The Bell Rings

By Danielle Nagy

Monday, the bell rings, and she pulls up her navy blue knee-high socks to make sure they hit perfectly below her plaid jumper, just what the teacher wants.  Morning prayers go on over the loudspeaker.  They stand.  They pray.  They sit back down.  They listen, and they learn how to be good children.  She tries to sit as still and silent as she can, which is somehow never still or silent enough.  She wants to be a good student.  Her name is written on the board.  Again.  “You just do not stop talking, huh?  Always interrupting the class!”  She’s shouted at as she sinks into her seat.  She stands along the brick wall, watching her classmates laugh and play on the playground.  She’s still.  Sad.  Embarrassed.  Alone.  I guess that means I’m not a good kid.  

Tuesday, the bell rings, and she ties the laces of her white gym uniform sneakers, just like she knew she was supposed to.  Morning prayers go on over the loudspeaker.  They stand.  They pray.  They sit back down.  They listen, and they learn how to fit in.  The lunchroom hums with chatter.  She watches as her old friend whispers to another, looking back at her.  They laugh.  She sits at the farthest table, holding back tears.  She has no one to sit with today.  She wants to be treated like a friend.  Like a human.  She walks through the hallways.  Silent.  Alone.  I guess that means I don’t fit in.

Wednesday, the bell rings, and she straightens the cheer uniform bow in her hair, just as the coaches want.  Morning prayers go on over the loudspeaker.  They stand.  They pray.  They sit back down.  They listen, and they learn how to be good team members.  She makes her way to cheer practice and overhears the coaches talking about her.  “She is just too weak; I don’t want her to accidentally drop a girl.”  She wants to be strong.  She wants to be a part of the stunts.  She wants to be a good cheerleader.  She stands in the back, clapping and forcing a smile.  Alone.  I guess that means I’m not a good team member.  

Thursday, the bell rings, and she makes sure her white, collared button-down shirt is perfectly tucked into her plaid skirt, just as she’s supposed to.  Morning prayers go on over the loudspeaker.  They stand.  They pray.  They sit back down.  They listen, and they learn how to be good students.  Or, I guess, a class of kiss-asses.  She watches as her friends get picked to transfer to the advanced writing class.  She loves writing.  She wants to get picked.  She waits to get picked.  Her name is never called.  She doesn’t do what her friends do.  She’s alone, but she’d rather be that than a kiss-ass.  I guess that means I’m not a good student.  

Friday, the bell rings- for the last time.  She fixes the tassel hanging from her cap.  Morning prayers go on over the loudspeaker.  They stand.  They pray.  They sit back down.  They listen- “Congratulations to the class of 2018!”  She exhales.  A weight lifts off her shoulders.  A fresh start.  New friends.  The chance to finally be herself is almost here.  She stands alone but isn’t bothered by it this time.  I guess that means I’ll be alright.

Monday.  The bell rings again.  But this time, years later.  There are no morning prayers over the loudspeaker.  There’s no standing.  No praying.  No sitting back down.  But she still listens.  This time, to her own students- the ones who fidget, who talk too much, who sit alone at lunch, who feel like they don’t belong.  She reminds them that they are all the things she always wanted to be reminded she was.  They are good kids.  Good friends.  Good teammates.  Good students.  They do fit in.  She waits for them to fill in their seats and greets them with the warmth she once longed for.  She’s the teacher she never had.  The friend she never had.  The coach she never had.  I am a good teacher.

Danielle Nagy is a student at Kean University in Union, New Jersey