“Okay, kids, okay, everybody! Settle down,” said the teacher, now facing us. She had written her name, Ms. Petosa, on the chalkboard.
“Everybody find a seat, please. Come in,” she said to a couple of kids who had just walked in the room.
“There’s a seat there, and right there.” She hadn’t noticed me yet.
“Now, the first thing I want everyone to do is stop talking and...” She noticed me.
“...put your backpacks down and quiet down.” She had only hesitated for a millionth of a second, but I could tell the moment she saw me.
Like I said: I’m used to it by now. “I’m going to take attendance and do the seating chart,” she continued, sitting on the edge of her desk.
Next to her were three neat rows of accordion folders. “When I call your name, come up and I’ll hand you a folder with your name on it.”
“It contains your class schedule and your combination lock, which you should not try to open until I tell you to.”
“Your locker number is written on the class schedule. Be forewarned that some lockers are not right outside this class but down the hall,”
“and before anyone even thinks of asking: no, you cannot switch lockers and you can’t switch locks.”
“Then if there’s time at the end of this period, we’re all going to get to know each other a little better, okay? Okay.”
She picked up the clipboard on her desk and started reading the names out loud.
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