Chương 12: Teaching Evaluation

This can't possibly be right. Olivia peered at the whiteboard in disbelief as her potbellied math teacher drew out a graph. Slowly, painstakingly, he added two points, then a line, then the equation of that line. Then, and only then, did he begin to explain how one could use that equation to determine whether a third point fell on the drawn line. There's no way. We had to have learned this before high school. Right? She wracked her brain, but honestly couldn't remember.

Basics like this were so deeply ingrained that it seemed unthinkable that she'd ever had to learn them. It wasn't something she'd been taught in elementary school, obviously, but beyond that… It's review. It has to be. Maybe it's just to jog everyone's memory before we get into equations for curves…? Wait, no—I'm pretty sure that's calculus, not algebra. She did her best to hide her disappointment as the man continued to drone on. She'd expected classes to be easy, of course, but this…

If things stayed like this, then she may well turn into da Vinci by the end of the year. Her notebook was already filling up with sketches at an unprecedented rate. He eventually pushed the topic further and began covering how to determine where two lines intersected, which was slightly better. But the matter wasn't helped when the lecture ended a full twenty minutes before the bell, with them having covered hardly any more ground than that.

Olivia felt her estimation of the teacher fall a few more degrees until he began writing a series of pages and associated problems on the board. Right. I kind of forgot there were in-class assignments, too. It was a far cry from the college classes she'd become so accustomed to, where practically every class consisted solely of lectures on the material and perhaps a bit of discussion.

Her first Differential Equations professor would have taken all of two minutes to cover this material, and in a much more comprehensive manner. Compared to that… Well, it made her wonder how they would possibly make any progress in a year. Olivia bent over to pull one of the thick, glossy Algebra textbooks from beneath her desk and winced. Her abs really didn't like that. Maybe she'd gone a bit too hard on her exercises this time. Then again, it wasn't like she had much else to do at five in the morning.

Evidently, her elder self's sleep patterns had come back in time with her. Hefting the tome onto the desk, Olivia flipped to a new page and got to work. Though "work" was a bit of a generous term. It took longer for her to actually write out the answers to the problems than it did to solve them. In minutes her pen clicked and she stared down at the collection of answers approvingly. Easy. One potential homework assignment down, one to go. So far, at least.

With a sharp nod, Olivia bent down once more to retrieve her half finished Geography homework. Because of course she had more Geography homework. She was starting to remember that class as a particularly consistent source of the stuff.

"What are you doing?" She looked up with surprise to see Mr. McCullough looming over her, beady eyes staring down his bulbous nose. His stern gaze wasn't fixed on her, but on the paper she was writing on. Olivia blinked.

"Er… homework."

"That certainly doesn't look like any algebra I've ever seen." His tone was dry.

"It's… not." She admitted, frowning inwardly. Why was the man being so adversarial?

"It's from another class. Geography." Mr. McCullough crossed his arms sternly.

"And why are you doing a different subject's work in my class?" The sheer condescension in his voice made Olivia bristle slightly. Her reply was stiff and measured.

"Because I already finished the work for this class, sir." The title was meant to ensure her words came off respectfully. Yet Mr. McCullough's eyes only narrowed. They flicked to the clock hanging on the nearby wall.

"You finished it."

"Yes."

"In five minutes."

"That's right." He extended a hand.

"Well. Let's see it then." By this point, Olivia could hardly hide her annoyance. But she took a deep breath to calm herself before retrieving the sheet of neat, dense equations and graphs.

"Here you go." Mr. McCullough adjusted his thick glasses to peer at the paper. The ensuing silence made Olivia hyper aware that every other pair of eyes in the room was trained directly on her. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She hadn't been trying to make a scene. But apparently, her teacher had no such compunctions. The man continued reading over her answers, his frown deepening. After what felt like an age, the portly teacher snorted.

"Hmph. Fine. Put your name, date, and period in the top corner." Right. That's a thing, too. She silently obliged the man, who took the paper once again before retreating to his desk. The soft chatter of students whispering to each other started up once more. Yet Olivia could only stare. That's it? Not a word of apology or even an admission that he was in the wrong? After calling out a student in such a public way, too… The disrespect is unreal.

The fact that he'd even approached her in the first place came as a surprise. She'd honestly forgotten how hands-on high school teachers could be. In college, she'd seen people watch full TV shows during a lecture or even crochet scarfs without anyone batting an eye. There, if you didn't do your work, it was your problem. Plain and simple. Most of her professors didn't even take attendance. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. She took a deep breath.

What did she really expect? Outwardly she was a high schooler, a teenager. They were practically known for being rebellious and difficult to handle—not traits that particularly inspired respect. But Mr. McCullough wasn't a green teacher by any means. If he really didn't care for high schoolers—or heck, even teaching— then why even do it? Maybe I'm just overthinking it. It's really not that big of a deal. Maybe he's one of those guys who got tenure and is just riding it out until retirement.

Or a victim of the sunk cost fallacy. Still… Olivia shot a glance at ger Advanced Algebra teacher. There had to be a better way to go about that. Is it really that "problematic" if I do other work in here? Shouldn't that be praised as a sign of industriousness? Inwardly, she adjusted her opinion of Mr. McCullough a few notches lower. His instruction style was fine, if a bit bland and uninspired. But the incident had painted him as a bit petty as well.

Regardless of his underlying motives and emotional state, the poor example left a sour taste in her mouth. Sighing, Olivia decided to not tempt fate and try working on Geography again. Better not to incur more of the man's ire. Already she'd drawn way more attention than intended, her surprise causing her to act a bit out of character. Instead, she turned her attention toward her classmates and people-watched in what was obviously a far more effective use of her time.

Compared to other subjects, math housed a far larger variety of ages and faces. It was notoriously flexible when it came to who was placed in what class and one of the few that let people advance beyond the standard for their grade with relative ease—or stay back. It meant that every class, from freshman to senior, had a representative in this room. That being said, the sophomores and juniors still far outnumbered the others, with the few seniors present likely looking for an easy class in their final year.

That, or desperately scrounging for graduation requirements. Olivia was pretty sure she didn't see any freshmen other than herself. Given the much wider cross-section of the student populace, Olivia found herself recognizing far fewer faces. There was one boy that looked familiar from band—a trumpet, if she remembered right—as well as a few girls she recognized from future math classes.

There was also an athletic boy whose letterman made it clear he was part of the football team, as well as a couple of kids who simply looked familiar in some distant way. All of them had returned their attention to their own work or conversations with their neighbors for these final few minutes of class. She was honestly surprised at how few of these faces she knew. Ridgeview wasn't a particularly large school, so being able to recognize most of its students wasn't an unthinkable ordeal.

Then again, some of it had surely been lost over the years to make room for other things. Like George's favorite foods. Or where to get the best deals on fresh produce. The bell rang soon after, and the gathered students shot up from their seats to flee the dreary atmosphere of Advanced Algebra. Olivia followed suit and took a deep breath of the fresh air outside. The next class, at least, would be better. A short walk brought her into Mr. Ambrose's Biology class.

Rather than the standard sea of waist high desks, this one featured a half dozen tall, blocky tables with stools arrayed around them. An assortment of colorful diagrams of the cell and different taxonomical classifications adorned the walls alongside craftsy science posters clearly made by past students. Presiding over it all was the man himself, his back to the class as he wrote on the whiteboard. Mr. Ambrose's bald head shone under the fluorescent lighting like a polished gemstone.

Between the glare and the aggressive brightness of his yellow and pink Hawaiian shirt, it was a common joke among the students that he was painful to look at directly. A joke that the teacher himself was in on, if his occasional threats to blind misbehaving youths with his lighthouse of a scalp were any indication. He'd amassed quite a collection of hats as a result, all of which hung on prominent display at the front of the room instead of atop the man's head. Olivia settled in at a table at the back corner.

Its only other occupant was a hunched, pale boy in dark clothes that frayed at the edges in an emo-esque style. He faced away from her, his head pillowed on his arms atop the table, not even lifting his head as the bell rang and Mr. Ambrose's jovial voice boomed.

"All right! Hello, hello, hello!" He turned to regard the class of freshmen with enthusiasm.

"Seems like we haven't lost anyone since yesterday. Good. I was worried the bears would eat someone." A chuckle rippled through the class.

"There aren't even bears in Ridgeview!" Mr. Ambrose pointed at the kid who had spoken.

"That's what the bears want you to think. Anyway! Let's go through roll just to make sure." He peered at the first student seated up front, brow furrowing with concentration.

"Hmmm… Cindy, right?"

"Yup." The girl smiled as Mr. Ambrose grinned. He pointed at the next student.

"You're… Tony, and Melissa, and… Wait, don't tell me… Carrie?"

"Connie."

"Darn." Mr. Ambrose snapped his fingers.

"I got the first letter at least." He continued on down the line and managed to get a surprising amount of the names right—including Olivia's—before launching into the lecture. His presentation style proved far more engaging than any teacher she'd encountered so far, managing to keep her attention even with the basic nature of the material. Which was a relief. She remembered the man being one of the best in the business, and it was good to see him live up to that expectation.

Especially given that he was the advanced Biology teacher as well, so this was not the last they'd see of each other. Still… that didn't change the current curriculum. Just as in "Advanced" Algebra, what they were learning now was beyond basic. Her thesis advisor would have disowned her for forgetting any of this stuff, long ago as all that was. Thinking about it… I wonder if Mr. Ambrose ever went to grad school? He couldn't have done a PhD, not unless being a teacher was his retirement plan. So…

am I technically more qualified to teach this class than he is? That wasn't to say that she would be a better teacher, of course. But working as a teaching assistant while getting her own degree had given her some experience with small classes of students, if slightly older ones. And the requirements to be a high school teacher were way less stringent than lecturing at a community college, something she'd looked into at one point.

She wondered if he'd ever given himself carpal tunnel from pipetting or experienced the soul-sucking endeavor that was academic writing. Hopefully not. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. Not that she truly thought she could take Mr. Ambrose's place. He was a great teacher, and wrangling high schoolers was a skillset of its own that she'd never had reason to develop. Luckily, he was also far more lax than Mr. McCullough.

It was only the second day and already a few freshmen had discovered that the cardinal sin of chewing gum in class went without punishment on these hallowed grounds. So long as they weren't obnoxious about it. The comparatively enjoyable experience of the class soon washed the morning's less pleasant ones away. At one point, Olivia startled as she heard soft snoring begin to emanate from her neighbor. She considered poking him, but decided not to. It was none of her business. All too soon, it was over.

All that was left were lunch, PE, and band. At least, for the normal school day. She wouldn't be going home yet. Today was a Tuesday. Which meant it was time to take part in one of the most defining activities of her high school career. It was time for marching band practice.