Living a Lie

By. La Shay Johnson-Trevillion

Summer had died and sophomore year had just begun. I barged through the clusters of friends and got a “You’re Excused!” simultaneously by each member of the groups. I let the negative remarks bounce off me and continued to dominate the halls.

It was the first day of school and already the first three periods all seemed the same. It was like each teacher was required to recite a mandatory speech, to every period.

“Okay so the syllabus for the class is going around. Let’s read over it and if there are any questions or concerns, I’ll address them at the end,” the teachers would repeatedly say. I figured by the end of the day I was going to go ballistic. I had heard the same annoying speech about ten times in three periods. To worsen matters, every period there was some idiotic student that found a flaw in the syllabus or never understood even the most self-explanatory statements. I knew soon I was going to self-combust.

“Papers that are not in on time will not be accepted late, only under certain circumstances,” the teacher read aloud.

Her hand jetted into the air. She sat legs tangled under her desk. Her face caked with cheap foundation, and cheeks that imitated rosy red. Her hands were anything but feminine and lacked the proper moisture of a female’s hand. The black hair that drooped to her neck was irreparable and damaged from the roots. This hair was untamed and atrocious to one’s eyes. I knew nothing beyond the physical attributes of this beast like human.

Seconds after impatiently waiting she began waving her arm crazily. It was so serious that her neighbors had to lean back for their safety. I was even concerned, and I was across the room.

“Yes. Is there a question?”

“Umm… Yes. What if I’m like sick or whatever and say like the paper was due that day, can I like turn it in when I come back or something?”

“Certainly if you have an excused absence, otherwise no.” I watched as she sat there in her wobbly desk. Watching her rock back and forth I knew she was contemplating something.

“So if that’s clear with the class, we can contin…”

“But what if it’s not excused?” she yelled out.

I began rapidly bouncing my purple dunks on the off white tiled floor, my pencil popped on the table uncontrollably and my eyes were fixed on her.

“Oh ma gossshhhhh ! What is so hard to undastand? This ain’t rocket science gurl. It’s common sense. He just told you the anser to yo question. Just read ova the paper again’n maybe that lil lite bulb in yo head will go off and you’ll magically get it.”

Loud silence filled the room and the only movement was by the clock.

“Who wants to read?” the teacher asked.

From that period on, I was positive the day was going to be intolerable. I had a short temper, it was a hot day, and people surrounded me. I felt smothered. I needed the day to hurry up and come to an end.

Entering my fourth period classroom, I instantly noticed where the teacher’s desk was. It was stationed in the far right corner across the room by the whiteboard. I knew not to sit in the vicinity of that desk. The last thing I needed was the pressure of the teacher breathing down my back when I had to write. I simply needed a corner to isolate myself, and I sat in that corner, La Shay’s Space. Waiting for my fellow classmates I took in the room again. Posters with inspirational quotes hung on the walls, and old work occupied space. Overall I had realized the class was like an oversized incomplete dorm room, plus the board and the desks. The teacher had all her things in Her Corner and everything was neat and organized.

I had gotten so caught up looking around the room I hadn’t heard the bell or even noticed that everyone was already in class.

“I am Ms. Ramirez and I will be your teacher for a portion of the year.”

I hardly caught the word, “portion” because I was too busy looking at a boy across from me. After I regained focus from my daydream, I captured the last bit of what she was saying.

“My husband is very sick and I need to care for him. So, I’ll be back next semester. I’ll be here for about a month until they find a new teacher or sub.” I searched her eyes for clarification. Surely her bubbly brown eyes were filled with pain. Her mouth hung slightly open as she released a sigh. Apparently this was a serious matter, and I understood she needed some time off. She further explained that she wanted to work as long as she could so the tragedy wouldn’t ruin her. Simply put, she wanted to lead a regular life.

I noticed a burst of energy going through the students.

“So will we have a new teacher?” he asked with excitement. It was an awful attempt to sound concerned.

“I’m sure you will.”

I turned to the boy and whispered, “I doubt it. We’ll just keep having subs all year basically, and we won’t learn shit.”

His eyes bulged and a look of panic ran across his face. Then suddenly he laughed, almost like I told him a joke. This was a surprise to me momentarily, until I realized whom I was talking to. This boy was the skateboarding type who wore torn down vans, with three holes in them, and called it a style. His jeans were decorated with distinguishing items such as barbeque sauce, bleach and dog hairs. He slouched in his desk wearing a shirt that read, “I do all my own stunts.” I figured he didn’t care about too much of anything besides the Skate Park and Red Bull, so, I didn’t take offense to his laughter.

“Shit... if we had subs all year, dat would go!”

I sat back in my seat and didn’t respond. Would it really? I had mixed opinions. From one perspective this would mean no essays, but I loved writing. I thought of the possibilities and concluded whatever happens, it’ll happen for a reason.

By now the class was active. Random students had begun shouting their two cents as if someone such as I actually cared.

“Damn Cuz, we bouta have dumbass fun in dis class.”

“Hell yea, I didn’t wanna do all dat damn work anyway. I fuckin hate writin.”

“Me too! Blud, all dem essays be on sum ol’ otha shit they gotda be like two pages’n shit,” somebody else exclaimed.

I just listened. I had to be in the wrong class. Were these kids seriously complaining about having to write essays that were only two pages? I guess they thought high school was a continuation of middle school. Two pages! I couldn’t get over it. I had to write two page essays in fourth or fifth grade. Maybe that was just me. World Lit was going to be interesting this year.

The class also had many advantages; we were allowed to eat (everybody always had leftovers after lunch), when we arrived on time we got extra credit (even though ninety-eight percent of the class was still fifteen minutes late) and finally, a writing class was great following lunch because it relaxed us.

My mind flooded with gorilla tactics to surviving the class. How was I to get every sub to like me? They all had different preferences to the type of students they liked. I could just act as reckless and ignorant as my classmates and get the okay pass. The okay pass meant the teacher felt sorry for me. This was like the “C” I received freshman year in math. The teacher mistakenly thought my sporadic attendance and morally incorrect work habits were due to me not being able to excel beyond that point. Little did he know it was all a test to see what sort of teacher he was. Maybe I could show some dedication to my work and an undeniable interest in learning and this would definitely allow me to get ahead of the class. Then the bell in my head had rung. My thoughts zipped to sixth period, Mission Accomplished taught by Ms. Genius. I had a plan to getting an “A” in Fourth period.

The first month with Ms. Ramirez was the definition of hard. She didn’t have a sympathetic bone in her body when it came to her students’ work. I chalked up the work- load as preparation for senior classes, even college. Everyday she taught a new lesson and we covered more than time would have allowed with any other teacher. Most teachers would’ve stressed over time and reduced their lessons for the year, then said the usual, “Well we won’t have time for that.” Not Ms. Ramirez. She and time had an understanding, some mutual agreement that an outsider could never comprehend. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve assumed she was living a perfectly fine life. In class she was always ready, assertive and anxious to fulfill her duties. Her competence never allowed for us to get over on her. She had no soft spots we dared to pounce on, for this I respected her. On day her forced patience with the class caused her to lash out. I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but I did know the class was being very loud and off task.

“Shut Up!” she hollered.

Most students were deprived of our tongues. Nobody had the audacity to even breathe too loudly.

“Okaaayyyy… but it has never been that serious. You screaming in ma ear just ain’t gon work,” I announced.

She ignored me and raged about how irresponsible we were.

“I gave you ten minutes to discuss the assignment, and you all have been just sitting down talking about basketball games and America’s Next Top Model.”

Well she did have a point. Top Model was always a topic amongst us girls and for the boys, basketball games were also a daily conversation.

The last twenty minutes of the class we had an expected pop quiz. We knew she needed to do something to get us mad and what better than a pop quiz? The bell rang before I finished and I just turned it in. She no longer had my respect.

The month of October had delivered our new teacher. She and Ms. Ramirez had talked a couple times. Her name was Ms. Black and she had black hair that shined without sun, a radiant flawless face and a lively smile. With a welcoming tone, polite mannerisms and jubilant southern hospitality she charmed us and we adjusted to her fairly easily.

The class turned into a student lounge when the new teacher came, and more immature students enrolled in the class. This added to the disciplinary issues we already had.

“Class, settle down,” she calmly said numerous times.

Fifteen minutes of the same chaos would fill the room.

“Class settle down now.” She would say, which sounded more like a suggestion than a request.

“Class settle down now, focus,” she tried again.

She couldn’t win. The students now controlled the class and they did any and everything they desired. I had gotten used to our new classroom life and I had favored Ms. Black. We did have assignments and occasionally everyone would complete them. I guess this was the least that we could do considering she had been so lenient.

My plan since the first day of school had finally been working successfully. I had strategized to simply suck up to every teacher or sub we had. I had to get on all their good sides in order to predict the outcome of my grade. Unlike the other stressed out students that worried over their grades, I rested assured that my grade would be perfect.

Sure enough, when we received our second grading reports I danced in praise as I saw the “A” standing there so militant like.

After months of the class running over Ms. Black we received the news.

“When? Mrs. Ramirez is coming back? Why do you have to leave?” I whined. The disappointment in my voice was obvious and I didn’t care.

“I wasn’t your teacher. I was a permanent sub,” she simply explained.

What was I to do now? Another teacher would come and I would have to try again to show I deserved an “A” more than anyone. Typically, I could see how one wouldn’t see the issue with this. The problem was when you peeked in our class you saw a class full of boys and a few girls. The boys were always piled together discussing whatever it was they discussed. We never looked busy and I was always talking to the teacher. Whenever I wasn’t talking to the teacher I was doing what I needed to do, although it sometimes appeared otherwise when people would come and talk to me. “I can give you guys my number and email so we can keep in contact and I would be happy to write letters of recommendation!” she exclaimed.

We exchanged contact information. I had become satisfied with her effort and I admired her patience. You never would’ve caught her raising her voice even through the tough days. She always kept her professionalism.

Our new sub was about 5’7, slim built and his short black hair tickled his eyelashes. He wore a black muscle shirt that displayed his array of tattoos. His arms, legs and back were covered with designs that varied from fishes, moons, random faces and random quotes. He was a human masterpiece.

“Do you like tattoos?” she asked. Over the past months I had gotten used to Dit and all her ridiculous questions. No longer did I care. I had gained self-control and realized she was just that type of girl. That irritating type that made you question if you were a bad person when you wanted to shout at her for just being her.

“Yea, I like how they show my artistic side,” he casually said, while nodding.

He taught for two days and during those days, he was the celebrity and we were paparazzi.

“Ay man, which one of dem hurt the most?”

“How old was you wen you got da first one?”

“When is you gon stop? You ain’t got nowhere to put anymore.”

Questions flew at him like darts to a bull’s eye. Eventually everyone who had a question wrote it down on paper and he answered each accordingly. My plan wasn’t necessary for him because the grading period wasn’t coming up and I had known he wasn’t going to be around when it did. I would save my plan for the next contestant.

Over the next three months we had many subs. Only a select few had any significance worth mentioning. My plan would never work again. I never knew how long one would stay. Half the time neither did they.

A young African American lady came one day with her laptop. She played us music while we worked and she told us of her eldest son in college. I grew tired of her because she never had anything new to say.

“I’m a real kew teacher. You can have your phones out and listen to your music, eat or whatever just get sum work done. At the end of the period everybody better have something to turn in.”

Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, she didn’t return.

A boy-friendly Latina came and taught for a couple days and only interacted with the males.

“Hahaha… yes, Mi have no boyfriend just amigos.” Her Spanglish disgusted me. She wore a v- neck shirt and let her long watery hair dance to her neck. She made it a duty to laugh, and then comment, on whatever the boys said. The boys were only left with the faint memory of her laughter.

Another permanent teacher had been delivered: Mr. Vaughn. He was a short handsome man, with a heart-melting smile. I wouldn’t call it a crush but something about him attracted the girls in the class to him. He remained our teacher up until the last two weeks of school. I had used every trick in the book to get the grade I wanted.

“Hey do you need help after school with anything? Do you need a proctor? I can help grade tests if you need the help,” I recited.

Time after time he denied the help. I had gotten the point: he didn’t like me.

The last two weeks of school a guy named Mr.M came to help out Mr. Vaughn. He was a usual sub that everyone already had at least twice. The times I had him issues arouse but this time I didn’t want to jeopardize my grade because of him. He was an older white man that spat out sarcastic remarks naturally, as if he was born to do it. I knew it was crucial for me to get the grade I had been working so hard for, but how could I now? I was known for having a smart mouth and I couldn’t let him disrespect me. He hadn’t disrespected me yet, many others had been the victims of his verbal abuse and soon I would be too. I had to make a decision: Should I neglect my need for self-respect over a grade? Or could I put my personal battles aside and focus on what really mattered?

“The next two weeks we’re going to be in the library. Library behavior is mandatory and if you don’t behave it’ll reflect on your grade,” Mr. M had said to my group.

The class had been divided into two groups. Group one consisted of the elite students and group two consisted of the misdirected students. I had originally been in group one until I realized I was the only black girl in the group. My people had left me and I felt abandoned. I spoke with Mr. Vaughn and he switched my group.

During the last two weeks of school in the library, I had tried becoming my own partner with assignments and focused on myself. Suddenly, I became distracted in the vital, last couple days of school. The boy I had been daydreaming about from the first day of school was now the enemy.

“Umm… can you move? You’re occupying my space,” he said.

I looked up from my paper, with a look of irritation. It was Deandre. Through the year he had always been bothering me. Some kids said we were flirting but we both knew we weren’t. He simply liked harassing me.

“What? Boy there is space all through this library for you. I was here first anyway. Go sit somewhere else if it’s that serious,” I said as he sat down right next to me.

“No. I don’t want to. You can move cuz it is that serious,” he said with a half smile on his face.

“Mr.M can you tell La Shay to move cus she’s really distractin me? I’m tryna do my work,” he complained.

Mr.M then told me to move and to stop flirting around during class time.

“I wasn’t even the one doin anything! That was him and wasn’t nobody flirtin wit dat boy.”

The teacher walked away and Deandre smiled with satisfaction. Later, Mr. M had given me only two out of the normal three stars for the day.

The next day I sat with my skull on fire. I needed to know if the incident from yesterday had affected my grade. I knew there was only one way to know.

“Mr. M about yesterday… I wasn’t trying to be rude or disrespectful in anyway I was just upset. I just wanted to know if that would affect my grade?”

“Yes it will. You knew what was expected of you and you fooling around with that young gentleman was unacceptable.”

I received my final report card for the class. A “B” stood there and I was frozen. In disappointment, I ripped the paper.

I refused to accept after all the isolation from my classmates, all the sucking up and all the headaches I still never achieved my goal. I was so upset and embarrassed because I believed if nobody in the class got a decent grade… I would. I thought about talking to my counselor regarding the situation but what could she do? She could email whoever should address the issue but the bottom line was, she didn’t have the authority to force the teacher to give me the grade an “A”. So, I had to accept it for what it was.

From the experience, I regained myself. Being I was able to grasp the larger picture I also redefined myself. My head and my heart were in a constant battle and friends went astray because I did what my conscious told me was right. I had become a stressed out individual who needed to have thee perfect grade to feel at peace. Now I realize the grade didn’t make me. I was so anxious to be recognized as a motivated student that I had stepped outside of my skin, to live up to someone else’s expectations. The situation was a complex simplicity and I simply over thought everything. I know now, I should’ve kept true to myself instead of trying to entertain others’ perception of me. If those subs couldn’t accept the authentic me then I should’ve acknowledged them as unworthy of my time. But because I never allowed from them to see me genuinely they went off what I presented. I was living in a world where grown ups made the rules. Living in a world where rules made the grown ups. I was living in a world of rules. Rules I couldn’t abide by because I knew I was living a lie.