My song prompt was Get it Right by Lea Michele. Thanks for reading!YOUR GOOD ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH
“Your ‘good’ isn’t good enough.” I will have heard those words too many times to count by the time I pass 6th grade Math. Algebra seems to be the only thing I can think about now. I dream of an x. The x chases me down a hall on its little x legs, and then it uses Mrs. Brandt’s voice to say, “Your good isn’t good enough.” It echoes in my head. And just as the x catches me and is about to throw me down its x mouth, I wake up. And do you know what shape I wake up in? X. What the heck? Algebra just isn’t my thing. And having Mrs. Brandt for a teacher doesn’t make it any better.
The next day Mrs. Brandt will single me out again. Everyone in class will be given a worksheet with twenty problems. But when she gets to me, she will reach to the bottom of the pile and hand me a small slip of paper with a single problem on it. She will smile down at me and say,
“I know that you struggle with this, Leonard, so I tried to write a problem that would be simple enough for you. If you need help, ask Sean. He’d be more of a help than me. He’s such a sweet little boy.” And she will glance over her shoulder to look at Sean in the back of the classroom. He will wink at her, and she will smile back. Sean is her son, and the evilest kid in the class. He throws little pebbles at the back of my head in class so I can’t concentrate. And if I don’t go ask him for help, he beats me up at recess.
So once she gives the paper, I will have to spend a good ten minutes looking at it or Sean will be meaner to me. The problem will be something that is supposedly incredibly simple, but I won’t understand it at all. I just know which one she will give me tomorrow. She always gives me the same ones from Monday to Monday, Tuesday to Tuesday. It will look like this:
2x + 14 = 8x – 49
It won’t make any sense to me. None at all. Every time I try to solve it, I always come up with a fraction, but Mrs. Brandt said there wouldn’t be any fractions. And then I will have to go ask Sean. He will look at the problem, and his lip will curl into a sneer. He’ll look at me with malice and will stage-whisper,
“Really, Leonard? You don’t know this problem? Didn’t you just ask me about the same thing right around a week ago?” And then he’ll sigh and say with his faux-sadness, “Leonard, you’ve asked me this question too many times. I think that now you’re just looking for attention. You’re lucky that Mo—Mrs. Brandt, puts up with you. You’re such a trial for her. Please don’t bother me again.” And then he’ll look back down at his work. Only his work won’t be Math. Oh no, he’ll have finished the Math by then. Mrs. Brandt always slips him the answers when he gets his assignment. He’ll be reading some sort of scientific paper, or writing his own. Or he’ll be planning how to rule the world. If I don’t leave within a few seconds of being dismissed, he’ll look up at me and say as his ferrety nose twitches, “Leonard, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you shouldn’t be reading this. You won’t understand it, and I don’t want to confuse you.” And I will be confused, but I will also be intrigued. But I will have to go back to my seat. And I never will get the answer to the question.
But tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow I will not ask Sean for help. Tomorrow I will not take Mrs. Brandt’s criticism lying down. I have a plan. Tomorrow I will set up a small sound recorded in my pocket. And it will catch Mrs. Brandt and her arrogant son on tape. And then I’ll take it to Principal Stanley, and he will tell me that that type of behavior toward a student is inappropriate and he will put me in another class and everything will be better. I just hope he believes me. I’ll go to his office and say,
“Sir?” He’ll turn to me and say
“And you are…?”
“I’m just Leonard, sir.”
“Leonard. Well Leonard, what can I do for you?”
“I have something I need you to listen to.”
“Well, you have to understand Leonard that I’m very busy. It might work better if you were to make an appointment.” I’ll nod. I won’t expect him to just push everything to the side for me. I bring the tape out and say,
“Sir, if I left this with you, would you listen to it and then get back to me?” Mr. Stanley will smile kindly and say,
“Of course, Leonard. What’s your home room?” I’ll gulp and say,
“Mrs. Brandt’s, sir.” He’ll smiles and say,
“Have you had her listen to this?”
“No, sir,” I’ll pause, “It concerns her, sir.” His smile will freeze, and he’ll say,
“I certainly hope it isn’t anything that shows her in a less-than-kind light.” I will hang my head and say,
“It is, sir. I apologize.” He will stand up, no longer kindly. He will be a man more concerned about where he spends his nights than about a single sixth grader. I’ll turn around and leave, taking my tape with me. I will picture his eyes laughing at me with his mistress’s cold cruelty and him saying, “Silly child. Your good will never be good enough.” What will I do when I know my good isn’t good enough?
I will call my mother.
Miss Natasha Kings. She will be the superintendent of the school district by this time, and no one will mess with her. Mr. Stanley will brownnose like he never has before in his life. Neither he nor Mrs. Brandt will know that she is my mother. The divorce will be finalized by then time, and I will have my father’s last name. I will have never abused the power of her name. Not to intimidate my schoolmates, not to frighten off teachers. But this time will be an exception.
I will be sitting in home room, and Mr. Stanley will be there talking to Mrs. Brandt on false pretenses. She will go with him to ‘look at the broken copier’. Interesting euphemism. But this day they won’t go out. The phone will ring just as they are getting up. Mrs. Brandt will roll her eyes and pick it up, saying,
“Mrs. Brandt’s room, Mrs. Brandt speaking.” And Mom will quietly ask to speak with the principal and her. Mrs. Brandt will almost drop the phone as she recognizes the voice and she will say,
“Miss Kings! You caught us just in time; Principal Stanley was just leaving my room. He’s right here. Hang on.” And she will gesture furiously for Mr. Stanley to pick up the other phone at her desk. He’ll clear his throat, straighten his tie (pointless, really) and pick up the phone, saying,
“Stanley Middle School, Mr. Stanley speaking. What can I do for you, Miss Kings?” And Mom will say,
“Well, Mr. Stanley, you can be less concerned about whom you’re sleeping with and more concerned about the good of your students, particularly my son.” Both pairs of eyes will widen as they look at each other from across the room. Mr. Stanley will say,
“I-I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why would you say such a strange thing, Miss Kings? I am, after all, a married man.”
“And Mrs. Brandt is a married woman, but that hasn’t stopped you from banging her brains out in the supply room, has it?” Both Mrs. Brandt and Mr. Stanley will flush a deep red at that, and I will have to work hard not to laugh. Mrs. Brandt will say,
“Your son, Miss Kings? I thought you unmarried.” She will share a gloating glance with Mr. Stanley. But Mom will just say in her stiff don’t-go-there voice,
“Yes, Mrs. Brandt, my son. I am divorced. My son is Leonard Price; perhaps you know of him?” Both Mrs. Brandt and Mr. Stanley will turn to stare at me, but I will keep reading my book and pretend not to notice. Mrs. Brandt will take a moment to recover, and then say,
“Leonard Price, ma’am? But Ben and I adore Leo! Why ever would you think we aren’t concerned about him? Poor dear’s probably suffocating from the attention we lavish on him.” As she says this, Mrs. Brandt will shoot me a nasty grin.
“Bullshit. My son has never scraped so much as a D in your class, and he’s a bright little boy. I know for a fact he’s never asked you for help, and do you know why he hasn’t asked?” Mom will fling the word with surprising venom. The following silence will indicate that this is not a rhetorical question. Mrs. Brandt will think for a moment and then say,
“I can’t imagine why not.”
“Perhaps this will jog your memory.” Then there will be a click and Mrs. Brandt’s own words will ring in both her ears and Mr. Stanley’s. He’ll look at her in horror as her comments to me are made known to both. When the tape stops, Mr. Stanley will say,
“I’m terribly sorry about all this, Miss Kings. I had no idea that this was going on.”
“Bullshit, Stanley. My son brought you this exact same tape, but you refused to listen to it. Why?” Once again, it was not a rhetorical question. Mr. Stanley will bow his head and mumble,
“Because he said it portrayed Mrs. Brandt in a less-than-favorable light.” They will be able to hear Mom smiling as she patiently says,
“That’s right, Justin. And what are you going to do about it?” Mr. Stanley will screw up his courage as he says into the phone,
“I will dismiss Mrs. Brandt from her post at once.” Mrs. Brandt will be gaping like a fish as he says this, and her face will turn a glorious fuchsia. Mom will say breezily,
“Oh I don’t think that’s necessary. Just placing Leonard in a different class with a more mature teacher should be enough. And Mrs. Brandt? Leonard hates being called Leo.” And with that Mom will hang up the phone. The message will be clear to both Mr. Stanley and Mrs. Brandt: I am not a student to be trifled with.
And within three days, I will be in a different classroom where no one hates me. I will have an excellent teacher and nice classmates. And I will pass sixth grade Math.
