Nicholson Baker: Substitute: Going to School With a Thousand Kids

“They live, and die,” said Paloma.

“There’s a funny song by the Cruisers, I think,” Bobby whispered. He whisper-sang, “‘Life sucks, and then you die.’”

“That’s the worst song ever,” said Paloma.

“It’s kind of depressing,” I said.

“It’s not a dark song, it’s a funny song!” said Bobby. (It’s by the Fools.)

“Mrs. Painter,” said a smart kid. “On the BrainPOP, I just finished doing natural selection and evolution, but whenever I hit save it always—”

“I know,” said Mrs. Painter. “That happened to Eva, too. Just screenshot it. Not a big deal. You don’t have to redo it, I trust you.” She checked the clock. “THREE MINUTES, so if you’re working on BrainPOP, make sure you either pause where you are, or don’t start a new quiz if you haven’t.”

I watched the class begin its end-of-class routine. This is what they did five or so times a day: snatches of work saved on BrainPOP or IXL or somewhere on the network, papers handed in for grades or signatures or stuffed away, pencils stowed or abandoned, iPads zipped, backpacks shouldered, hair floofed, shirts pulled down in back where they’d ridden up. And at the same time, small heaps of key terms began to smolder and self-immolate in their minds.

“ALL RIGHT, THIS IS WHAT I NEED FROM YOU,” said Mrs. Painter. “I need you to close your iPad. Leave on your desk your evidence, if you have any, and your capacity matrix. I’m coming around. If I need to sign off on an area, you need to let me know. HOLD ON TO YOUR STICKY NOTES, AND WRITE YOUR INDIVIDUAL SOP ON THE BOTTOM.”

“Obviously, we’re all stupid,” said Paloma.

“We’re not stupid,” said Bobby. “Just under-intelligent.”

“It ain’t over till it’s over,” I said. “Seems like you’ve got a lot on the ball to me.”

Mrs. Painter collected Paloma’s capacity matrix. When she was gone, Paloma showed me two anime drawings she’d made in colored pencil — both of short-haired youths in jumpsuits with multicolored hair. “This one is a boy, but he totally looks like a girl,” she said.

“Wow,” I said, “these are nice. When did you do these?”

“This one I did last night, and this one I did two nights ago.”

I said how good they were — they were good. “I love the hair.”

The principal’s voice came over the PA system. “Your attention, please, for the end-of-day announcements.” He began talking about the girls’ soccer team.

“VOICES OFF,” said Mrs. Painter, but everyone kept talking.

“Don’t let them break your spirit,” I said to Paloma, quietly.

“No,” said Paloma. “I kind of break my own spirit sometimes. I stopped drawing once my dad died. That was a year ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

“I just got back into it,” she said.

“Attention, girls’ lacrosse players,” said the principal, “practice has been canceled today. Attention, students, we will be collecting iPads next Monday and Tuesday. Please bring in all the equipment that was issued to you at the beginning of the school year.” Sports physicals for next year were available for free on June 17 with the school nurse, he said. “And that’s going to conclude the announcements for this afternoon. Have a great evening, everybody.”

“Thanks for your help,” said Mrs. Painter, holding a handful of sticky notes.

“It’s a pleasure,” I said. To Paloma I said, “Good luck with your art.”

“Bye,” she said.

On the way out I ran into the potter from February’s substitute training class. She’d done some time at Hackett Elementary and at the high school; now she was a long-term sub at the middle school, teaching math.

“Lordy,” I said.

“It’s easy,” she said.

“Oh, it’s a piece of cake,” I said. “I’m glad you’re on the job.”

“You, too.”

I sighed and unlocked my car — all set with Day Twenty-six.

WALLINGFORD ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, THIRD GRADE

THAT’S JUST THE WAY SCHOOL IS

I WAS SITTING in Mrs. Compton’s third-grade class at Wallingford Elementary at eight-thirty in the morning when Mrs. Hulbert, the teacher next door, came by to let me know that the school was going to be having a lockdown drill that morning in the cafeteria, just after snack time.

I had a substitute ed tech in the class, Ms. Lamarche. “This class can be pretty chatty,” she warned me.

“I don’t mind,” I said.

“My hair used to be long,” said a boy named Andrew, rubbing his head. “Yesterday I got a haircut.”

“It looks good,” I said. “Summer’s here.”

“I’ve been in this room quite a bit,” Ms. Lamarche said, “so if you have any questions, feel free to ask.” When more kids began arriving, she took charge of the lunch count. “MAKE SURE YOU GUYS MAKE YOUR LUNCH COUNT ON THE BOARD, NOT ON THE IPADS, OKAY? And Marshall, we’ll be watching you today.”

Mrs. Compton’s sub plans said that a student, Colleen, had selective mutism and spoke to nobody. “If it is necessary for her to respond to you, have her use a whiteboard.” I was supposed to write, and I did write, the following things on the board:

— Make your lunch choice

— Hand in library books

— Finish Lulu packet

— Check Showbie Morning Business for 5 worksheets!

— Read on your Kindle if finished

Most kids chose “brunch for lunch”—French toast sticks with syrup, a sausage patty, a hash brown patty, and oven-baked beans. Andrew went around letting his classmates feel his shorn head. “Everyone on the bus made fun of me,” he said.

Mrs. Compton was a great believer in the digital future — so much so that she had the children learning penmanship not with pencils or pens in hand, but with iPads flat on desks: the kids had to trace, with unsteady fingertips, over the dotted image of cursive letters on their screens. That morning they were learning to handwrite the letters p and g on their iPads. Book reading happened on Kindles, and Mrs. Compton was a follower of the CAFE method of reading — Comprehension, Accuracy, Fluency, and Expanded vocabulary — which she itemized in a wall chart with a green polka-dot background. Comprehension was especially taxing and meta-cognitive: “I make and confirm my predictions. I check for understanding. I determine the author’s purpose. I retell the story. I find cause-and-effect relationships. I distinguish between fact, opinion, and propaganda. I make connections text-to-text and text-to-self.” Below the green polka dots was a display of reading comprehension strategies that Mrs. Compton had found somewhere online, each personified by a cartoon animal. Digger the Dog determined important ideas. Kit-Kat Connector activated background knowledge. Jabber the Reteller, a toucan, synthesized and retold. Questioning Owl asked questions before, during, and after reading. Iggy the Inferring Iguana made inferences and predictions. Another wall poster offered writing advice: “Choose a strong idea. A strong idea is clear and exact. Narrow down general topics. Each paragraph should have a topic sentence . It will tell the reader what the paragraph is mainly about.” There was a tip sheet on how to stretch a sentence:

Who? My cute puppy.

What? My cute puppy curls up.

Where? My cute puppy curls up on the rug.

When? My cute puppy curls up on the rug each night.

Why? My cute puppy curls up on the rug each night to chew his bone.

Math required a math vocabulary wall chart, which included factor, product, median, mean, mode , and range —the last four defined with the help of a poem:

Hey diddle, diddle,