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cierraonline · 4 months ago

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It was another bright day at Abbott Elementary School, meaning another day to change minds and create scholars who would one day contribute to their community both socially and economically. However, due to the way public education was structured in Philadelphia—particularly in urban areas where the majority of the population was Black American—funding and resources were severely limited. While this reality broke the spirits of some teachers, especially the newer ones who struggled with student behavior and scarce materials, the veteran educators remained steadfast. They had dedicated their careers to Abbott because they refused to give up on providing their students with an education, even when it seemed like the city already had.

Honey Schrementi was one of those teachers who refused to quit on her students. She had developed a teaching style reminiscent of George Feeny from Boy Meets World—the very educator who first inspired her to consider teaching as a career. However, it was her mother, Angela Drew, a former middle school teacher at Abbott Elementary, who solidified Honey's decision to become an educator. Now, as she adapted to the ever-changing social landscape, Honey strived to bring something fresh to her students, keeping them engaged and excited about learning.

"Miss Honey!" A child's voice called out as they entered the classroom, excitement lacing their tone.

"Lilac!" The fourth-grade teacher greeted her student warmly, bending down to her level. "And who might these beautiful flowers be for?"

"You, silly goose!" Lilac laughed.

Lilac Hart was one of Honey's standout students, often outperforming her peers—something that led other teachers to question why she was attending Abbott instead of a school with better resources. The truth, however, was that Lilac was a product of downtown Philadelphia's hardships. Her mother, once a preacher's daughter who lived by the rules, had rebelled after meeting Lilac's father—a corner boy from the neighborhood. What started as an act of defiance spiraled into something more permanent when she found herself pregnant just four months into their relationship. But before Lilac was even born, her father was killed in a deal gone wrong, and her mother was disowned by her family.

After giving birth, Lilac's mother left her at Sunshine Kids, a well-regarded adoption center in Philadelphia—coincidentally, the same place where Honey had been volunteering at the time. But due to the center's policy of disclosing the background of the biological parents to potential adopters, Lilac was continuously overlooked for a forever home.

"Why, thank you!" Honey beamed, flashing her pearly whites. "Why don't we add them to our class garden, right next to the roses?" She gently took Lilac's hand and guided her toward the windowsill, where the classroom's mini garden sat—a hands-on part of their science curriculum.

"Great idea, Miss Honey," Lilac agreed, grinning as they carefully transferred the daisies into the rectangular planter, which was already filled with an assortment of flowers.

Once their mini project was complete, Lilac made her way to her locker at the back of the classroom while Honey stepped to the front, scanning the room filled with her students.

"Good morning, my lovely sunshines," she greeted, her bright smile mirrored back at her by the children.

"Good morning, Miss Honey!" they responded in cheerful unison.

Hello, I'm Miss Honey... well, technically, Honey Schrementi. I'm married to the scary Italian woman teaching second grade—you might meet her later. She'll ask if you have any Italian heritage, and if you don't, she'll assume you're an undercover cop. That's how she got me. Anyway, I teach fourth grade and have been at Abbott Elementary for four years now. I absolutely love it. I'm basically the real-life Miss Honey from Matilda, which is why I have my kids call me that.

"Let's begin with our multiplication warmups, shall we?" Honey said, stepping around her desk with a Mickey Mouse pointer in her left hand. "Are you ready?"

"Ready!" the class responded enthusiastically.

"Okay, what's 10 x 10?" Honey pointed the pointer at Vicki, who eagerly stood up to answer.

"100, Miss Honey!"

"Correct!" Honey nodded approvingly. "Now, 24 x 3?" She pointed to another student.

"24 x 3 is 75, Miss Honey!"

"Yes, it is! What about 100 x 100?"

A few hands shot up, and Honey picked one.

"10,000, Miss Honey," Lilac answered proudly, standing as the class erupted into applause, knowing she had gotten it right.

"Good job, my sunshines," Miss Honey clapped for her students. "That means we can add a sticker to our warm-up streak!"

---

"Hey, Melissa," Janine Teagues, a second-year second-grade teacher, walked into the teachers' lounge alongside Jacob Hill, a second-year eighth-grade teacher. "Can you please tell 'Ta-Nehisi Quotes' over here that 'white boy' is a term of endearment from the corner-store people?"

"For Zach Ertz, yeah," the red-haired Italian woman looked up from making herself a cup of coffee. "For him? It's an insult." Melissa stepped away from the counter, coffee in hand, and took a seat.

"Hmm." Jacob pointed to Melissa, the teacher who had just confirmed his point.

"Whew! Guys, I need a new rug. Mine is officially done," Janine announced to her fellow coworkers, stretching her arms dramatically.

"Mmm! Me too," Jacob added, his mouth full of chips. "I shook mine out, and all the asthma kids had to go to the nurse's office."

"Yeah, mine's busted," Melissa admitted. "And you can't class up a rug like you can a couch with a nice coat of plastic—that only lasts about an hour before your wife comes and tears it off."

"Only because it's uncomfortable," Honey Schremmenti walked into the lounge, her Stanley cup in hand. "Who wants to lay on plastic while watching Moesha reruns?"

"The couch is not meant to be laid on," Melissa scolded her wife.

"You weren't saying that wh—"

"Hey-yo!" The loud, commanding voice of Ava Coleman interrupted Honey before she could finish her sentence, much to Melissa's relief. "What it do, baby-boos? What y'all think about this little film crew I brought in here?"

"Distracting. Makes our jobs harder," Melissa answered nonchalantly.

"But exciting. We about to be on TV," Ava bragged, clearly enjoying the attention.

"Because they are covering underfunded, poorly managed public schools in America," Barbara chimed in, joining the conversation.

"No press is bad press, Barb. Look at Mel Gibson. Still thriving," Ava laughed. "Daddy's Home? Hilarious!" She waited expectantly for a reaction.

Ava's our principal here at Abbott. I actually like her—she makes the day... interesting. I mean, she has good ideas, but poor execution. But she does do a lot for the students, and with this show, I think it's actually a good idea to bring awareness to how government funding affects public education. Not a lot of families can afford private school, and then they're expected to send their kids to college.

At that moment, a teacher rushed into the lounge, looking frazzled. "Ava, can I talk to you? Uh, I need an aide. I'm outnumbered in there. The kids are crazy. One of them told me to mind my six this morning. I don't know what that means, and I need help."

"Calm down. They're just kids," Ava dismissed the panic with a wave of her hand.

"And, besides, aides cost money, and we don't have that."

"Right, but I just—"

"Do you want to split your salary with somebody else?" Ava raised a brow, cutting her off. "Because unless you do, we're not getting aides."

Ms. Schwartz sighed in exhaustion. "No."

"No, no. I didn't think so," Ava smirked.

"Well, if we can't get aides, maybe we can get new rugs?" Janine jumped in, trying to redirect the conversation.

Ava rolled her eyes. "All I'm hearing is, 'New, new, new, need, need, need.' And yet, Barb—one of our best and most senior teachers—never complains. What is your secret, Barb?" Ava sauntered over to the oldest teacher in the room.

"Knowing there's not much you can do, Ava," Barbara replied dryly, throwing subtle shade.

"So understanding. Be like Ms. Howard, people," Ava grinned before walking out just as the bell rang.

Ms. Schwartz crossed her arms, pouting. "But I'm not Ms. Howard."

"Oh! Tina, look, just try some counting exercises," Janine offered, ever the optimist. "Somewhere between one and forty, the kids calm down."

Ms. Schwartz let out another sigh before leaving the lounge.

"You know," Janine turned to the remaining teachers. "A little support might help make things happen, ladies."

"My support was gonna do about as much as that five-year-old bra you've got on right there," Barbara remarked without missing a beat.

"Hey, it's not impossible to get things," Janine shot back. "Melissa asked for those new toy cash registers for her classroom and got them."

Honey shook her head. "Yeah, those aren't toys."

"I know a guy who worked at a Walmart demolition. I got a guy for everything. I know a guy right now working the stadium build," Melissa smirked. "Need rebar?" She started packing up her things.

"No."

"Melissa is resourceful. Capable," Janine admitted.

"Well, I think the younger teachers are capable," she added with a hopeful smile.

"Yeah, Honey is," Barbara excused her goddaughter from the generalization. "But not you guys."

"Yes, we are!" Janine insisted.

"Really? Then why is Ms. Schwartz's hair falling out? Why does Jacob here need a smoking break every five minutes?" Barbara gestured to the teacher next to her.

"I switched to an herbal vape," Jacob corrected.

"And why can't any of you stick it out longer than two years? More turnovers than a bakery," Barbara finished before leaving the lounge.

"Ouch," Jacob muttered. "You know what? Hell, I think we should still try for rugs."

"Yeah," Janine agreed.

Honey scoffed. "You can't." She gestured around the room. "Look around. Act like you know where you are. You're in the public education sector, not private. No one is paying tuition—you're relying on government and city funding, which depends on taxes and priorities. Our community contributes a low percentage because we live in an urban area where people are either getting bought out or shoved out to make it whiter. The average person here makes between ten and forty thousand a year. The sooner you realize that and find other solutions, the easier your job will be." She grabbed her things and walked back to her classroom.

Janine frowned. "Why do I have a feeling she doesn't like me?"

Jacob shrugged. "You know, before I taught here, I was in Zimbabwe. I was doing Teachers Without Borders, and what I learned—"

"Jacob," Janine cut him off. "What did I say about not talking about your time in Africa?"

"You... You told me to—"

"I told you to stop. Yeah, it's weird."

Before Jacob could respond, a student burst into the room. "Miss Honey! Come quick—Ms. Schwartz just kicked Rajon!"

Honey sighed, setting her things down. "Miss Honey students, back in the classroom this instant!" Her voice was firm, and the kids obeyed with exaggerated pouts.

Closing the door after taking attendance, Honey walked to the front of the class. "To calm down, how about we do silent reading for the next hour? No whispering about what happened in the hallway. I want you all to immerse yourselves in the book as if you're one of the characters. Then, afterward, for our writing lesson, we'll go over how to story map. That way, you can figure out and understand why you're reading in the order that you are when it comes to novels and chapter books."

When it comes to teaching, the biggest no-no is harming a child. First, because it's a child—that's just wrong. Second, you never know whose child you may hit. It could be a parent who's ready to beat your ass for touching their kid. Or it could be a parent who's ready to sue you for everything you're worth. My way of dealing with kids? Reciprocating energy. You ignore me, I ignore you. You throw a tantrum, I throw a tantrum. And if that doesn't work, I manipulate parents into actually being parents.

"Miss Honey! There's a man in the boys' bathroom with a girl. And according to Law & Order: SVU, I know that's wrong!" Tyler, one of Honey's male students, burst into the classroom.

"Okay, everyone, stay here," Honey said, striding over to her desk and grabbing the bat mounted on the wall. "Good job for reporting, Tyler—put a sticker on your passport." She then rushed off to the boys' bathroom.

Abruptly walking in, she spotted a young man she had never seen before, holding hands with one of the younger female students.

"I threw up, Miss Honey," the student admitted, looking queasy.

"Oh, sweetie, let's get your hands and mouth washed," Honey said, gently ushering the girl over to the sink and guiding her through washing her hands. "Okay, all dried. Now, why don't you head to the nurse's office and lie down for a few minutes? Sometimes, throwing up just means our body is tired and needs to settle."

"Okay, Miss Honey," the girl nodded before heading out of the restroom.

"Reverse-y toilet, huh?" Honey turned her attention to the man, resting the bat downward.

"From what the short teacher told me, yes," he replied with a nod. "Um... why do you have a bat?"

"For protection," Honey shrugged. "School shootings are at their highest, and since this is a gun-free zone, I don't have one—nor do I know how to use one. Gotta protect my kids somehow, especially since we can't afford bulletproof pull-out shelters like private schools... and we really don't need to make the school-to-prison pipeline theory more obvious with metal detectors in a predominantly Black school."

"Right," the man nodded in agreement.

"I'm Honey Schremmenti, but you can call me Miss Honey," she introduced herself with a smile. "I teach fourth grade here."

"I'm Gregory Eddie," he replied, offering a forced smile. He wasn't able to reciprocate her same bubbly energy—it just wasn't his nature.

---

Before Honey could tell her classroom to put away their snacks as rest time was over and it was now time to learn the basics of fractions, the intercom beeped, and the voice of the principal was heard.

"Good morning, teachers. During passing, please come to the front entrance for a special announcement about some much-needed improvements to the school that I made happen."

"Oh no," Honey mumbled to herself, knowing she was about to witness a good disappointment prompted by a short, annoying, proactive, no-patience-having teacher named Janine.

"I got a good feeling about this," Jacob joined Janine outside in front of the school as the teachers all tried to find some type of warmth.

"Right? Me too," Janine smiled.

"I don't," Honey commented, snuggling up to her wife to find some warmth in the cold fall weather of Philadelphia.

"Good morning," Ava walked out the front doors of the building.

"Good morning," Janine smiled.

"Gregory," Ava smirked, looking at the substitute teacher, causing eyes to travel to him as he hid for cover. "The district was so moved by my plea that they approved the emergency budget and sent us the money right away." This prompted clapping from the teachers as some of them believed change would be made, but the three who knew better didn't clap, saving their energy for the reality reveal of Ava's actions. "Okay, we could have hired aides, we could have got rugs, but then I thought, 'No. We need something more immediate.'"

"Oh, no, no," Janine interrupted. "The rugs are immediate. They're... they're like instant Xanax for kids. I explained it all in my email."

"Girl, who told you to send an email?"

"You did."

"Anyway, I always feel better when I get my hair done," the principal continued, making sure to show off her new hairdo. "Thus, I do better work, like I'm doing now. You know, fix the outside, the inside takes care of itself." She pulled down a tarp and revealed a new school sign with her picture on it. "Y'all seeing this?"

"A plastic sign?"

"Thank God for the school district, 'cause they gave us $3,000, and I had to spend all of it."

"You spent all of the money on this?!" Janine looked at her boss in disbelief.

"Rush job. Can you believe this quality?" Ava commented.

"How's that optimism taste?" Barbara leaned in toward the shorter teacher.

"I didn't know you wrote 'big plastic sign' in your email to the board?" Honey smirked, sensing this was going to happen.

"This is ridiculous!" Janine complained as she strode through the hallway with Jacob and Gregory. "She has gone too far. Somebody needs to do something. I..."

"Yes, yes," Jacob agreed. "Somebody should do something."

"You know what? I'm gonna do something."

"Okay. Alright. Whatever you do, I will cosign it," Jacob got hyped.

"Yes!"

"That is how change works...someone does something, and somebody cosigns it," Jacob said.

"Where's Honey? We need her to cosign it too. She was awarded the most productive teacher here with high results from her students' state testing. If we can get her to co-sign, they will definitely listen."

"No," Honey stated as she walked by them, heading into the teachers' lounge to meet up with her wife and her wife's work wife—aka her godmother.

"Hey, you three. Wait up," Janine somehow managed to catch up with the female trio and join them on the walk out. "I'm going out to lunch, too."

"Oh, yeah? Where you going for lunch, pip-squeak?" Melissa questioned as she fixed her purse on her shoulder with her right hand while her left hand was intertwined with her wife's. "Bird feeder?"

"I thought you'd be working on your next miracle from Saint Ava," Barbara exaggerated.

"More like next disaster," Honey mumbled under her breath.

"Ha ha. No," Janine chuckled. "I don't think I'll need anything from Ava ever again."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, I emailed the superintendent and told him everything that Ava has done today. No way she doesn't get fired."

"Oh, for the love of God."

"Are you stupid or stupid?" Honey squinted her eyes at the new teacher.

"What?" Janine looked at the trio in confusion.

"The superintendent never sees our emails. He has them bounced back to the person in charge of where they came from," Barbara explained to Janine.

"Wait. I'm sorry. Person in charge? That means the emails go back to..."

"Teachers, it's come to my attention that some of you... one of you... think it's okay to go over my head. So during lunch break... this lunch break... we'll be having a trust workshop so that we can learn how to become a work family. It's gonna be fun!"

"We are at a crossroads. This is a crisis," Ava stood in front of all the teachers in the library for a faculty meeting.

"No, a crisis is eating the cafeteria pizza for lunch," Janine held up her plate.

"Uh, why are we here, exactly?" Gregory asked from the back of the room.

"Well, chocolate drop, I learned that someone here doesn't respect me. But it's not about me, 'cause if you don't respect me, how can you respect this school? You can't. It's mathematically impossible."

"W-Whoa. Who doesn't respect you, Ava..." Jacob looked up in worry. "I-I mean, the school?"

"It's not important," the principal shook her head. "We're gonna make this a group matter as to not single any one person out. Let's try an exercise where we say whatever we want out loud to each other, no matter how critical. It'll be fun! Let's start with Janine. Janine?" She brought attention to the shorter teacher.

"Yes?"

---

"You're pushy, squeaky, and annoying."

"Excuse me?"

"That's just—"

"No, it's not bad. No," Ava dismissed the gasps and complaints. "We're sharing with the goal of making us all better. Constructive. Hershey Kiss, why don't you try?" She pointed to Gregory. "Start with Janine."

"I really don't want to."

"You're right. It should be someone who knows her better. Jacob, Honey, Barbara?"

"Well, her hair is..." Jacob started, but Barbara cut him off.

"Absolutely not."

"Yeah, absolutely not," Jacob backpedaled.

"Ava, no one's doing this to anyone," Melissa interjected.

"Hold on. I came prepared. Sheena, come on in!" Ava waved over one of Janine's students, leading her to the front while the staff looked on in shock.

"Ava, that is my student. She should be at lunch."

"I am kind of hungry," the girl mumbled.

"Sheena, remember what we talked about? What's one thing you wish was different about Ms. Teagues?" Ava asked, crouching down to her level.

"She got some big feet," the school's janitor, Mr. Johnson, chimed in out of nowhere.

"Okay, everyone," Janine stepped forward, determined to end this. "That's enough. I'm the one who disrespected Ava. I emailed the superintendent about her spending the school's money on a sign. I'm sorry, Ava, and I'm sorry everyone missed lunch, especially you, Sheena. I did it because I care about the kids in this school, and that shouldn't be a bad thing." She sighed, then turned to Sheena, offering her plate of pizza. "Here, you should have this. I'm so sorry you missed lunch."

"No, thank you," Sheena shook her head.

"Okay." With that, Janine left the library.

"Not a compelling speaker," Ava remarked, watching her leave. "Charisma vacuum, am I right?"

"You know what, Ava?" Barbara stood up, her patience gone. "Janine is a lot of things—naive, a bit clingy, too cheerful," she said, her tone growing stern.

"Ooh, this is good stuff! Let me call her back in," Ava smirked.

Barbara stood, her voice steely. "But she's also right. Wanting to help these kids shouldn't be a bad thing." With that, the three teachers and substitute decided to get up out of their chairs and check on the upset second-grade teacher.

"And where is everybody going?" Ava questioned, her voice sharp as she watched the others leave.

"To check on Janine."

"To eat lunch... after I check on Janine," Melissa added, her tone softening. "Come on, Honey," she tapped the girl on the shoulder, urging her to follow.

"Do we have to?" Honey whined, staying in her seat.

"Now!" Melissa scolded, her voice firm.

"Ugh," Honey groaned, reluctantly pushing herself up from her seat. "This is your fault." She pointed accusingly at the principal before trailing after her godmother and wife.

They found the second-grade teacher standing by the door, her face drawn and distant, staring at something on the other side.

"Janine, ignore Ava. Big feet are a sign of fertility," Barbara quipped as the group walked over.

"Every lunch period, Barbara," Janine stepped away from the door, allowing the older woman a glimpse of why she'd been fighting so hard for a carpet. "Every single one, Amir comes and naps on the rug."

"Mmhmm. He was in my class," the kindergarten teacher stepped away from the door. "Mom's got a lot of kids. Dad's not around, and when he is, the parents fight."

"Right. So, he doesn't get much sleep. I told him to sleep at his desk, but he says the rug is softer... softer than his bed at home." A look of quiet remorse settled over all the teachers' faces. "You know what? I don't care if you think I'm good at this or not anymore. I care about whether or not I can make a change."

"Janine, teachers at a school like Abbott... we have to be able to do it all. We are admin. We are social workers. We are therapists. We are second parents. Hell, sometimes, we're even first."

"Mmhmm," Melissa nodded in agreement.

"Why? Heh, it sure ain't the money," Barbara lectured, her voice dry.

"Mmhmm. I could make more working the street... easy," Melissa added, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Look, we do this because we're supposed to. It's a calling. You answered."

"I believe it was Brother Cornel West—"

"Don't."

"Not right now."

"Don't!"

"You want to know my secret? Do everything you can for your kids. We'll help. Hey, I suggest we put our money together and buy Janine the rug. What do y'all think?"

"Absolutely."

"Nah."

"Yes."

"Guys, you can't," Janine says, her voice filled with appreciation but also a deep understanding of their financial constraints. "You don't have it. I know because I have the same salary as you, and I overdrafted on a doughnut hole this morning."

"Well, what are you gonna do? Steal a rug?"

"Not me, but I know a guy who knows a guy." Janine looks over at Melissa with a hopeful gleam in her eye.

"Way ahead of you. I'm gonna have to bake a ziti," the Italian woman says, pulling out her phone and scrolling through her contacts. "Hey, Tony, you big strunz, listen— you still working that stadium build?"

"Make me one too, please," Honey calls out to her wife, watching as she walks away with her phone pressed to her ear.

---

"Oh my God. He came," Janine says with a wide smile as Melissa opens the door, revealing a man standing in front of a truck loaded with rugs.

"Go get it." All the teachers head down to retrieve a rug, gratitude written across their faces.

"Hey, thank you so much. What's your name?"

"I got no name."

"He doesn't got a name."

"Move it along, Pipsqueak."

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