First hour begins,
with tears of a student.
American Street was finished last night.
That ending, she whispers.
You squeeze her tight.
Sorry...you say.
It was beautiful she replies.
Shouts as another enters
with muffins handed over
as a gift.
He knows you love them,
you have since you first taught him in fifth grade.
He grins, knowing he pleased you,
and leans in for a side hug.
Their tall seventh grade bodies
mill about the front of the room.
Checking off the attendance sheet,
catching up with friends,
telling you about their books,
grabbing Chromebooks to vote in March Book Maddness.
A debate is getting heated in the back,
the boys are still angry that Winger was knocked out.
That Red Queen must be one powerful story.
A few boys pledge to read it over break,
it can't be that good.
You smile at their conversations,
so different than just seven months ago.
The speakers crack to life with morning announcements.
Students settle in,
listening, voting, pulling their books out.
Another student walks in, tardy,
hands you a pass.
You smile, tell her you're glad she's here.
The pledge comes and goes,
their lanky seventh grade bodies
begin to curl up around the room.
You pick up your Starbucks,
take a swig,
and observe.
Sweet hearts,
young children,
in teenage bodies.
You feel protective,
fierce love,
and beyond grateful to do what you do.
Thursday has begun.
Slice of Life is a challenge hosted by Two Writing Teachers
