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

The tide of noise began to rise. Olivia, the bouncy, tiny girl in short shorts from homeroom, was flirting outrageously with the two uranium-cube tossers. “He’s blushing,” said Olivia. “Look at him, he’s turning red!” I turned to talk to a kid named Winston in a Patriots T-shirt about nitrogen. “They used to have nitrogen tanks in paintball,” he said. “It was so powerful they went to CO2.”

I asked him if he was a paintball man.

“I’m more of a snowboarder,” Winston said. “My last run is tomorrow.”

Next to him, Sam, a quiet kid, was using orange Sharpie to jazz up the Kr on his krypton cube.

“Does krypton make you weaken and fall to the ground?” I asked.

“No, it’s a noble gas,” he said. “It’s highly unreactive.” Math was probably his best subject, he told me.

Olivia came over. “I have a question,” she said. “Can I get a Starburst?”

“No, but thanks for asking. What element are you working on?”

“Chlorine,” she said.

“My best subject is tech,” said Winston. “In tech, you can build stuff. I’m a hands-on person. We built a car out of wood, and we had to send it down a ramp a couple of times. And there was an egg in the car, a raw egg.”

“First it was a hard-boiled egg,” said Olivia. “They were trying to teach us you shouldn’t text and drive.”

“Then it was a raw egg,” Winston continued, “and when the car hits sometimes the egg splatters. If you crash like that, it’s going to be bam, you’re gone. You have to protect the egg. I went down three times, and then I did the hill of death.”

“The hill of death is where you have to stand on a stool,” said Olivia. “I had to stand on my tippy-toes, that’s honest.”

“I had to stand on my tippy-toes,” said Winston. “I lost my bumper, but the egg survived. I got a T-shirt for winning.”

Class over. Twenty-two more students, twenty-two more backpacks, twenty-two more iPads in their black padded cases, sixteen more element cubes. “Top o’ the morning!” I said, clapping my hands together.

“I’m walking on sunshine this morning,” said a boy, Harley, with exaggerated zest.

“I’m Mr. Baker,” I said. I successfully avoided saying I was the substitute— they knew that . While I was taking attendance, Renee stopped chewing gum, opened her large mouth, and yelled, “QUIET!”

“Don’t say quiet, just be quiet,” I said to her.

“Can I take the attendance down?” asked Harley, smirking.

“Don’t trust him,” said Renee, resuming gum-chewing.

They still had work left to do on their element cubes. Christopher, a gamer, wrote that chlorine was a murderous gas . The French had used it first, in World War I, he said: The only problem was when the wind changed. Joy had chosen tin. “It’s very rare,” she said. “Rarer than copper.”

I asked her why it had that strange two-letter symbol, Sn . “Just to make life difficult?”

“It’s because it’s from the Greek,” she said.

Courtney, the girl next to Joy, said, “My dad is a history teacher.”

“Congratulations, Courtney,” said Joy sarcastically.

Courtney had covered her gold cube with sumptuous stripes of golden crayon. “It’s used in medications,” she said, “and it’s used in chips, in iPhones, that sort of thing.”

“And you would never know,” said Joy.

“This tape sucks,” said Felicity, who was next to Courtney.

There was a scuffle across the room. “Ow, Lizzie, stop!” I felt like a waiter in a crowded Greek diner.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“We’re massaging our necks,” said Jessica, who had her hands around Lizzie’s neck.

“These ladies are hurting each other,” said Harley.

“IT’S A CHICK FIGHT! YEAH!” said Todd, who was shrimpy and high-voiced.

Nearby, Victor had drawn a large black spiral on one side of his cube. I asked him if it was a picture of the death spiral of the hafnium electron. “I don’t know,” he said.

Harley grabbed a textbook and slammed it on the table.

“Why would you slam the book?” I asked him.

“I don’t know,” said Harley.

“I don’t know either,” I said. “It makes a loud slamming noise if you slam it.” I pointed out the question on page 87, the one about toast, and told him to answer it. “This question sums up the whole problem,” I said.

Courtney, Felicity, and Joy came up. “Mr. Baker, can we work out in the hall?” said Courtney.

“People always ask me that,” I said.

“We’ve got a bad class,” Felicity said.

“You’ll miss the social whirl,” I said.

“I don’t like the social whirl,” Felicity said. “I like my friends.”

“I did oxygen,” said James, in a hockey shirt.

“What happens when oxygen comes into contact with the human brain?” I said. I laughed demonically, startling the boy. “Never mind.” I took a huge breath. “WHEN YOU’VE FINISHED YOUR MAGIC CUBES—”

Harley was making a scene.

“Shut up, Harley,” said Todd.

“No,” said Harley.

“WHEN YOU’VE FINISHED YOUR MAGIC ELEMENT BOXES, THEY GO UP—”

“They’re magical?” said Harley.

“Yes,” I said, “because when they’re done, you get a mark.”

Todd had discovered the cube from an earlier class balanced inside the dry fish tank. “It’s drying,” I said. “It’s got sparkles on it.”

“I want to touch it,” said Todd.

“No,” I said.

“Stop it!” said Elizabeth.

More kids crowded around.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” I said. “Perfectly balanced in its own little aquarium.”

“That’s Eileen for you,” said Elizabeth.

“Did you see how he threw my pencil on the floor?” said Todd, pointing to Harley. “I should get him arrested.”

Lyle, in baggy sweats, imitated a fussy teacher. “That is none of your concern, Harley. Turn around in your chair and return to your work.”

Harley said, “I’m sharpening my pencil.”

“He’s sharpening his mechanical pencil,” said Todd.

“So, what is a physical property?” I asked Lyle.

Lyle’s eyes strayed to an open textbook. “A physical change is one in which the form or appearance of matter changes, but not its composition,” he read.

“You’re artfully reading the textbook,” I said.

“I have it memorized,” he said.

“So if you have a rock,” I said, “and you take a hammer to it—”

“That rock’s going down,” said Lyle.

We laughed and talked about blowtorches and states of matter.

“I’m so tired of winter,” said Marielle, looking out the window. She had a long braid and a gentle, unformed face.

“I saw crocuses the other day,” I said. “That means spring.”

“It should be like ninety degrees outside by now,” said Marielle. “We should be wearing shorts.”

There was an odd momentary hush, one of those coincidental clearings in the verbal jungle that sometimes occur.

Todd promptly spoke up. “Get to work, children.”

Harley said, “Todd’s doing nothing but causing trouble.”

“Is he disturbing the intellectual content of the class?” I said.

“I don’t think there is any intellectual content,” said Marielle. “You forgot, you’re teaching eighth grade.”

“Inner-lectual,” said Harley.

“I like that,” I said. “Innerlectual and outerlectual.”

“Yummy,” said Todd, rubbing his stomach.

“Inter-what? What’s inter-lectual?” Jessica asked.

“Look it up,” said Lizzie.

Todd was taking pictures of me with his iPad. I told him to stop.

Harley said, “iPads are stupid. I don’t like them.”