Free Misconduct by Penelope Douglas Page A

been made.
    “So,” I went on, “on page seventy-nine, there are twenty questions to help us prepare for our unit test tomorrow. We can spend the rest of class answering them silently on paper, or we can take ten minutes with the responders and then move on to start researching slave ships online.”
    “Responders,” the students cut in without hesitation.
    “We could take a vote,” I chirped, not really trying to be fair but to drive the point home for someone in particular.
    “Responders!” the students repeated, this time louder.
    The class picked up their remotelike devices. For the next ten minutes, I displayed multiple-choice questions on the board, giving them about a minute to answer on their devices, and then, once their responses had been recorded in the program, I displayed the bar graph showing how many students answered a certain way.
    Afterward, we jumped on our laptops while I continued to project on the Smart Board as we dived into the next unit with some questions and research online before the end of class.
    As the students walked out, moving on to their next class, I watched Christian inching slowly along and peering out the window as he made his way out the door.
    “Christian,” I called as he passed by my desk.
    He stopped and looked at me like he usually did. With boredom.
    “Your questions are important,” I assured him. “And very welcome in this class. But I do expect you to use manners.”
    He remained silent, his eyes staring off to the side. I knew he wasn’t a bad kid, and he was certainly smart, but the curtain over his eyes lifted very rarely. When it did, I saw the kid inside. When the curtain was drawn, he was unapproachable.
    “Where is your phone?” I asked. “You need it for class, and you haven’t had it.”
    He’d also failed to return my battery.
    Not a big deal, since we used the same brand of phone, and I was getting by with his, but the students were allowed to use their phones in class – kept in the corner of their desks on silent and facedown – to access their calculators, random number generators for our activities, and other apps I’d found useful for engagement.
    I’d found the more you allowed them their technology, the less they tried to sneak it. And since all of these students carried phones, I didn’t worry about anyone feeling left out.
    “If there’s a problem, I can speak to your father,” I offered, knowing Christian probably wouldn’t choose to be without his phone himself.
    But Christian broke out in a smirk, meeting my eyes. “You will speak to him.” He jerked his chin toward the window. “Sooner than you think.”
    And he turned, walking out and letting the heavy wooden door slam shut behind him.
    What had that meant?
    I twisted my head toward the window, and stood up to head over to the window to see what he’d been referring to.
    But I stopped, hearing the intercom beep.
    “Ms. Bradbury?” Principal Shaw’s voice called.
    “Yes?” I answered.
    “Would you please come to my office?” he asked, the fake nicety in his voice turning me off. “And bring your lesson plans, as well.”
    I raised my eyebrows, my legs going a little weak.
    “Uh,” I breathed out. “Of course.”
    It didn’t matter if you were fourteen or twenty-three, a student, a teacher, or a parent – you still got nauseous when the principal called you down.
    And he wanted my lesson plans? Why? They were online. He could see them anytime he wanted to.
    I groaned, slipping off my jacket and tossing it over my chair – which left me in my slim-fitting black pants and long-sleeved gray blouse. I grabbed the hard-copy plans we were instructed to keep on our desk in case of an impromptu observation.
    Thankfully, I had second period free, so I wouldn’t have students for close to another hour.
    I walked down the hall and through the front office, past the students either waiting for the nurse or waiting to be disciplined. My heels fell silent as soon as they