The Girl With The Eyebrow Stud

Hadley sits near the front of the room because that's where Marie placed her on the seating chart.  Recently she was suspended because she got up and left class without telling anyone where she was going.  She and Marie regularly go to war--about bringing her book to class, about leaving to go to the bathroom, about why she isn't paying attention.  Of all the students in the class, Marie hassles Hadley more than any other student.  Marie refers to her as a "negative Nelly" and said that her hope was to "browbeat her into being nice" by the end of the year.

Hadley has an eyebrow stud and a lip ring and pale white skin and acne scars and wears a lot of foundation and over-sized hoodies and distressed jeans and has dyed her hair blonde, then pink; you can see the layers.  She wrote on an introductory note-card that she hates school and doesn't ever want to talk about her family.  She rarely smiles, but when she does her whole hardass image kind of melts away, partially because she has these absolutely adorable and exceedingly crooked teeth.

I have approached her somewhat cautiously, since my role in the room is still a little strange and since he is, as a rule, hostile towards adults.  I have tried to smile and be kind and let her know that I notice her and want her in the class.  I say things like: "Good afternoon, Hadley," or "nice to see you today, Hadley," to which she usually grunts or says nothing in response.

Today she and Marie got into about a worksheet that she owed.  The class was working in groups on another worksheet (find some similes in the book we're reading!); I was circulating and checking in with them.  I noticed that she was cruising through another worksheet, the homework questions from the reading, the work she and Marie had been fighting over earlier. 

"Hey, you're cruising through that," I said.

She was immediately defensive: "Leave me alone.  Ms. Mowrey was just yelling at me." 

"Hadley, honestly, was I just yelling at you?"

She paused, like she didn't know how to answer the question.  "As I remember it, I was actually just pointing out that you were getting a lot of work done."

"Yeah.  Yeah, I was."  She cast this ironic smile into the room.

I walked away.  I heard her say to one of her peers: "why can't Ms. Mowry be like Mr. G?  He doesn't care what we do as long as we're doing something."

I pulled a u-turn around the end of the row and circled back towards her desk.  "Actually, Hadly, I do care what you're doing.  I care quite a bit.  But I know you're behind, so I'm just glad to see you catching up."

I think she was a little surprised that I'd overheard her.  (Marie usually ignores her under-the-breath comments; and I probably would too.) 

"Why can't you be our teacher?"

I snapped at her, gently but firmly: "You need to work with Ms. Mowrey as best you can; she cares about you and wants to help you learn."  Hadley eyes dropped back to her worksheet.  Then she looked up at me, kind of pleading, so I said: "And just so you know, I'm going to be taking over this class in a week."

Her smile was bent and crooked and warmed the entire room.