I was almost back at my classroom’s door when I heard angry voices and arguing. I stopped. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop; I just hesitated, not knowing what to do. I needed those shorts and I was going to be lat, but I didn’t want to interrupt an argument between my teachers. I recognized the voices; Mr. Schmidt, my history teacher, and Mr. Boone, my math teacher. They seemed to be arguing about me. I couldn’t believe it. I still remember the shock that rooted me flat against the wall as if I were trying to blend in with the graffiti written there. “I refuse to do it! I don’t care who her father is, her grades don’t even begin to compare to Martha’s. I won’t lie or falsify records. Martha has a straight A plus average and you know it” That was Mr. Schmidt and he sounded very angry. Mr. Boone’s voice sounded calm and quiet.
“Look, Joann’s father is not only on the Board, he owns the only store in town; we could say it was a close tie and…”
The pounding in my ears drowned out the rest if the word’s only a word here and there filtered through. “… Martha is Mexican… resign… won’t do it…” Mr. Schmidt came rushing out, luckily for me went down the opposite was toward the auditorium, so he didn’t see me. Shaking, I waited a few minutes and then went in and grab my bag and fled from the room. Mr. Boone looked up when I came in but didn’t say anything. To this day I don’t remember if I got in trouble in P.E. for being late or how I made it through the rest of the afternoon. I went home very sad and cried into my pillow that night so grandmother wouldn’t hear me. It seemed a cruel coincidence that I had overheard that conversation.
The next day when the principal called me into the office, I knew what it would be about. He looked uncomfortable and unhappy. I decided I wasn’t going to make it easier for him so I looked him straight in the eye. He looked away and fidgeted with the papers on his desk.