jumpingfish

She came into the room at the beginning of the sixth period final. It was the last exam of the year. But she was exempt, so I was surprised to see her.

“Here, Mr. Hasan,” she said. “Thank you,” her long dark hair framing a relaxed smile.

She handed me a card and then left for the cafeteria, where the exempt students were assembling. It was a long, sweet note that concluded with these words:

I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’m going to miss algebra. I hope your summer is full of cashews and pickles!

They know us really, really well.

It was the second day of final exams. The first period students were coming into the room. I was passing out the answer forms — half-sheets of paper with a box for each multiple choice answer.

This class never gets multiple choice tests. They didn’t know what to make of it.

“Is that all!?” one of them asked before he had even looked at the paper.

“No, it’s the answer sheet,” I said.

“How many problems?” he asked, evidently still not having looked at the paper which consisted of little more than 17 numbered boxes.

“Seventeen,” I said.

“Is that all?” someone else said in a tone of sincere surprise.

“Wait,” I said, turning toward them. “You mean you want me to put more problems on the test?”

“No, no, no!”

I looked down at my desk to take attendance.

“Very suspicious,” one of them mumbled. “Mr. Hasan giving a multiple choice test. Very suspicious.”

It was the last day of algebra for him. We had been talking about his grade, and to his relief, he passed.

On his way out of the room, he stopped at the garbage can by the door. He was about to throw out the notes he had brought with him, notes about exponential functions and logarithms. Just the kind of stuff you’d throw away with glee, right?

He stopped short and looked in my direction.

“Um… is it ok if I…,” he said as he feigned tossing his handful of notes into the garbage.

I laughed.

“Yes, it’s fine. Have a good summer.”

On Friday I wore a sea green STS-125 short-sleeved shirt from when I worked in Houston. It’s one of my favorites, and I don’t wear it often, since I don’t want to wear it out. It dates me, but no one really knows that.

Alicia sits in the front row, and we often have mini-conversations when they are working on practice problems. 

“Mr. Hasan, you look good in green.” 

She didn’t ask about the embroidered Hubble emblem, but it made me happy, anyway.

“Thank you, Alicia.”

Victoria sits in the back row. She often has mini-conversations with Roberto when he comes back to sit with her when they are working on practice problems. She looked up when Alicia spoke.

“You have style Mr. Hasan,” she said.

I laughed. 

“But I don’t wear a tie.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Victoria said. “You make it work.” 

And now I really laughed.

“You need to tell my wife that!” 

They came in before sixth period. Robert was holding a box with a cupcake. Daniela had something in a glass. Stephen, who came in last, was tagging along.

Daniela held up the glass. “Do you have a spoon, Mr. Hasan?” 

“I do!” I reached into the cabinet and pulled out a plastic spoon. 

Robert stepped forward, and for a moment it appeared as if I was going to have to decline a cupcake.

“Mr. Hasan, what does après un rêve mean?” 

“After a dream.” 

“You are right!” he said.

“Were you testing me?” 

“You should hear the song,” he said as he and Daniela turned to leave. Stephen followed close behind. 

“It’s opera,” Robert shouted from the hallway. “You really should hear it.” And he broke into song.