Rise Up

Lin

When fifth period rolled around, Talie walked in (on time!) with her hood up and head down. She plopped into her chair and got out her Writer's Notebook. She hunched over her notebook and began furiously writing. As I walked through the aisles, her hoodie was obstructing any view of what she was writing. I wasn't about to prod her about her hoodie. Some teachers were stricter than others about this. If it made a kid more comfortable, I let them keep it up. To me, it was a small battle. I was more concerned about how they were reading and writing.

"Anyone want to share?" I asked five minutes into class. No one volunteered, of course. I tried to make my classroom a safe place where the students felt comfortable and not judged. I worked hard on my classroom culture.

My eyes fell on Talie, her head down on her desk. "Talie?"

"What?" she snapped, but I ignored her tone.

"Would you like to share your writing? We haven't heard from you all year."

"No thanks," she told me. I never forced kids to share out loud. Sometimes they wrote about pretty personal things. There was a rule with the notebooks. They could write whatever they wanted. If they didn't want me to read it, they put a big X in the top corner of their paper so I would skip it. I respected their privacy.

I went on with class, leading another discussion about TKAM. We were to the chapter where Mayella Ewell had to testify in court. I asked the kids what they thought about Mayella's situation. Did they really think she'd gotten raped by Mr. Robinson? Why would she lie about it?

Surprisingly, Talie raised her hand and I called on her. "Maybe Mayella feels so trapped in her own world that she feels she has to do anything her father says. Like she's not even her own person. Maybe she has no say in her life."

I listened intently and paused for a moment, appreciating her insightfulness. "We've seen how her father is, haven't we? Definitely not a great guy. And what about society at the time? What does she know about her accusations?"

"That no jury will believe Mr. Robinson," another student said. "She's a white woman accusing a black man, and that's all there is to it. It's a death sentence."

I nodded and continued the discussion. Talie rested her head on her arms, staring at the floor. She seemed deep in thought as I continued to talk and ask students their opinions. We only had ten minutes left in class; not enough time to get into groups, so I let the students start on their reading assignment for the night. Two chapters. Everyone got out their books and got reading, but Talie rested her head face-down in her arms.

I walked around and patted her upper back.

"Sit up, please," I told her softly. "No sleeping in class."

She groaned as she pushed her upper body up. She rested her face in her hand, her eyes closed. I decided not to bother her. Obviously, she was exhausted. Any reading she did wouldn't have stuck.

The bell rang and the students filed out. My next period was a prep, so I took the opportunity to pull up my teacher portal, where I had access to all my students' information. I looked up Talie's address and was surprised to see she lived just a couple buildings down from me on 176th street. I scribbled down the address. I tried her father's number and got his voicemail. I left a message, but doubted he'd call me back. He never had. There was no one listed under mother's contact. I wondered if her parents were divorced.

After school, instead of going straight home, I walked past my building and found Talie's address. She lived on the top floor - the penthouse. Her parents must be loaded. I rang the doorbell, hearing loud music from inside. No one answered, so I pounded on the door. The music turned down and I heard footsteps. I heard the latch unlock and the door opened, revealing Talie.