find the guy who came in late. He points to my seat, then himself. I shake my head and turn back. Again, he taps me and motion to my seat and then himself. I once again ignore him and return to my conversation with my brother. Before the guy can disturb me again the bell rings and the class starts to empty. I grab my bag and head towards the door.
I gave some excuse that I was working on a homework assignment and needed questions answered and was too bashful to speak to my teacher, the last part was true, at least.
Today was a slow but productive day. My supervisor Jim Hornsby scheduled me for a class in order to be a certified field navigator. A field navigator is another word for case management. The class was held about a few hundred yards from CTLC. The class started at eight o’clock, I was the fist to arrive. When I sat down in the classroom I found myself reflecting on how much I have accomplish just this year alone. In the middle of my reflection I head a loud bang at the door, so I went to investigate and there was the rest of the student. They all came in like a pack, everyone knew everyone except me. I didn’t mind though because I figured if I knew thn I could probably cause a distraction for me while in class. Long who the pack of people about ten total, the instructor
"Tasnim, can you please stay after class? I need to talk to you." I let go of the door handle and whip my head back to face my third grade teacher Mrs. Russell. She said my name correctly for the first time all year, though her voice was stern. I realize that my jaw has dropped by the expression on her face as she peers over her laptop. As I walk slowly towards her, my classmates whisper, "Ooh she's in trouble" as they sprint out the door for recess. I stand near my teacher's desk waiting for all the students to leave and when the room is silent, Mrs. Russell says,
As I walked to my locker the bell rang and a voice came over the speaker saying that all the students needed to make there way to the gymnasium for a speech by the principle of the Junior High. I wasn’t very informed on what to do in the school for anything, so while everyone was putting their school materials away, I was making my way to the gymnasium so I had a head start to make it on time if I got lost. This was where my difficulties and
“Alright, class, let’s get straight to business.” I noticed the tone of her voice changed from elated to serious. “Who can tell me what this is?” she asked, making the irritating noise that only writing on a chalkboard can create.
“How does Mom do this so easily?” I thought, flipping the pages of a thin children’s book. When my mother read to me, it seemed so smooth, so effortless. But these scribbles surrounding the brightly colored pictures meant nothing to me I knew that the letters my teacher had flashed before the class should arrange into these words, but I could not recall the symbols. As the rest of the class sounded out the letters, forming words, then sentences, it seemed my mind could not make the connection Anguished, I eavesdropped on another child reading aloud from the same sentence and memorized it. When the teacher came by, I recited the sentence perfectly, but I still could mot make sense of the sea of lines floating on the page. I continued this way for several weeks. I managed to memorize the contents of the class’s repertoire of beginning reader’s books, without reading the words. Every time it was read aloud, I would frantically try to remember what had been said.
Spelling: the piece was laced with bad spelling. Throughout the reading one can easily come to the conclusion that English may not have been the students’ first language and or the letter was written in and haste.
Here I am in Mrs. Neufeld’s 3th grade math class. Today we’re having a test and usually when she gave us a test, there was an assignment due also. Well I forgot to do it. This may seem really small but I never forgot my homework. I immediately thought that I was going to get a yellow card for the day so I had to think fast. I asked the Chayton who was sitting next to me if they could give me my sheet and they said ok so I started it and thought what if I brought this to the bathroom and just did it there? I did not have pockets so I had to put it in my shirt and asked my teacher if I could go to the bathroom and use one of my cubes. She said yes and I bolted out of the classroom but just before I could reach the door she asked “did I check your paper yet” and immediately my stomach dropped as if I were on a rollercoaster.
I looked at her again finally noticing the pocky sticks spread out all over the floor. "I-I'm so so sorry!!" I said frantically, standing up and offering her a hand up. She looked at me, hatred in her eyes. "You little Bitch! You better pay for my pocky Bitch!" She shouted pushing me back on to the floor. "Ms. Lattimore! Leave Ms. Norcross alone!" The band teacher, Mr. Keaton, shouted walking out in to the hallway. "What! She is the one who bumped in to me destroying my pocky!" She said, putting her hand on her chest, defending herself.
With anger on his face he quickly looks down, when he looks up he says, ”Who threw that eraser.” I looked really scared I have seen this teacher mad many times but I have never seen him this mad.