Oceans to Trees

A Room Full of Men

I feel really small in here. It is big and dusty and the air rings with the sounds of sawblades. I've spent the past three years in here, but I walk in and feel timid nonetheless. The teacher is nice, and he is fond of my talent and drive to succeed. He says I belong here in independent study, but I do not look like I do.

I know a few of the other guys here—or, at least, I know of them. We are seniors now, and so I've seen them passing in the hallways for a few years. I know Kevin, and I recognize the tall one who is loud with a giant water bottle. I also know the one with dyed hair and a mohawk. He is on my bus, and everybody calls him Zebra. Strange.

We all gather near the desks for the first day, and there aren't enough seats, so I stand behind a few other students. I get up on my toes behind them to see the class, and I instantly recognize Collin. Everyone in the whole school knows this kid, and not because we all love him. He's been held back who-knows-how-many times and is part of the special education program, but I am not exactly sure why. Nobody really knows how old he is. He plays loud, bad music from his backpack in the halls, and is known for picking fights. He has a girlfriend—quite possibly several or none—and yet still shoots his shot with any girl with a pulse. I duck into the storage room. How the hell did he pass the prerequisite classes?

I don't miss much, other than some basic information about "welcome everybody my name is blah blah blah..." and so on. I look through the shelves in the storage room, looking at left-behind projects from earlier classes. After some time, I hear my teacher's voice rallying the class, and I pop my head back out.

Swartz leads the students around the shop in preparation for their safety tests. He provides a brief overview of each machine, reviewing important information. Like the rest of the independent study students, I don't need to take the safety test for the third time, so we awkwardly stand behind the other students. I follow far, far, behind, maximizing distance between Collin Landsell and myself. I assume this will work for the rest of the semester, but unfortunately as the minutes pass, he does start to notice me. He inches near me, and I inch away. He stands next to me, and I disappear. I love this workshop with all my heart, but I will not be interacting with Collin.

Mr. Swartz moves to the next machine, the table saw. He asks me to help demonstrate because he sees my safety glasses hooked on my chest pocket. My long hair is already tied back, so I come beside him, listening to the murmurs of the other students. I have never minded the surprise of my male classmates. I'm used to being the only girl here, and now I learn that I'm the first girl in the history of this school to make it to the fourth level of shop: independent study. The comments the boys make are never outright cruel, usually just inquiries of "who is that?" or "I don't usually see girls in here" or "is she in this class?" Honestly, I am proud when I hear those. No matter how poorly they think of me, I will prove my worth with time. Still, Mr. Swartz snaps at them, making a snide comment about how if they keep talking like that, I might be the only girl they'll ever see in their lives. I smile behind my mask as he turns on the saw. Mr. Swartz is wonderful.

When the bell rings, I wave goodbye to Mr. Swartz and tell the other independent study students that I will see them tomorrow. Kevin and Zebra say goodbye. The other smiles and nods politely, and I am on my way home. Collin follows me in the hallway yelling my name, and I duck into the girls' bathroom, my movements hidden by the sea of people rushing out the doors. What an annoyance.

~ ~ ~

A few days later, after suffering through three AP classes and a host of others, I find myself in my favorite room of this miserable building. It is the one place where I get to let my creativity reign and give my brain the break it deserves. Well, in actuality, the logical side of my brain gets rest. The sarcastic and egotistical part is very much awake: I've learned that my favorite part of independent study is the power I hold over the other students. These are freshmen who are in their first woodworking class of their high-school career. I am a senior who has taken three, and now gets to mentor them. I may be a foot shorter than some of them, but I seriously outrank them.