One Good Minute

So today, then:

Got an email saying I had a new girl added to one of my classes. She stands waiting while I wrangle the fifteen-year-old hormones into a managable mess. She's nervous, maybe because she's new to the school, but maybe also because she moved to the United States from Lithuania not-so-long ago. So she stands, nervous. I get the others moving and finally make my way back to her.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," I say. It's my first year and I only swim as far as I can see, I want to tell her.

She smiles, terrified.

"We're reading Of Mice and Men. It's a book."

She's not an idiot, sir.

"We're already 80 pages in, out of 100. It'd be pretty hard for you to catch up at this point."

And she can grab a hold of the free pass I'm dangling. In fact, she could probably skate by for a week or two and blame me later.

"I will try very hard," she says.

One good minute.