Just Passing

15. Intervention

The first weeks of school are all about setting up routines and getting to know students, both socially and academically. This is when I miss the classroom. The honeymoon period when the stakes are low and smiles come naturally.

Then the real work begins.

Outside of my window, leaves in pale shades of yellow tumble in the wind and float down to the waiting grass. I start wearing sweaters in the morning to shield against the nip in the air. Soon, Tiffany and I are debating Halloween costumes. Should we be the Daniel Tiger family, zoo animals, or do something "spooky"? We still have time to decide, but it's on our minds.

"Have you set up your intervention schedule, yet?" Jessica swivels in her chair to ask.

"I know when I'm pushing into classes, but a few teachers haven't finished grading their initial assessments, so not sure what kids I'm pulling."

"Have you looked at Ms. Dunn's data?"

She says it casually, but I know that Ms. Dunn – a passionate, social-justice-oriented middle-age woman with quick moving hands, a New York accent, and frizzy red hair – is Blake's teacher. I haven't seen Blake around much these past few weeks, but the shock of having a transgender student seems to have waned. At least from my isolated perspective in the math curriculum office. Even Steve has stopped making comments. Although, maybe he just realizes that our office is no longer a safe space for his casual bigotry.

I click through Google Drive and open up the spreadsheet that Jessica was referring to. And sure enough, Blake is showing a big dip from last year. Maybe things aren't going as smoothly for him as I had assumed.

"Yeah, I see what you mean." I turn back to Jessica. "I should check in with Ms. Dunn to see what she's thinking about Blake."

* * *

Today is my first one-on-one session with Blake. "Trouble focusing," Ms. Dunn had said. "Seems fidgety during math in a way that he isn't during other periods." She was worried. He had friends and was liked and she hadn't noticed any bullying. They've been doing lots of social-emotional curriculum work, and he was thriving during their writing block. But during math he seemed to space out, his knees bouncing and his eyes wondering. He wasn't applying past knowledge to new concepts and was making careless mistakes. He would definitely benefit from some intervention.

That's what I am. Intervention.

I make my way to Ms. Dunn's room at 11:15 sharp. Classical music drifts down the hallway from her open doorway. I peek my head inside. A group of kids are sitting on the corner rug making rectangles out of tiles. At the kidney table, Ms. Dunn is sitting with a small group, whiteboards in hand. The rest of the students are scattered around the room playing a math game on their laptops.

"Hi, Blake," I whisper, squatting down next to his desk. "You're going to come down to my office for a bit, okay? You can put your laptop away. Did Ms. Dunn let you know I was coming?"

"I guess so," he mutters, shifting out of his seat.

Great start.

He follows me out of the room, feet dragging, his bangs falling over his eyes. My left shoe squeaks against the tile floor. Then it does it again. "Oh my. I hope my shoe doesn't get me in trouble for not being quiet in the hallway," I joke. A small smile cracks on Blake's face. Just enough to let me know he'll open up eventually.

We make it to the tutorial room next to my office. "Can I use the bathroom first?" he asks.

"Of course. You can use the one right here so we don't lose too much time." I gesture towards the single-occupancy restroom that's part of the main office area and then sit down at the work table to wait.

"These chairs are nicer than the ones in my classroom," he says when he re-enters a few minutes later.

"Aren't you glad you get to work with me, then?" I open a bag of tile squares and count out twelve of them and push them towards Blake.

We are going to explore the area and perimeter of rectangles. As he reaches for the tiles I notice his bitten down fingernails. The sharp torn edges match my own. Another thing we have in common.

He works diligently, and follows directions carefully. By the end he is able to recognize patterns and is able to clearly articulate why we multiply to find area, but add to find perimeter. It makes me wonder why the assessment showed otherwise, and why Ms. Dunn felt he needed support.

"I just gotta say, Blake, I'm super impressed with your effort today. You did a great job and I'm so excited to work with you." He smiles. "So, how are things going for you, man? In general? It's been a big year for you so far, hasn't it?" It's been about a half hour and it's the first time I've even hinted at his transition.

Blake shifts, his hands retreat under his thighs. His whole body seems to deflate. I regret saying anything. "You knew?"

"I know we didn't work together last year, but yes. I do my best to know all the students' names. So, you know, I knew you had a new one. And a pretty cool one at that." I give him my cool-guy nod.

"You like my name?" He seems to sit up a bit taller.

"Yeah, totally! Choosing a new name is a big deal. Did your parents help you?"

"My mom tried, a bit. But only a bit. I came up with Blake all on my own."

"I think you did a fantastic job, man." I finish putting the tiles away and we stand up to go back to his class. "And really, you really impressed me with your hard work and focus. I'm so happy we get to work together."

"Me too," he replies. There's a bit more of a bounce in his step as we walk back down the hall. My shoe squeaks again. "Shhh, you're going to get Mr. Graham in trouble," he jokes.

He's a good kid. I really hope Ms. Dunn is right and the other students are being kind to him. I'm starting to feel protective.