A Very Large Expanse of Sea(28)

“I heard.”

“Okay.” I started walking.

He kept up. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“You’re talking to me now.”

“Shirin,” he said, “I’m really sorry. I realize I did something wrong, and I’d really like to discuss it with you.”

I stopped in the middle of the hallway. Turned to face him. I was feeling brave, apparently. “What would you like to discuss?”

“Well, obviously I’ve upset you—”

“Obviously you’ve upset me, yes.” I looked at him. “Why would you pull such a dick move, Mr. Jordan? You knew Travis was going to say something awful about me, and you wanted him to.”

Students were rushing around us, some of them slowing down to stare as they went. Mr. Jordan looked flustered.

“That’s not true,” he said, his neck going red. “I didn’t want him to say anything awful about you. I just wanted us to be able to talk about stereotypes and how harmful they are. How you are more than what he might have assumed about you.”

“Whatever,” I said. “That’s maybe sixty percent true. The other forty percent is that you sacrificed my comfort just to make yourself seem progressive. You put me in that shitty situation because you thought it would be shocking and exciting.”

“Can we please talk about this somewhere else?” he said, pleading with his eyes. “Maybe in my classroom?”

I sighed heavily. “Fine.”

Honestly, I didn’t know why he cared.

I didn’t realize it would be such a big deal to drop his class, but then, I didn’t know anything about being a teacher. Maybe my complaint got Mr. Jordan in trouble. I had no idea.

But he just wasn’t giving this up.

“I’m sorry,” he said for the fifth time. “I really am. I never meant to upset you like this. I really didn’t think it would hurt you.”

“Then you didn’t think,” I said. My voice was shaking a little; some of my bravado had worn off. Here, separated by his desk, I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was talking to a teacher, and old, deeply ingrained habits were reminding me that I was just a sixteen-year-old kid very much at the mercy of these random, underpaid adults. “It’s not much of a leap,” I said to him, speaking more calmly now, “to imagine something like that being hurtful. And anyway, this isn’t even about you hurting my feelings.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” I said. “It’s about the fact that you think you’re being helpful. But if you’d stopped to consider for even five seconds what my life was actually like you’d have realized you weren’t doing me a favor. I don’t need to hear any more people say stupid shit to my face, okay? I don’t. I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime. You don’t get to make an example out of me,” I said. “Not like that.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. Looked away.

“What can I do to get you to come back to class?”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not looking to strike a deal.”

“But we need your voice in the classroom,” he said. “What you just said to me here, right now—I want to hear you say that in class. You’re allowed to tell me when I’m messing up, too, okay? But if you walk away the second it gets hard, how will any of us ever learn? Who will be there to guide us?”

“Maybe you can look it up. Visit a library.”

He laughed. Sighed. Sat back in his chair. “I get it,” he said, throwing up his hands in defeat. “I do. It’s not your job to educate the ignorant.”

“No,” I said. “It’s not. I’m tired as hell, Mr. Jordan. I’ve been trying to educate people for years and it’s exhausting. I’m tired of being patient with bigots. I’m tired of trying to explain why I don’t deserve to be treated like a piece of shit all the time. I’m tired of begging everyone to understand that people of color aren’t all the same, that we don’t all believe the same things or feel the same things or experience the world the same way.” I shook my head, hard. “I’m just—I’m sick and tired of trying to explain to the world why racism is bad, okay? Why is that my job?”

“It’s not.”

“You’re right,” I said. “It’s not.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do.”

He leaned forward. “Come back to class,” he said. “Please. I’m sorry.”

Mr. Jordan was wearing me down.

I’d never talked to a teacher like this before, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised I was getting away with it. He also seemed—I don’t know? He actually seemed genuine. It made me want to give him another chance.

Still, I said, “Listen, I appreciate your apology, but I don’t know if you’d actually want me back in your class.”

He seemed surprised. “Why not?”

“Because,” I said, “if you pull another stunt like this I’m liable to tell you to go to hell in front of all your students.”

He seemed unfazed. “I can accept these terms.”

Finally, I said, “Fine.”