A Year Of Hope

I was in the dog house that week.

Jane hardly spoke to me, and we stopped working on schoolwork together. They never outright said it, but I basically was confined to the back seat when we drove to school, unless it was my turn to drive, then Jane sat in the back. On the car rides to school, Jane and Sam would chat and completely exclude me from the conversation, and I didn't try to jump in either.

I didn't even blame them. I 100% deserved it.

Jane and I still sat next to each other in all our classes, but she didn't walk with me in between. She walked several steps ahead at any given point, and only really talked to the students around us.

In our Intro to Education class, we discussed why we wanted to be a teacher, and what made a good and a bad teacher. Jane was always raising her hand to speak and ask questions when given the chance, and one girl asked her at one point, "Where do you get this confidence? You're always so... active in class."

Jane had beamed at her and simply said, "Girl, you don't have to have confidence. Fake it 'til you make it baby."

Our Teen Literature class was devoted to brainstorming with our groups, and the next week as well, and then the plan was the week after to begin teaching our lessons.

Jane started out by saying, "Can we not make the lecture the key piece in our lesson, or do a boring written test?"

"Agreed," Mike had said, "Any ideas?"

"I personally think we should have a sort of mini project for them to complete. Nothing too huge, and luckily we got weeks to decide, but I never plan to give written exams unless I'm forced to," Jane had said.

I had been assigned as the one to jot down ideas, so I scrawled down the idea about the project.

"I think that's a great idea," Thomas had said. "Any ideas on the lesson? Other than a lecture, I mean?"

"What about a Socratic seminar for one of the days."

This was really the first time I had spoken up, and they all looked at me as if their dog had started talking with peculiar looks on their faces.

Jane shrugged, "Yeah, I like that idea." That was probably the kindest thing she had said to me, and probably the most words she had spoken to me also.

"Me too, jot that down!" Mike had told me.

British literature we learned about the history of Shakespeare and read some of his sonnets.

And then we had creative writing. Dr. Van was sitting at the front and had us bring our journals. And then to my horror, at the beginning of the class, she announced, "Today I will be reading some of what you guys wrote for the class to hear, and we will be seeing how we feel based on how each person describes themselves. Don't worry, I won't say who wrote it."

I looked over at Jane, who stared in the front of the class with a wide eyed look of dismay. I looked around and almost everyone had the same terrified expression. Sarina turned around and whispered to us both, "What the hell is this class!"

Dr. Van then picked up the first journal and read it to the class, and then after she read it, she asked, "If this was a character of a book, how would you feel about this character?" And then students would answer, and this was the theme for the class. Most people painted themselves as likeable, and I wasn't sure if everyone  truly liked themselves, or if they wanted everyone to like them. It was only natural to want to be liked, so I didn't blame them.

At one point she read from a journal that was was blue and had what looked to be constellations on the cover. This person's description went something along the lines of: