Adequate Yearly Progress

by Roxanna Elden

  “Okay. You can try. But I’ll probably be busy.” Rosemary hung up.

  “Good morning, Mr. Scamphers!” Maybelline tried to sound cheerfully surprised. She wondered how long he had been in the room.

  “Good morning to you, Ms. Galang. I got your e-mail yesterday, but it seemed like a better idea to talk about this in person.”

  “Definitely,” said Maybelline, relieved.

  Ever since she’d sent the e-mail during the Super Bowl, she’d been waiting for a sign that Mr. Scamphers was starting a paper trail on Lena Wright. Instead, he seemed to be prying for information about Hernan Hernandez. This had nagged at her, until finally she’d sent an e-mail suggesting she might be able to help more directly.

  “I am not telling anyone else this, Ms. Galang, but I trust you, and I do need someone helpful.”

  Maybelline nodded eagerly, waiting for him to ask exactly what she’d been hinting at in her e-mail. It would feel so good to finally say Lena’s name aloud.

  Mr. Scamphers lowered his voice. “Our superintendent has approached me privately to say I may be considered for a principal position next year, provided our school meets certain… numerical targets.”

  “Well, I am a numbers person.”

  “I had a feeling I could count on you.” He moved closer. “With all this national attention, Superintendent Wallabee needs to make sure teachers’ Believer Scores align closely with their students’ test scores. It’s a delicate situation, as you can imagine.”

  Maybelline nodded, though she wasn’t exactly sure what she should be imagining. Then again, she’d always thought imagination was overrated.

  “Especially since they’ve got those computer programs now. Any teacher who messed with an answer sheet would get caught in a second.”

  Maybelline was confused. None of this had anything to do with the misunderstanding about Hernan. Nor did it have any connection to Lena Wright’s forbidden classroom fridge and disregard for data.

  “Luckily, Mr. Wallabee has a close relationship with Global Schoolhouse’s test-creation division. They’ve been kind enough to provide some preview documents ahead of the test.”

  “But that’s—”

  “I know. It’s still a logistical nightmare. It’s important to remember that the questions and answer choices will be in different orders on different tests, but the questions themselves are the same. The good news is that the OBEI people are in charge of test security, and I’ve already got them eating out of my hand. And now I’m in charge of the Believer Scores. I just need help distributing the materials to certain teachers whose discretion we trust. Teachers like you, for example.”

  Suddenly, Mr. Scamphers’s smile didn’t seem so friendly. Giving out test questions ahead of time wasn’t just against the rules—it was against the law. But it was the last part, teachers like you, that bothered her the most.

  “Mr. Scamphers”—she straightened and looked him in the eye—“I am not going to help anyone cheat.”

  Mr. Scamphers emitted a lighthearted laugh that sounded strange coming from him. “Oh, Ms. Galang! I hope that wasn’t what you thought I meant.”

  “Okay. Good.” Perhaps she had misunderstood.

  He studied her face intently for a moment. Finally, he said, “I was only mentioning that I’ve taken on a lot of the responsibility for making this school run correctly.”

  “I understand.” Maybelline felt the conversation clicking back into its groove. “Actually, that’s why I e-mailed you—to make sure you knew exactly who I was talking about when I said—”

  “For example,” Mr. Scamphers continued, ignoring her, “I’m very good at catching students who use fake addresses to enroll here. You may have noticed that some of the failing students on that list you sent me have not returned to your class.”

  “Yes. Thank you,” said Maybelline, though she hadn’t realized what Mr. Scamphers had done with the names she’d sent him. She tried not to seem worried. Had he heard her conversation with Rosemary? Had she said enough to incriminate herself?

  The long look Mr. Scamphers gave her answered both questions. “If I knew about a situation where someone was doing that at another school, it would probably make sense for me to tell the administrators there. I’m sure you can imagine.”

  “Yes,” said Maybelline, and this time, she found she could.

  “Good. So we understand each other.”

  She nodded. Her throat felt dry.

  “Get ready, Ms. Galang. You might be calling me Principal Scamphers next year.” He gathered his keys tightly in his fist and stepped into the hallway without a sound.

  In the last five minutes of her planning period, Maybelline tried several more times to call Rosemary, but each time, the phone rang through to voice mail.

  TESTING SEASON

  DR. BARRIOS SANK into his desk chair, coffee in hand. He needed it. There was nothing like the onslaught of e-mails a principal received during testing season.

  6:59 A.M.

  Subject: Testing Protocol and Security Measures

  URGENT: As you are all aware, testing begins next week. Administrators are reminded to follow all protocols and test-security measures. Failure to comply may result in disciplinary action.

  7:01 A.M.

  Subject: Sample Question of the Day Achievement Initiative

  URGENT: Effective immediately, instructors at Believers Zone schools are to write one sample test question on the board each morning and discuss it with students. Please note the Sample Test Question of the Day must be erased before students are released to their testing rooms. Failure to comply may result in disciplinary action.

  7:06 A.M.

  Subject: TCUP Assessment Pep Rally

  URGENT: All Believers Zone schools are to hold a motivational pep rally in the one-week period leading up to the TCUP test. If you have not scheduled a pep rally, please begin planning one immediately.

  7:09 A.M.

  Subject: Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day

  URGENT: This year brings yet another increase in participation in Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day. Teachers and administrators are to respect students’ decisions to embrace real-world work experience but also reiterate the importance of taking upcoming tests seriously. Please encourage students to look for opportunities to practice test-like questions while visiting their parents’ workplaces.

  METHODS OF DEVELOPMENT

  WHAT WOULD AN additional paragraph at the end of this passage—

  “Miss, can I go get a permission form if we’re not doing anything later?” As usual, Luis’s timing was so bad it seemed purposely designed to get on Lena’s nerves. She’d already signed permission forms for half of her first-period students by the time Mrs. Rawlins made the announcement about the Sample Test Question of the Day initiative.

  “Luis, have we ever not done anything in this class? Ever?”

  Luis huffed back to his seat. Lena finished writing the methods-of-development question on the board. In its entirety. What would an additional paragraph at the end of this passage likely be about?

  The PA beeped again. “Thank you for another interruption. The following teachers and their students will please report to the auditorium for a TCUP assessment pep rally: Mr. Hernandez, Ms. Mahoney, Ms. Wright…”

  Cheering drowned out the rest of the announcement. Pep rally! No class!

  “Miss, can I stop by the office on the way down to the pep rally?”

  “I said no, Luis.”

  There were so many reasons to miss class at Brae Hill Valley High School: pep rallies, obviously. But also field trips. Athletic events. Personal illness, or the illness of a family memeber. Car trouble. A family member having a baby. Court dates. Headaches. Cramps. Babysitting for the baby of a family member who had a court date, or a headache, or cramps. The due date of a major project that you did not do. Fridays. Mondays. The days before or after a three-day weekend. Tuesdays on weeks when you didn’t come to school Monday, which was almo
st like a three-day weekend. Classes where you never did anything. Classes where the teacher always made you work. The willingness of at least one adult relative to pick you up early if you said you were bored. The entire week before a major holiday. Days when you were just doing test prep. The days after the test was over, when nothing mattered anymore. Diarrhea. Constipation. The Monday after a late-night TV awards show. Classes where you hated the teacher. Classes where the teacher hated you. Rain.

  But not one of these excuses was quite as delectable as the national holiday known as Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day. Every year, on the fourth Thursday of April, the only thing that stood between most teenagers and a whole day off from school was a form from the attendance office. Students needed only to complete this form with what appeared to be a parent’s signature, then gleefully thrust it toward their teachers, who would have no choice but to excuse the student to spend the next day at work with their parents. Most parents, meanwhile, assumed their teenage children were at school.

  This explained the crowd blocking the hallway as Lena walked her class toward the auditorium. A long line of students waited outside the entrance of the attendance office, while others stopped immediately outside its exit, forging their parents’ signatures as they pressed the forms against any available flat surface: the wall, the floor, even the backs of friends who were simultaneously forging signatures on their own forms. The entire area around the attendance office was now a noisy tableau representing the exact opposite of attendance.

  Luis turned to Lena with a pleading look.

  “Don’t even think about it, Luis.”

  * * *

  The only thing worse than a test-related pep rally was a last-minute test-related pep rally. The only thing worse than that was a last-minute test-related pep rally planned by Mrs. Rawlins. The auditorium, when they arrived, was rowdy even by Brae Hill Valley standards. Teachers did their best to corral their classes into adjoining blocks of seats as students streamed through the doors and threaded through the aisles, searching for their friends. Onstage, a nineteen-year-old deejay played Lena’s least-favorite song.

  All my bros packed in my ride like a spaceship… Pick them hands up, put ’em high like a face-lift… Ridin’ through the sky with my hand on the gearshift… Yeah, I got that go switch, that go switch.

  Mrs. Rawlins, who was also definitely responsible for the lack of seating arrangements, was yelling into the microphone. “Teachers, please be reminded that y’all are responsible for your students’ behavior!”

  Mrs. Rawlins’s unshakable belief in honoring students’ interests, combined with her position next to the onstage speakers, left her unaware that she was listening to the radio-friendly version of a much less appropriate song, the lyrics of which students knew by heart and were now belting out with enthusiasm.

  Empty-head hoes getting high like a face-lift… Ridin’ on my dick ’cause they all want that good shit… Yeah, I got that good shit, that good shit.

  Lena searched the room for partners in her misery. Maybelline Galang looked unhappy, but she did not make eye contact with Lena. Kaytee Mahoney was off to the side, pacing the aisle near her students and glaring at Mrs. Rawlins. Breyonna was there, too, but she was way up front, with a group of cheerleaders who were preparing to go onstage. Lately, Lena had felt a surge of affection and gratitude when she saw Breyonna, but the sight of cheerleaders removed any temptation to move closer.

  But it wasn’t just the cheerleaders that made Lena stay where she was. She was sure she’d heard Hernan’s name as part of the pep-rally announcement. Or was she just imagining she’d heard it? Maybe it was some auditory mirage her mind had created because, she suddenly realized, the only thing that could possibly make the next hour bearable would be enduring it with Hernan at her side.

  And then a door on the far side of the auditorium opened, and there he was, the light of the hallway streaming in behind him. He caught her eye, sharing a complicit grin as he directed his students toward the nearest empty section. Her hope deflated. She’d already wrangled her own students into a semicohesive seating arrangement, and there was no moving them now. There was nothing to do but stay right where she was, separated from Hernan by an ocean of screaming teenagers.

  The pep part of the pep rally was beginning. The cheerleaders ran onstage first, performing a cheer in which they replaced the name of the opposing team with the phrase TCUP test! Then the football players jumped onto the stage in their uniforms, striking aggressive poses as Coach Ray bellowed into the microphone in his game-day voice, “What are we gonna do next week, y’all?”

  “Beat that test!” the players yelled back.

  All of this went on for as long as such things could possibly go on, after which Coach Ray handed the microphone back to Mrs. Rawlins, who looked at the clock and said, “Um…” in a way that suggested this had been the total extent of her planning.

  Then, as if remembering that she enjoyed speaking into microphones regardless of her level of preparation, she brightened. “Students, I want to know who can tell me today’s Sample Test Question of the Day!”

  No one answered. The students in the audience lowered their voices, sensing that the most boisterous among them might be singled out and forced to participate. They played with their cell phones and generally avoided looking at the stage.

  “Come on, now! Didn’t your teachers put the question on the board this morning?”

  Now it was the teachers’ turn to avoid looking at the stage. Lena had barely finished writing the sample question when the pep-rally announcement interrupted her. She certainly hadn’t had time to review it with her students. Looking around at her colleagues, she sensed she wasn’t the only one.

  “Well, all right, then.” Mrs. Rawlins sounded like she was running out of peppy things to say. “Let’s have our teachers come up here and give you some test-taking tips!”

  The cheerleaders shook their pom-poms in approval. The deejay put the song back on, and once again the students drowned out the clean version with the original lyrics.

  Got that good shit, that good shit…

  Mrs. Rawlins called up the teachers, who shuffled up the stairs to the stage with the enthusiasm of a chain gang.

  For most of her life, Lena had loved performing in front of an audience. Ever since her humiliation at the poetry club, however, the thought of being on a stage had filled her with dread. Now, as she watched students gleefully singing about drugs, and girls delightedly shaking their bodies to lyrics about empty-head hoes, her desire to be elsewhere was so heavy it weighed down her limbs.

  “What’s wrong?” It was Hernan’s voice. He was walking up the stairs behind her.

  “I hate this.”

  “I know. The only thing worse than a last-minute TCUP pep rally is a last-minute TCUP pep rally planned by Mrs. Rawlins.”

  “For real,” said Lena. The relief of hearing Hernan echo her thoughts propelled her forward and onto the stage.

  Got that good shit, that good shit…

  Didn’t this deejay have any other songs?

  “First”—the music stopped again, and Mrs. Rawlins passed Lena the microphone—“let’s hear from Ms. Wright!”

  The sensation of the cold metal in her hand locked Lena into the double consciousness she always experienced while performing. This time, however, the part of her that was onstage felt powerless to command the crowd’s attention. The other part of her watched the room, where students were playing with their phones… turning around in their seats… laughing… at her?

  “Make sure you get a good night’s sleep,” she mumbled.

  She passed the microphone to Kaytee, who said something about eating breakfast and handed off the microphone to the next person as quickly as she could.

  The students showed no interest. Then again, why would they? The tips were nothing new. They were repeated every year, in every class and at every test pep rally, as if circling keywords or getting enough sleep could somehow cancel
out a lifetime of accumulated reading deficits. The microphone made its way down the line until it reached Mrs. Rawlins, and the teachers readied themselves to exit the stage.

  But Mrs. Rawlins was looking at the clock again. “Um…”

  Lena had a feeling something bad was about to happen.

  “Okay, I have another idea for y’all. Who wants to see your teachers dance?!”

  Now the students were paying attention. They shrieked, lifting their phones to capture the moment on video.

  The music started again, and so did the students. This time, it seemed every face in the auditorium was roaring the lyrics, every finger pointing at the teachers onstage.

  EMPTY-HEAD HOES GETTING HIGH LIKE A FACE-LIFT!

  Lena felt her body stiffen but did her best to move to the music. Anything to move this moment forward.

  RIDING ON MY DICK ’CAUSE THEY ALL WANT THAT GOOD SHIT!

  YEAH, I GOT THAT GOOD SHIT, THAT GOOD SHIT…

  Time slowed. It seemed she would never be done jerking her heavy marionette of a body as what now seemed like millions of laughing teenagers yelled “Riding on my dick.” They all knew the words to this ridiculous, illiterate fucking song.

  When the music finally stopped, the teachers did not wait for Mrs. Rawlins to have another idea. They collectively lunged toward the stairs leading off the stage. Lena made it to the stairs first, followed closely by Kaytee, and then Hernan.

  “All right!” said Mrs. Rawlins, behind them. “The pep rally is over, y’all!”

  “The only thing worse than a last-minute TCUP pep rally planned by Mrs. Rawlins,” said Hernan, “is a last-minute TCUP pep rally planned by Mrs. Rawlins that only takes up half the class period.”

  Both Lena and Kaytee froze.

  “No way,” said Kaytee.

  “No way,” echoed Lena. But when she looked at the clock, she saw Hernan was right: there would still be twenty-five minutes of class when they got back to their rooms. If it had been ten minutes, or even fifteen, she might have been able to get away with letting students “pack up” until the bell. But twenty-five minutes was legit learning time. It meant at least twenty minutes of cajoling students to work on a day when they had already celebrated the cancellation of class.