Silent Harbour

Chapter 7: Hallowed Halls

The weekend passes by without much fanfare. Principal Wright didn't object to Mrs. Carriway's offer to volunteer my services as an interim teacher for Peter's English lit classes. If anything, he was all too eager to hand me the reins. I guess there aren't many substitutes willing to commute to a town that's been plastered across all regional news stations for a potential homicide.

It's open house weekend, and Erin comes by early on Saturday morning to make sure everything's in order. I pick up two coffees and a breakfast sandwich from Tim's for Erin and move my personal belongings into the upstairs office, out of the way. Over the course of the day, we host a total of seven parties: four older couples, a young family and two entrepreneurs looking for investment properties. Erin does all the talking and hosts the tours of the property while I try to stay out of the way, smiling and nodding to our visitors in greeting and directing any technical questions to Erin.

I spend most of Saturday and Sunday night pouring over Peter's syllabi and binders that he had the foresight to prepare for temps in case of impromptu absences. Just reading through the pages of planning, I can safely say that if we had an educator like Peter to teach our classes back in the day, there's no doubt that more students would've loved the subject just as much as the two of us did. Peter's instructions are so thoughtfully laid out; there's not much room for confusion as to what to do come my first day of teaching.

Undoubtedly, the high school has undergone some renovations since I last walked through these hallowed halls. The student lockers that were once a grayish blue have now been painted a classic, dark red colour. The library houses its own computer/media room as well as a nice seating area comprised of tufted booths for leisurely reading. Overall, everything seems brighter and more welcoming.

The English department's offices are located on the third floor next to a long span of windows that overlook the athletics field. Peter's desk is littered with more binders and the various books his classes have been reading. I make sure to collect the books before making my way to my first class of the day. The tenth graders are tag team-reading two books: Romeo & Juliet, as well as their own individually-picked books from Peter's reading list for their semester essay projects. I'm sure I'm not the first adult to hyperbolize how high school students seem to be looking younger and younger each year. I guess that's more of a reflection on the aging adult rather than the teenager though.

Like in every class, there are the typical sub groupings of students. First, the top-of-the-class overachievers who have already finished the chapter reading assignments for the week and are jump-starting their writing analyses. Then, there are the students who prop up their books like a mini-shield behind which they're texting on their phones. Some students forgo their phones and blatantly strike up conversations with each other during silent reading time. I've already given out a couple detentions to them after my warnings to turn back to their books were ignored more than once. Lastly, there are the students who are doing just as they're supposed to do - reading their books and taking notes. The period goes by much quicker than I realize, and suddenly I've become the teacher barking out homework assignments as the students are packing up their bags and exiting through the door.

Second period is Peter's - well, my - prep period, so I decide to forgo working in the department office and remain in the classroom instead. My next class is grade twelve English where the students are working on their scripts for their documentaries. Peter has a whole binder dedicated to the project, filled to the brim with helpful articles for the students, lists of real documentaries to inspire them, as well as some DVDs and scripts of previous exemplary submissions by his past students.

I start to read through the scripts to gain an idea as to what kind of stories students have drawn up in the past. Before I know it, the bell signalling the end of the lunch rings. Somehow, I had read my way through two periods and accidentally missed my opportunity to eat and recaffeinate. My only saving grace is that Peter only has two classes to teach on Mondays. So, all I have to do is survive the next 75 minutes and I could head home to recuperate. The telltale signs of a hunger-induced headache begin showing as I see the twelfth graders make their way into the classroom. I rifle through Peter's desk drawers in search of some emergency tylenol to combat the impending headache. Thankfully, I come across a little bottle in the second drawer, next to what appears to be Peter's agenda.