6/6/2023 0 Comments A different blue by amy harmonWhat was with these American names? I wondered if Blue was male or female. Everyone was present except for one student. Word had apparently traveled about the Brit teaching history, because they all seemed very intent on my speech, and many of them snickered when I began to take roll. The students filed in, most of them seniors, most of them looking as old as I. The last class of the day: European History. But by seventh hour the heat, combined with my own nerves, had it curling around my forehead and ears in quiet rebellion. If my ears didn’t stick out a bit I would have cut it so short it couldn’t curl. I’d wetted my hair down and tried to brush out the curls. If I could make even one student love history the way I did, it was worth every effort. And we were all going to be good mates by the end of the year, I was convinced of it. None of these kids were going to know my first name if I could help it. She also thought I should have a poster of the BBC’s adaptation of Pride and Prejudice framed above my desk, just to be funny. Tiffa had informed me it looked a bit like a nursery, but I ignored her. My favorite people in history lined the walls that I’d painted a cheery eggshell blue. I’d spent the weeks leading up to the school year holed up in my classroom, determined to make it a place people would want to be. Every student that walked through my classroom door seemed less than happy to be there. In fact, it wasn’t anything like I expected.
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