It was near noon. Miss. Higgins called for the students to form up. She shouted and raised her hand up high for all to see. With her other hand, she placed a whistle gently on her lips. A high pitch steam of air shot from the small plastic box.  Some of the students groaned and moaned. The students troddled towards the familiar woman, whom they spent most of their day for most of the year. In most cases, the woman would become a peripheral figure in their memories for years to come.

        All students were present, except for Little Timothy and his friends, who were still chatting by the gazebo. They glanced over to the growing congregation but returned to their conversation.

        Miss. Higgins counted the students as they came closer. She counted them by twos, with a squinted eye she placed her index and middle finger over their faces. There were fifteen students assigned to this classroom, which was less than her previous classroom by a dozen. She re-counted the students twice before confirming that three students were missing. She scanned the playground until her eyes met the boys giggling underneath the gazebo.

She checked her wristwatch. She lost track of time playing with some of the girls who insisted she join them in their game of pretend. The principal would be waiting for her, and she knew he was a punctual man. She blew her whistle again, louder and harder, hoping it would get the boys’ attention, but to no effect. She could feel the group in front of her become antsy as they wanted for the next instructions to come out of her mouth.

“Clay,” she pointed to the boy standing in the middle of the pack, “You’re in charge of the group. Make sure everyone stays here, okay? Everyone has to listen to Clay.” She felt her brows furrow as she walked towards the gazebo.

The boys and girls giggled at Clay. Some asked him if he could dismiss them while others taunted him. Others continued to groan and moan at the prospect of the impending nap time. “Can we do something fun instead of nap time, Clay?” asked a girl.

“Yeah,” a boy added. “Let’s play house inside.”

Still in the middle of the group, Clay felt his eyes dropping to the ground wherever he looked and met someone’s curious gaze. He became aware of this and raised his eyes to meet those of his peers. He did not want to be in this position, but he felt like he had to do it. Miss. Higgins always asked him how he was doing and offered to get him gloves when it became colder in the year. He didn’t want to let her down. Soon, he felt his arms and legs tremble but he tensed them, hoping no one would notice. “We have to stay here,” Clay replied.

The kids picked up on Clay’s nervousness and began asking him why his arms and legs were acting funny. They questioned if he was sick or dancing. Clay saw that Miss. Higgins and the band of troublemakers were walking back. Clay’s eyes watched their feet until they were an appropriate distance from the group so he could back himself further into the crowd and disappear. Miss. Higgins thanked Clay for his help and became the focus of the group again.

Clay felt all the eyes move off of him and felt immediate relief.

Timothy approached the group with a sense of disdain. He held his head high and puffed his chest forward. He made sure to meet anyone’s gaze, refusing to look away until they looked away. The thought of those students who immediately circled towards the teacher when she whistled made his skin cringed. They reminded him of animals that submissively listened to their masters. Even worse, Timothy thought, were those who eagerly wanted to please their owners. That made his blood boil. Later, he knew his mother would lecture him and his father may punish him. He met Clay’s curious eyes, which cowered for a moment before regaining their strength to stare at the troublemaker. “What’s his problem?”

Back in the darkened classroom, the students assumed their position for nap time. Miss. Higgins, half-way out the door on the opposite side of the outside entrance, explained the plans for the remainder of the day, which included an early start on homework. Some students tried to protest, but she quickly left. Clay grabbed his flat pillow from his cubby and settled in his usual corner away from most of the students. He looked at the clock and smiled before covering his eyes with his arm. Across the room, Timothy’s friends were making noises to catch his attention. They whistled and threw small alphabet blocks at their friend. Other students peeked curiously at the scene. Others perked up at the opportunity to do anything other than napping. Timothy snickered. His friends waved him over, and he checked the door before joining them. On the way, Timothy grabbed the toys that his friends were pointing at from across the room.

“Miss. Higgins,” the principal asked when the teacher appeared at the door, “Why are you late to our scheduled meeting?”

“I apologized, Mr. Block. I thought it would be best for the students to expend their extra energy in preparation for the early homework time. It’s part of the initiative to raise their academic performance.”

“--I didn’t say you could come in, Miss. Higgins. You see, that door opened five minutes ago for you to enter, but you have missed your chance.”

“It is unacceptable that you are late. But I can see your reasoning about the extended play time. The logic follows. It would have been worse if you said it was for their enjoyment or something along those lines. An educator needs to educate. The children cannot dictate what the educator does or does not do. Remember that, Miss. Higgins. This meeting was to gauge your plan for raising this notorious classroom’s performance, but since it seems like you have a plan that is important….we will see the fruits of your labor, if there is any. If not, your contract may be terminated.”

“Go on,” the principal said, motioning for the woman to go away. “Back to your classroom where they need you.”

Feeling relieved about the principal’s tone, Miss. Higgins let out a sigh further down the hallway. She believed that as long as he did not say anything explicitly bad about her performance regarding the classroom it was not too bad. She couldn’t believe that they moved her without any notice to lead this classroom. The students in the other class were all obedient, but this class is different. It is impossible to get kids to listen when they do not want to. It is already impossible trying to change an adult’s mind about anything.

Clay rolls back and forth in his corner. He plugs his fingers into his ears, but the kids were shouting and toys were clankering against the floor. What was supposed to be a peaceful break turned into a chattering cacophony. He heard a little bit of every ongoing conversation, but couldn’t make sense of anything. He felt a rage well up in this chest, but knew it wasn’t his place to correct his peers. At the epicenter of the all the fuss, Timothy egregiously stood on a stack of books and threw a puzzle box against the T.V. The room exploded in a roaring laughter and cheering from their classmates. Some students like Clay looked at the scene with fear and dismay. Clay watched Timothy’s friends run around the room to pick up other objects to pass to their leader. One would suggest an outrageous idea. The other would shout that it was the coolest thing that Timothy could have done. “Idiots,” Clay thought. “I don’t want to get in trouble because of these guys.”

One of Timothy’s friends carefully handed him the teacher’s mug with sly grind.

“Do you think you could break this?”

“Of course he can,” the other one interjected. “Timothy isn't scared of anyone. No one can boss him around.”

Timothy felt the etching on the mug’s exterior. It was a clay mug. It must have been handcrafted and glazed. It was different from the ones he saw before in stores. He knew it would break if it dropped, not much less thrown.

“Are you going to do it?”

“Yeah, Timothy. Do it!”

Some of the other classmates stopped what they were doing to watch. Timothy noticed that most if not all of the class was now watching him. “No one can stop you if you decide to throw it, Timothy.”

“That’s right,” Timothy thought. “No one could stop me.” But this mug was different compared to the puzzles and stuffed animals that they were tossing around the room. He had a feeling that this mug might have meant something more to the dumb teacher.

“The teacher stopped our play time earlier, Tim. You have to show her that no one can stop you from doing whatever you want.”

“Unless anyone can stop you from doing whatever you want…”

Timothy pitched the mug as hard as he could against the furthest back wall, and it shattered near Clay. Everyone paused. The energy in the room shifted from harmless rebellion to serious danger. Timothy’s friends started to point at him with wide eyes and backed away from him. The other children also backed away from him, leaving Timothy alone in the center of the room on top of his mountain of books. A neighboring teacher ran into the room and gasped.

“What in dear god’s name is going on?” She exclaimed. “Samantha! Get to your classroom now!”

Miss. Higgin walked away from Timothy’s mother’s car. She saw Clay waiting to be picked up and checked her watch.

“Clay, where are your parents?” She asked. “Are they coming?”

Clay nodded.

“There’s a teacher’s meeting in the gym. We’ll be in there if you need any of us, okay?”

Again, he nodded.

Miss. Higgins hurried into the building.

After the door closed, Clay began walking home. His mind felt exhausted from the day’s responsibilities, yet the thought of arriving home and beginning his relaxation carried him forward. Cars sped by and the strong winds slapped him pleasantly. Around this time, traffic lessened significantly leaving only a couple of speedy cars. He imagined these sorts of drivers intentionally wait until rush hour is over to enjoy their way home. When he gets home, he would microwave the leftovers from yesterday and complete the homework. He wondered if his mother was still asleep on the couch. He increased his pace after noticing the sun is setting quicker than he expected.

“Henry, can you hurry up,” the woman demanded. “There is no traffic around this time.”

“Louise, I am driving the speed limit,” the man named Henry replied, looking into the rear view mirror. “The road winds a lot around this part. Didn’t you hear about the tragic accident that happened a couple months ago?”

“You’ll be fine, honey,” the woman said without much concern. “I have to make you and Timmy dinner before going out tonight for the work meeting. Timmy, make sure you do your homework.” Louise opened a pocket mirror and checked how her hair looked.

Timothy was unresponsive. He leaned towards the window away from his father, his forehead touching the window. He hated listening to his mother berate his father, but he also hated his father for not being firmer in how he spoke to his mother. His eyes traced his father’s thin, small silhouette in the reflection. His moustache was comically larger compared to the rest of his face. He didn’t want to be like him at all.

“Honey, what meeting are you talking about?” Henry asked, again looking at the mirror trying to catch Louise’s eyes. “You’re not going to have dinner with us tonight?”

“I can’t, Henry. I’d love to but you know how work can get.”

“Work must have been getting busy,” he said. “You haven’t spent as much time with us as you used to before that promotion situation.”

“It’s just work, Henry,” she said.

She wanted to end the conversation to get home to make the food for her son and get changed.

“Timothy, we need to talk about your performance at school,” Henry said, changing the subject. “What’s going on, buddy?” Henry glanced over to his son with concerned eyes.

Then suddenly, a racoon darted across the street, and the entire car felt a thump. Henry twisted the wheel, failing to dodge the creature and the car ran into the sidewalk.

“Henry!” Louise shouted. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry, everyone,” Henry said, composing himself. “Timothy, are you okay?”

Timothy banged his head on the window, smudging the oil where his forehead was previously placed. “Yeah, dad.”

Henry reversed off the sidewalk and resumed its course home.

Further down the street, Timothy saw a kid walking home and as soon as he passed them, he recognized the kid. It was Clay, but he didn’t think Clay saw him from the street. What’s Clay doing walking this way home?

* * *

        Months later after a couple of brief meetings with Timothy’s parents, Miss. Higgins grasped that they were only concerned with Timothy getting through school. His father seemed surprised by Timothy’s behavior in school compared to that at home. Questions were raised, but Timothy’s mother dismissed her husband’s concerns, crediting it to natural behaviors of a growing boy. Starting last week, Timothy stopped spending time with the two boys he usually got into mischief with. It was said among the girls in her classroom that when the boys were discovered writing on the bathroom walls the boys pinned it on Timothy, and that Timothy responded by pouring toilet water onto the boy’s pillows stored in the cubbies.

        On her way to work, Miss. Higgins couldn’t stop thinking about what the principal said to her about Timothy. He’s in your care, so he’s your problem, the man said. In her mind, he was someone else’s problem, but the principal was the one who relocated her to this classroom without any notice. That frustrated her, but she knew that she was capable of dealing with Timothy where others may fall short. It was a gut feeling. She knew he had potential to do good, but what and how she didn’t quite have the answers yet. As she parked her car, she flipped through her calendar to orient her day. There were many notes scribbled on the margin for today because of the recent taskings that every teacher needed to be a part of. She needed to assist with the recruitment fair for new teachers, it was that time of year where graduations were occurring all around the state. Not to mention, there were favors she needed to return and the improvements she needed to demonstrate by the end of the quarter. She felt mentally exhausted before the day started.

        She entered the building today half an hour earlier than usual to slowly make progress on her mountain of tasks. Passing by the lobby, she heard some students chatting with the teacher assigned to the early report program located in the library, where the teacher arrived at the school early to give parents the opportunities to drop off their kids for whatever reason. She curiously peaked into the library. The library was her favorite part of the school because though it was run down and the colors of the walls were pale and faded, it offered her a place where her mind would settle like a left effortlessly falling towards the ground.

        “Clay?” She called out from the doorway. “What are you doing here so early?”

        The boy looked up from the book he was reading.

        “Miss. Higgins,” he said, surprised to be addressed at this time. “My dad dropped me off before work.”

        “Let’s go to the classroom. You can bring your book you are reading.”

        Clay put his shoes back on, but kept his jacket off because he still felt sweaty from the outside.

        The two talked about their morning on the way to the classroom. The hallways lit up as they entered and passed through the corridors.

        He’d never seen the building this way. Typically, he waited until more students and teachers flowed through the lobby before he began walking to the classroom. This was a novel experience for him like they were on a spy mission that involved infiltrating a new territory.

        “It was pretty cold this morning, right?” Miss. Higgins asked as she unlocked the room. “It is getting to that time of the year where the winds are super chilly.

        Clay seated himself at his desk. He hung his coat on the back of his seat. His coat was slightly wet from his walk to the school, and it felt gross now that he was inside the warm building. He really liked Miss. Higgins. He could tell that she was a nice woman who tried her best to teach the students. It felt nice when she called on him to answer a question, except when she puts him in charge of something. Still, he did it to help her because he knew the classroom can get difficult to manage with people like Timothy. He didn’t understand Timothy’s behaviors, why he acted the way he did. All Clay wanted to do was to get to the next grade level without any unnecessary complication to help his mom. She worked all the time, and she’s getting a lot skinnier nowadays. His father’s been gone for months now for his trucking job. Sometimes, he and his mom get postcards from him, but it’s been a while now.

        Seeing that Miss. Higgins was focused on something at her desk, Clay resumed his reading. He felt bad for lying to her, but he didn’t want his mom or dad to get into trouble. They said something regarding that people cannot know that they’re too busy or something because they’ll take him away. He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t want to risk anything.

        Miss. Higgins saw the book that Clay was reading when she looked up from her desk. The boy’s mannerism reminded her of her elder brother. It has been a while since they spoke since he moved across the world. The scene reminded her of her brother reading her books when she wanted to take her mind somewhere else. Would Timothy benefit from spending time with Clay? How would take impact Clay?