The Script

It’s generally 14 year old boys.  They’re often functionally illiterate and school is the last place they want to be.  Even worse is being in this class. And I have entered their territory.  I’m new to them and have no authority or place in the hierarchy.  And I am up the back, where all the action happens.

I’m generally there before class starts.  Sitting. Minding my own business.  They tumble in, assert their space and look at me.  Sometimes the teacher introduces me, which is good.  The ‘Ms’ gives them a clue, if not a laugh.  But if not, it’s me…and the boys. 

As soon as they can, they’ll give me a hard look.  Perhaps lift a chin, or wave at me smugly.  I might nod back, or point to the front (where the teacher is, you know, teaching).  That’s never enough though.  Regularly, a version of this occurs:

Boy: Hey

Me: Hi

Boy: What you doin here?

Me: I’m just watching the lesson.  You should too.

(Often a pause here.  They’re still scoping me out.  This pause leads to muttered conversation with fellow boys and much pointing and giggling.)

Boy (same one, different one): Are you a boy or a girl?

The decent into chaos after this has different flavours, depending on the class, school or teacher.  Or even me.  See, I still think I don’t exist in this conversation, even though it’s about me.  Too me. And I have yet to find the right way to head it off at the pass, before I’m visible in all the wrong ways.