The Cat at the Wall Read Free Page A

eighth grade. He told jokes in his class and was so close to retirement he didn’t care what his students did as long as they were quiet about it. But over the summer he went and had a heart attack, ruining my plans for an easy school year. He was out, and this new teacher was in.
    I walked into her classroom on the first day of school just five seconds late and she practically ripped my head off.
    She didn’t say anything. She just looked at me with ice-cold eyes. She didn’t even respond to my smile, a smile that most adults thought was sincere.
    I sized her up right away — forty, frustrated, forgettable, a long way from young and a long way from retirement. Her hair was in tight, short poodle curls edged with gray. She wore a drab navy dress that made her look more like a cop than a teacher.
    I thought about staring her down but instead flashed another of my winning smiles to show she hadn’t gotten to me and took a seat at the back of the room. I liked to sit at the back because I could see everything from there. I needed to stay on top of things so I’d know who to make fun of.
    “My name is Ms. Sealand,” this new teacher said. “I will be your homeroom teacher and I will also teach you history and literature.”
    I texted my impressions of Ms. Sealand to my friend Josie, stuck in the other eighth grade class in the school. I kept my eyes on the teacher while I texted. My grades were good. As long as I pretended to pay attention, teachers usually left me alone.
    Ms. Sealand babbled on about the usual start-of-the-year stuff. I didn’t listen. I was busy texting possible nicknames for her. Sealand made me think of seals and walruses, but they didn’t quite fit. Sea also sounded like Zee , and then I had it. Zero. We would call her Ms. Zero.
    “Is everyone happy with their seats?” the teacher asked. “Anyone want to change? This is your one and only chance.”
    I smiled at the comment Josie texted back about Ms. Zero.
    “Good,” the teacher said. “Everyone, please pick up your desks and pivot them one hundred and eighty degrees.”
    I had a vague sense of the confusion around me as the other kids tried to figure out if she was serious. But Josie was texting the nickname of her teacher, so I didn’t take much notice of anything else.
    My phone was snatched out of my hands.
    “Hey!”
    The word came out of my mouth before I could stop it. When dealing with teachers, the first rule is to look like you are on their side. Any outright expression of disagreement is the sort of thing they remember, and you don’t want them to remember the bad stuff.
    The teacher stood silently at the back of the room, which was now the front of the room. She had four cellphones in her hands. One of them was mine.
    I suddenly realized I was the only kid who hadn’t turned her desk around. I felt stupid doing it while everyone was watching, and especially stupid because Ms. Zero waited in silence until I was done.
    “You have all been informed of the school board’s no-phone policy,” she said. “If you would like to change that policy, you are welcome to follow the democratic process and make a deputation at a meeting of the board.”
    “Do we get our phones back at the end of the day?” someone asked.
    “Your parents are welcome at any time to come to the school and retrieve them.”
    I tried my smile again. “My mother likes to know that she can get in touch with me.”
    “Then perhaps you could share the school’s general phone number with your mother,” Ms. Zero said. “Before we begin our lesson, let me say a few other things. This school year will be unlike any school year you have had to date. I believe in respect — giving and getting. You all have my respect from the start because you have shown up today, ready to learn. My respect for you as individuals will grow or wane throughout the year. You choose which by your attitude and your behavior. I am not your friend. I am not your parent. I am your