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Chapter 1
Dean
The room before me sits mostly quiet. The only sounds are those of the students breathing, their pens on the papers before them, and the sound of those papers flipping over.
Today’s test, a gut-wrenching surprise to them all, is really just for me. I need to know where they are in their knowledge of American Sign Language. Am I the only teacher to give a ‘test’ on the first day of college? Probably, but it’s not a graded test. This will set a precedent, helping me to pace what to teach and how to teach, for the entire year.
I have a sign on the door that says “if you come to my class, be prepared to actually learn.” There’s a reason for that sign. It was the same sign one of my favorite college professors had on his door. He, too, was a test-on-the-first-day-of-class kind of professor.
Wayne Lorramie was the man who’d made sure I became something that mattered.
He’d taken a kid who had no real idea of what he wanted to do with his life and gave him a purpose. I would never have thought I’d have become a teacher. I had no discipline back then. I thought of college as a way to get away from an unhealthy home environment. I’d go to class, put in minimal effort, and just glide by, then I would sort myself out.
He gave me a chance to make my life important. He pushed me to get my shit together.
The computer screen before me flips to the next slide. The people in the pictures are going through the basic signs.
The test moves right along, hopefully engaging those big brains, drawing back what they’d learned and probably hadn’t thought about for the entire summer.
If they are at a beginner level, fine. This was a beginner’s class, after all. If they are all past that point, we can do a quick review then move onto harder things. ASL as a whole isn’t complicated; it’s more a mind game you have to play with yourself.
I look up, making sure the images on the projected screen are fading away and a new one pops up after thirty seconds. They shouldn’t be struggling to make the signs out, but I can see one or two that are looking rather panicked.
I’d been sure most of the young ones in this class would have a good grasp on them, but I’ve seen kids swing into this class not knowing the difference between hello and thank you after supposedly being in an ASL class for a year or more.
I just don’t understand how they either fake knowing something that has to be physically done or completely forget an entire school year’s worth of lessons in an eight-week period.
There are a few extremely happy faces in the front row, and toward the back, I can see the brows creased. Yep, a few are already struggling.
This is why I do these tests on the first day of each semester. No one is leaving this course without learning what I’m teaching. Their failure will be mine. I will not willingly fail them or myself.
Pulling my bag open, I look for one of my highlighters so I can mark the seats that are maybe going to need a little extra help.
I have them right in the big pocket. What I find makes me curse softly. That gods be damned cat. I am going to skin him alive!
My girlfriend’s cat, Stanley—that devil in four-legged, furry form—is a menace. He absolutely hates me, and apparently decided I needed a big ole hairball in my bag. Thankfully, it’s in a folder, and I can just toss the whole thing. I’ll only lose a few papers, and they are for a later class anyway. The smell though. Fucking hell. It’s not even eight am. When and how had he even gotten into my bag?
Tossing the folder into the trashcan, I pull out my bottle of hand sanitizer. As I rub my hands together, I look up, checking on my student's. Two of the kids in the back row are bent together, their papers up slightly.
I stand, keeping a relaxed air about me as I start to walk up the stairs. This particular classroom has a stadium feel to it. The students each have a grand view of my desk and the teaching podium I will be using daily.
Moving to the row behind them, I clear my throat, keeping my voice low as I lean forward. “You can both put your papers on my desk and leave. We will discuss this tomorrow when everyone is not in the middle of a test.”
“What? No man, we were?—”
“Talking during a test, comparing papers. That is cheating in my book. Put the papers on my desk and get out. Tomorrow, be ready to learn on your own or don’t come back. Yeah?”
“We’re finished, not cheating,” one kid replies. “But I understand how it looks.”
“You’re finished? The projector is still going.”
His head jerks to the front. A soft curse leaves him. “It was blank a minute ago, I thought it was done. Fuck. My mom’s going to kill me if I flunk a class straight off.”
“This is not a graded test, if that helps, but I do need you to get out. Tomorrow, be ready to learn.”
They finally get up and do as I asked, their tests landing on my desk as they walk by.
Forty minutes later, the lights are on fully, I am resetting my program and readying myself for the next group to come in. This semester I have three morning classes on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, which start at 7:30 am and run until 1:00 pm. Each being an hour and a half. On Tuesday and Thursday, I have two afternoon classes that start at 1:00 pm and run until 4:30 pm.
