One-Minute Writer: Teach

Mrs. Smith steadily clicked down the hallway, listening to the echoes of the medium-high heels of her new, black shoes. She had chosen black at the shoe store last night because the neutral color would match most of the professional attire currently hanging in her closet. Walking, walking, ever closer to the door at the end of the hall, she tilted her head, noticing dust particles swimming in mid-air along the pale stream of light seeping through the partially-covered window. In the shadowed recess around the doorknob was a note hanging from a string. Mrs. Smith raised the note to her pink designer eyeglasses and read: "Teach Me." She pulled back her shoulders, lifted her chin, and braced herself as she entered the room.

Inside the room, Denasia was in her seat, but her head lay in a puddle of drool (already?) on the desk. Samantha was out of her seat gazing at the clouded sky through the slats of the dusty window blinds. John was waiting at the door to explain why he needed to leave the room today ("No, not the bathroom today, I did that already. I hurt my hand yesterday, and someone talked about me. On my way to the nurse, I need to go to guidance...") James peered out from beneath his own shoulders, the place where his body seemed to have caved in, while in front of him, Amy and Janelle hurdled obscenities at each other about... well, who knows what today... Anthony pulled the hood of his black sweatshirt tightly over his face and yawned. The sound of his parents' argument had kept him awake last night, and he didn't know if his brother would ever come back home. All the while, Dustin sat front row, center aisle with his hand raised waiting to ask about the lesson topic for the day although it was posted on the class agenda right in front of his face.

Mrs. Smith advanced to the front of the room.