Evan Hunter - The blackboard jungle

Rick busied himself with his Delaney book, glancing around the room, flipping cards over as he took the attendance. Half were absent as usual. He was secretly glad. He was always grateful for the cutters now, because the classes were easier to handle in small groups.

He turned over the last card and waited for them to quiet down. They never would, he knew, never.

Reaching down, he pulled a heavy book from his briefcase and rested it on the palm of his hand. Without warning, he slammed it onto the desk.

“Shut up!” he bellowed, thinking I’m beginning to sound just like Halloran .

The class groaned into silence, startled by the outburst.

Now, he thought. Now I’ll press it home. Surprise plus advantage plus seize your advantage. Just like waging war. All day long I wage war. Some fun.

“Assignment for tomorrow,” he said flatly.

A moan escaped from 55-206, and Miller, an engaging grin on his face, said, “You work too hard, Mr. Daddy-oh.”

The name twisted deep inside Rick, and he felt the tiny needles of apprehension start at the base of his spine. So that’s it for today, eh, Miller? he thought. Today you draw the line at Daddy-oh. Today you call me Daddy-oh and break my back that way.

“Quiet, Mueller,” Rick said, feeling pleasure at mispronouncing the boy’s name. “Assignment for tomorrow. In New Horizons ...”

“In what?” West asked.

I should have known better. Rick reminded himself sourly. We’ve only been using the book since the beginning of the term. I can’t expect them to remember the title. No.

“In New Horizons ,” he repeated impatiently, “the blue book, the one we’ve been using all term.” He paused, gaining control of himself, telling himself he lost control too easily lately. “In the blue book,” he continued softly, “read the first ten pages of ‘Army Ants in the Jungle.’ ”

“Here in class?” West asked.

“No. At home.”

“Christ,” West mumbled.

“It’s on page two seventy-five,” Rick said.

“Whut page?” Miller called out.

“Two seventy-five.”

“What page?” Levy asked.

“Two seventy-five,” Rick said. “My God, what’s the matter with you?” He turned rapidly and wrote the figures on the board in a large hand, repeating the numerals slowly. “Two, seventy, five.” He heard a chuckle spread maliciously behind him, and he whirled quickly. Every boy in 55-206 wore a deadpan.

“There will be a short test on the homework tomorrow,” he announced grimly.

“Another one?” Miller asked lazily.

“Yes, Miller,” Rick said, “another one.” He glared at the boy heatedly, thinking Don’t start up with me today, Miller. Just don’t, that’s all. Miller grinned back engagingly, safe behind the secure comfort of the arbitrary line he’d drawn. Goddamn you and your goddamned line, Rick cursed silently.

“And now,” he said, “the test I promised you yesterday.”

A hush fell over the class.

Quick, Rick thought. Press the advantage. Strike again and again. Don’t wait for them. Keep one step ahead always. Move fast and they won’t know what’s going on. Keep them too busy to get into mischief.

He began chalking the test on the board. He turned his head and barked over his shoulder, “All books away. Antoro, hand out the paper.”

This is the way to do it, he realized. I’ve figured it out. The way to control these bastards is to give them a test every day of the week. Write their fingers off.

“Begin immediately,” Rick said in a businesslike voice. “Don’t forget your heading.”

“What’s that, that heading?” Belazi asked.

“Name, official class, subject class, subject teacher,” Rick said wearily.

Seventy-two, he thought. I’ve said it seventy-two times since I started teaching here. Seventy-two times.

“Who’s our subject teacher?” Belazi asked. His face expressed complete bewilderment, but he could not quite hide the smile there.

“Mr. Daddy-oh,” West said quite plainly. He sat in his seat next to Miller, his stringy blond hair hanging over his pimply forehead. An insolent smile perched on his mouth, and Rick looked at the smile and at the hard luster of West’s eyes, and then he turned his attention to Belazi.

“Mr. Dadier is the subject teacher,” he said. “And incidentally, Whoust,” he glared at West, “anyone misspelling my name in the heading will lose ten points.”

“What!” West complained, outraged.

“You heard me,” Rick snapped.

“Well, how do you spell Daddy-oh?” West asked, the smile curling onto his mouth again.

“You figure it out, West. I don’t need the ten points.”

“Don’t worry, teach, I can spell your name all right,” West said.

Rick bitterly pressed the chalk into the board. It snapped in two, and he picked up another piece from the runner. With the chalk squeaking wildly, he wrote out the rest of the test.

“No talking,” he ordered. He sat down behind the desk and eyed the class suspiciously.

A puzzled frown crossed Miller’s face. “I don’t understand the first question, teach,” he called out.

Rick leaned back in his chair and looked at the board. “It’s very simple, Miller,” he said. “There are ten words on the board. Some are spelled correctly, and some are wrong. If they’re wrong, you correct them. If they’re right, spell them just the way they’re written.”

“Mmmmmm,” Miller said thoughtfully, his eyes glowing. “How do you spell the second word?”

Rick leaned back again, looked at the second word and began, “D-I-S...” He caught himself and faced Miller squarely. “Just the way you want to. You’re taking this test, not me.”

Miller grinned widely. “Oh. I didn’t know that, Chief.”

“You’ll know when you see your mark, Miller.”

He cursed himself for having pronounced the boy’s name correctly, and then he cursed Miller for simply being Miller. He remembered the day he’d come back, after the Christmas vacation. He remembered Miller stopping him in the hallway and telling him he’d heard about the baby and was sorry. He’d stared at the boy and tried to combine both halves of his character: the half that could be an angel in a Christmas show and could express concern over the death of Rick’s son, and the half that raised hell in the classroom. He had given it up as a sorry task, had thanked Miller for his sympathy, and then left the boy. He knew what to expect from Miller now. Even after the show, and especially after the long talk he’d had with the boy. The easy road. That was what he would get. And the easy road was the hell-raising road, the one-of-the-boys road. And I’m taking the same goddamned road, Rick thought bitterly.

He sighed and made himself comfortable at the desk, and then he looked out over the class.

De la Cruz will cheat, he thought. He will cheat and I won’t catch him. He’s uncanny that way. God, how I wish I could catch him. How does he? On his cuff? Where? He probably has it stuffed in his ear. Should I search him? No, what’s the use? He’d cheat his own mother. An inborn crook. A bastard.

Bastard, Rick mused. Even I call them that now. All bastards, all the time. I must tell Solly Klein I’ve succumbed. I must take Solly aside someday and say, “Solly, old boy, you were right. This is the garbage can of the educational system.” Hell, even Miller recognized that. And then I must admit that I’m doing nothing more than sitting on the lid. And then I must look up Josh Edwards, wherever the hell he is, whatever the hell he’s doing, selling shoes, washing automobiles, and I must tell him. I must say to him, “Josh, I’m a fake. You were the brave one. Josh, and I’m just a goddamned fake. It’s I who’s the coward, Josh.”