It was the roar of the crowd that grabbed may attention.
It was 3:45 and I had stepped out of my room to collect the document I’d just sent to the printer in our computer pod. I looked up and saw a gaggle of teens breaking apart. One young man came my way holding his face and I realized there was blood on his face.
“Are you okay?” I asked, a little stunned. This was the first sign of violence I’d seen at this school.
“My mouth is bleeding. My tooth,” said the boy I’d never seen before.
“Who did this? What was his name?” I asked. I had to ask him three times before I got it. I was in a bit of shock. It had been a long time since I’d seen an altercation at school. I asked his grade and if he wanted to go to the health room, he declined. Did he need to catch a bus? He did not say, but promised me to avoid the boy who’d hit him and who was now long gone.
Letting him go, I returned to my classroom. Where would I find that form I was supposed to fill out? I hadn’t had to do one yet at this new school of mine. I found it then, as I filled the boxes, I realized I had never asked his name.