The Very Principled Maggie Mayfield
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What they—or at least Maggie—didn’t respect was empty careerism: the me-me-me, résumé-building ethos of district administrators like Arlene. Maggie kept her focus on the students and teachers under her, the ones she was responsible to and for. But Arlene didn’t look down. An ambitious creature, Arlene was always looking up, and all she saw was the rump of the person ahead of her on the ladder. That was the person to beat. To ascend quickly, competence wasn’t enough. Hell, competence wasn’t even necessary. The day-to-day fallout of this or that education program often did not become evident until years had passed. No, what counted—what made people rocket to the top—were flashy new programs.
Arlene began, “I couldn’t resist a little visit with you today, Maggie.” Arlene loved making surprise inspections on all the principals in the district. Arlene called them her “little visits.” Like every dictator, Arlene loved her euphemisms. Rubbing her hands together, she said, “It’s an exciting day. Isn’t it?”
Maggie agreed, “The first day of school is always exciting. It’s—”
Arlene cut her off. “Not the first day of school. We’ve both seen plenty of those. No, I was talking about the start of our grand, new venture with Edutek.” Arlene looked expectantly at Maggie.
Maggie forced a smile, saying lamely, “Uh, yes.” Then, deciding this wasn’t fulsome enough, she echoed Arlene. “Very exciting.”
Arlene eyed Maggie. “Now, Maggie, I told you. You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re not going to lose an inch of your precious curriculum.”
Maggie nodded. “I know.”
Arlene continued, “The MathPal is only going to take up a tiny fraction of the students’ time.”
Maggie kept nodding. “True.” Long experience had taught Maggie that Arlene liked a responsive audience. She needed Maggie to nod and “uh-huh”—little verbal pats to ease out Arlene’s oratory burps.
“Just twenty minutes a day. It’s—”
Maggie interrupted, “Wait, I thought we agreed to ten minutes.”
Arlene blinked, as if Maggie’s disruption had thrown off her programming. “Yes, but no.”
“What does that mean?”
“Yes, it’s true that—in the beginning—Edutek indicated that ten minutes a day would suffice. But over the summer, I spoke with Danny a few times.” Daniel Zelinsky—or Danny Z as he obnoxiously called himself—was Edutek’s smooth-talking, high-profile CEO. Arlene seemed to savor the implied intimacy of using his first name. She purred, “Danny says his team went back over the numbers and realized they actually needed twenty minutes a day. I’m sure you understand.”
“No, I don’t understand,” said Maggie. “We agreed to ten minutes. That’s what I told my teachers. That’s what they planned for. We can’t just double that.”
Arlene said placidly, “I’m sure the teachers can make a few minor snips to their lesson plans to make room for this. It’s just twenty minutes a day.”
Maggie shot back, “It’s not just twenty minutes. It’s more like thirty when you take into account all the time handing out those special MathPal tablets, getting all the kids started on the software, getting them off the software. Making a kid turn off a computer isn’t easy. It’s like yanking a bone away from a big dog. You have to do it gently. It’s—”
Arlene cut in, “It’s part of a well-rounded, modern education, Maggie. Surely, you’re not against computers in the classroom.”
Maggie’s cheeks reddened. In education circles, being labeled “anti-tech” was career kryptonite. Maggie righteously pointed out, “We already have computers in the classroom. We had Chromebooks as soon as they came out, and our tech lab—”
Arlene nodded. “No need to tell me. I’ve done three webcasts about the Chromebook program. Terrific stuff, if I say so myself.” Arlene ran a weekly webcast on the district website, implicitly taking credit for anything interesting that happened anywhere in Carmel Valley. She ran her videos under a multicolored (suggestive of diversity) “K-A-P-O-W!” logo. KAPOW! stood for knowledge, aptitude, persistence, opportunity—wow! It was an awkward name, but far better than Arlene’s first, short-lived title: Superintendent Horvath’s Initial Take. No one had ever designed an S-H-I-T logo.
Maggie lied, “Yes, the webcasts were wonderful. And since we already have such a strong tech program at the school, I don’t see why we need more than ten minutes a day with Edutek software.”
Arlene smirked, “Well, I’m afraid that’s what Edutek is demanding. And even if we don’t need Edutek’s software—and I disagree with you on that one, Maggie dear—we do need their money.”
“True.” Maggie blew her bangs out of her eyes, literally and emotionally deflating.
Arlene chided her, “Stop looking like that. Trust me, this is a win-win. Edutek gets to work out the kinks in the MathPal, and your students get access to the most advanced educational software in the country.”
“But we don’t know anything about this software. They haven’t even let us see it yet.” Maggie’s voice squeaked a bit as she said this, betraying her anxiety.
Arlene said, “No worries. Danny promised me he’d have a MathPal tablet on your desk first thing tomorrow morning.”
“So I get it just one day before my students do? Doesn’t that strike you as odd? I mean, why has Edutek been so cagey with us?”
Arlene leaned forward in her chair, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Edutek has to be careful, Maggie. They don’t want their trade secrets leaking out.”
“We’re not going to leak anything. We signed confidentiality agreements.”
“This is cutting-edge stuff, Maggie.”
Maggie sighed. “I guess so.”
Arlene returned to full volume. “I know so. And just think of it. Your students will be the very first to benefit from this technology. I’ve spoken with the Edutek people. And trust me, their teaching methods are revolutionary. We are talking some very out-of-the-box thinking.”
Arlene loved anything outside the box. Maggie didn’t understand it. Like most teachers and principals, Maggie loved it inside the box. It was warm and cozy in there. Maggie had gone into education and stayed on its front line because she loved the beauty and tradition of it: the way that hard work and solid technique produced amazing, albeit gradual, results. Most principals and teachers were secretly traditional, borderline Amish about shaking up their curriculum and methods. They’d seen too many new programs go bust: the educational equivalent of those as-seen-on-TV inventions that ended up on the back shelves at CVS, except way more expensive. Maggie knew better than to voice any of this, so instead she nodded, murmuring, “Sounds wonderful.”
“It is wonderful, Maggie. And even if it isn’t, even if it’s schlock, think of what you’ll get out of it. Your precious art, music, and science programs will be fully funded for a whole year. Not to mention the children’s beloved Mr. Barone.”
Maggie corrected gently, “Baran.”
Arlene blathered on, “Yes, the PE teacher, whatever. The children will get another year of his relays and whatnot. And all for just twenty minutes a day. I think we can spare that. Don’t you?”
Eager to end the conversation, Maggie faked a smile and said her line. “Yes, Arlene. It’s a win-win.”
5
LUCY’S BIG PLAN
Lucy Wong held it in all morning. Every time Mrs. Canfield asked her third-grade class a question, Lucy forced herself to say nothing. Thanks to the many hours of outside academic coaching Lucy’d received, regular school held no surprises for her. It was like sitting through a poorly produced reality show contest she’d already seen. Calling out answers—showing off—was the only fun part.
Still, Lucy would have to clam up if she wanted to make any friends. She started playing the Teen Titans Go! theme song in her head. Everybody loved Teen Titans Go!, and Lucy wanted to be part of the everybody this year.
As always, she had done her homework. Over the summer, she had sat through three seasons of Teen T
itans Go! It wasn’t easy. As usual, Lucy’s parents had overloaded her schedule with lessons and violin practice. Still, Lucy had made the time. She’d also filled her notebook—the one with the purple unicorns on the cover—with lists of social dos and don’ts. Do talk about Teen Titans Go! and YouTube videos. Do not raise your hand in class! Also, do not talk about anything that fascinates Chinese parents: test scores, the best colleges, who the smart kids are (act like them!), who the dumb kids are (stay away!), or live-in grandparents. White kids think it’s creepy to have your grandparents living with you, unless your grandma is wacky fun like the ones in Mulan and Moana. Lucy’s grandmother was not wacky fun.
Do wear T-shirts and multicolored sneakers. Do not wear anything that looks like it could be part of a school uniform. White people hate uniforms. They want to be unique, but in the same way. So no uniforms.
Lucy was not aiming to become popular. She knew popularity was impossible for her, like bending nails with her mind (she’d tried). No, Lucy just wanted to make friends. She was tired of reading by herself at recess or hiding out during lunchtime in the school library.
True, she had some sort-of friends already, the other kids from Chinese school. She rode with them after regular school in a white van with big golden letters on the side saying: “GOLDEN TIGERS.” Golden Tigers did three hours of lessons every afternoon: Mandarin, mathematics, violin, and Ping-Pong, or sometimes kung fu.
Lucy knew what to say at Golden Tigers. It was “opposite world,” so raising her hand was a good thing there. But Lucy felt lonely there too. The students at Chinese school could never fully relax around each other. They knew their parents were constantly gossiping and comparing their children’s accomplishments. One child’s shining moment became a whip for other parents to use on their kids, and no third grader shined as brightly as little Lucy Wong.
Lucy’s mom told Lucy she was lonely now because she was the best. Mrs. Wong promised Lucy she would not be lonely forever. Someday, Lucy would make friends with other people who were the best. They could all be best together and tell the not-best people what to do. When Lucy talked about fitting in at regular school, her mom told her not to act white. Don’t be a banana or a Twinkie—yellow on the outside, but white on the inside. Lucy said she didn’t want to be all yellow or all white, inside or out. She wanted to be a blend. American mixed with Chinese. White mixed with yellow. Mrs. Wong countered, “That’s just snow with pee in it. Nobody wants that.”
Now, looking out over the sea of crowded lunch tables, Lucy was determined to prove her mother wrong. She would blend in; she would make herself fit. She noticed a few seats open next to that big, dumb girl who was repeating third grade, Rachel Klemper. No thanks on that one. Then she spotted an empty seat next to Isabelle Lowry. Isabelle was a small-boned, brown-haired girl who wore sparkly headbands. She was quiet most of the time, but Lucy liked her because she had a big, warm laugh that made her whole body shake. Isabelle sat next to another third-grade girl Lucy barely knew: Sophia something-or-other.
Lucy steeled herself and approached the girls’ table with her lunch box in hand. “Hey there, Isabelle, can I sit with you guys?”
Isabelle smiled. “Sure. Suit yourself.”
Lucy sat. This was good. Contact had been established. She listened for a few minutes as the girls chatted about characters from a TV show she had never seen. Lucy waited for some pause so she could jump in like in double Dutch. When the pause came, she said—a bit too loudly—“Do you guys like Teen Titans Go!?”
Isabelle answered, “I used to watch that show . . . back in second grade.” Isabelle looked wistfully off into the distance, as if second grade—just four months ago!—existed in some nether-past of horse-drawn carriages and pocket watches.
Lucy would not be deterred. She turned to Sophia. “What about you? Do you like Teen Titans?”
Sophia—her mouth full of turkey sandwich—widened her eyes and pointed to her chewing mouth. When she’d swallowed, she said, “It’s okay, I guess. I’m more into The Magicians of—”
Lucy flailed. Without Teen Titans, she had no idea what to talk about with these girls. Like a lawyer leading a hostile witness, she pressed Sophia. “Yes, but you have seen Teen Titans, haven’t you?”
Sophia nodded. “Yes, but . . .”
Lucy smiled with relief. It would all be okay. “So, who’s your favorite character on Teen Titans? Raven or Beast Boy?”
Sophia said, “I dunno. I haven’t seen it in a while. Um, maybe Starfire? She’s the pink one, right?”
Lucy brightened. They were finally getting somewhere. “Yes. Starfire is pink. She has cool powers, but I don’t like her too much ’cause she’s weak in her mind. She’s always believing everything people tell her. She doesn’t have her own plan. You have to have your own plan.” Lucy looked expectantly at the other girls. They looked back at her with vacant stares, obviously not big planners. Lucy rummaged around in her brain for more words to throw at them. Something had to work. “Oooh, and Starfire doesn’t wear enough clothes. Her belly is always showing.”
Sophia frowned. She didn’t care about Teen Titans, but now that she’d stated her preference for Starfire, she felt slighted by Lucy’s attack on the character. “There’s nothing wrong with showing your belly. I wear a bikini all summer. Lots of girls do.”
Isabelle echoed, “Yeah, lots of girls do.”
Lucy sensed a disturbance in the force. She tried to reingratiate herself. “That’s different. That’s at the beach. Bikinis make sense at the beach. I have a bikini too.” This was true, although her mother would never let Lucy wear it. Mrs. Wong said too much sunshine makes people leathery, like handbags.
Sophia wasn’t placated. “You can show your belly on places not the beach. It’s called crop tops. Cool girls—teenager girls—wear them all the time. My big sister has a blue one, a purple one, a—”
Lucy cut in, “Okay, but—”
Sophia went on relentlessly—convinced that the many colors of her sister’s crop top inventory constituted a coup de grâce in this tense, intellectual argument. “An orange one with spangles, a green one, and a red one with the American flag on it, for, like, America.” Sophia jutted out her chin, daring Lucy to say something unpatriotic about crop tops.
Lucy countered, “Okay, but nobody wears crop tops all the time. You don’t wear them to school.”
Sophia countered, “Only ’cause Mrs. Mayfield won’t let us. I hate the stupid dress code.”
Lucy pressed, “Yes, but there’s a reason why it’s part of the dress code. We don’t want everyone walking around with their bellies sticking out.” Lucy pooched out her stomach to demonstrate.
Sophia balked. “Are you saying I’m fat?”
Isabelle told Sophia, “You are not fat.” She placed a soothing hand on Sophia’s forearm. “There is no way you could be fat. You are one of my best friends.”
Lucy fumed, telling Sophia, “I didn’t say you were fat. I was just saying that the school doesn’t want people walking around with their bellies out all the time. It’s . . . inappropriate.” “Inappropriate” was the word adults used for all the rules that they could not explain. Lucy was not sure what it meant. But she respected the word’s power. The other girls did too. Silence fell over the table for a moment.
Sophia rallied. “Jasmine showed her belly in Aladdin. And she was a big hero.”
Lucy was tempted to inform Sophia that girl heroes are called “heroines.” Lucy’s mom always loved it when Lucy corrected someone else’s grammar. Mrs. Wong would taunt the befuddled person in her thick Shanghai accent, “You’re in America now. You need to speak English.” But Lucy stepped on her impulse’s foot. She said, “Yes. But nobody in the Middle East dresses like Jasmine anymore. They all wear black shower curtains now.” Lucy didn’t know the word for “burka.”
Sophia countered, “You can’t wear a shower curtain.”
Lucy said, “It’s not really a curtain, more like a big black sheet.”
Lucy corrected her. “That’s the Midwest. That’s part of America. The Middle East is on the other side of the world, like Egypt and stuff.”
Isabelle shot back, “Well, if it’s on the other side of the world, it can’t be that important.”
Lucy didn’t know a lot about the Middle East, but she knew adults used it as the example of everything important and depressingly complicated. She said, “It is so important. America throws all our wars there.”
Isabelle frowned, irritation dawning on her face. “We don’t have any wars going on.”
Lucy’s eyes widened. Forget Teen Titans Go! This girl didn’t know anything. “Are you kidding? We have lots of wars.”
Isabelle answered, “Nuh-uh, we don’t.”
Lucy’s cheeks reddened. She knew these girls would not like her if she corrected them. But still, Lucy felt pulled along—caught in some emotional riptide she didn’t understand—to point out the truth. In later years, she’d recognize that pulling as a sort of integrity. But for now, it was just an inconvenient urge. She said, “We have two big wars—one in Afghanistan and one in Iraq. Plus, we dropped bombs on Syria.”