Principal Words

There were clouds on the horizon for Sunville Elementary School. 

The day that the clouds appeared was gloomy and depressing, as opposed to the bright name of the school. Children from all walks of life moved from class to class, following the repetitive tolling of their schoolbell. Any outsider would’ve seen a normal, inclusive school with normal, happy children. Only an insider, a student or a teacher perhaps, would know what truly lurked behind those smiling faces. 

***

It’s my second period, history. My mind swirls with thoughts far from the American Civil War. Yesterday was a whirlwind of activity and strain. I didn’t sleep a wink last night and it wasn’t because of my baby brother. The school assured me that my name wouldn’t be mentioned, but I still worry nonetheless. 

It’s barely even twelve o’clock now and my heart is already racing. It’s like the calm before the storm, but only I feel it. 

“All Intermediate students, please make your way down to the gym. Immediately,” a stern voice on the PA system overhead intones. 

 I rise on unsteady legs. People around me are moving and talking, but I can’t hear a single thing they're saying. 

I don’t remember walking down the stairs or through hallways. I vaguely, distantly feel myself find a seat in the rows of bleachers surrounding the walls of the large gym. 

A drop of sweat slips down my forehead. 

The gym doors swing open and in walks Ms. Fernandez and Ms. Patel, our principal and vice principal. “Quiet, grade sevens and eights. Greg, Timothee, please take a seat. This is not a party!” 

Greg and Timothee, our school’s class clown, scurry to their seats. The rest of us stiffen; Ms.Fernandez has never used that tone with all of us before. Most of the time, she’s laid-back and focuses more on younger children. 

“We have called you all down here to discuss a serious issue.” 

I glance at the doors where the homeroom teachers are stationed, stony and impassive. I suck in a little breath when I see three officers clad in official Sunville Police uniforms. 

“How many of you have used or are using a chatting app called Viber?” Ms. Patel begins, her eyes roaming around the bleachers. 

“I find it strange, Ms.Patel, that no one is raising their hands yet we have evidence that the majority of our intermediate students are in a group chat named ⅞ Sunville,” Ms.Fernandez glances at the folder of papers in her hands. 

Pictures and screenshots. 

“Oh shit,” a girl dressed in pastels below me whispers. 

“There were cruel, unjust, and mean things written in this chat.” Ms.Fernandez continues, spittle flying from her lips. She adjusts the reading glasses on the bridge of her nose. “One student wrote, ‘I’m going to kick her privates for being such a Karen.’” 

Some people choke on their laughter, but quiet down when the homeroom teachers stalk nearer. 

An incredulous look spreads over Ms.Fernandez’s face. “You’re laughing? Are you seriously laughing? Kicking someone and invading their privacy is not acceptable. We’ve gone over this again and again. We’ve had BLM presentations, equity workshops, and cyberbullying assemblies and still, we’re writing these hurtful comments and laughing about it.” She gives a pointed look to the kids who were not-so-secretly holding in their laughter earlier. 

“What will it take for you to understand that your words have impacts and consequences? Ms. Patel and I have met with the same students countless times to discuss uncalled for behavior. I’ve told my supervisor about how wonderful our students are, but what am I supposed to tell her now? That our school has become a breeding ground for cruelty?” 

I look at my hands, my cheeks heating up. Shame crawls up my spine despite the fact that I wasn’t directly involved in the ⅞ Sunville chatroom. Disappointment bites no matter who is giving it to you. 

“The messages shared on Viber are just,” our principal shuts her eyes, “appalling.”

Ms.Patel takes over, her accent sparking as she becomes angrier. “‘He doesn’t deserve the Sports Award. He runs like a duck.’ And that is one of the milder comments. We may not know who has what username, but this is unacceptable behavior nonetheless.” Ms.Patel’s gaze roams over the bleachers, her lips drawn in a tight line. She shakes her head. “Absolutely unacceptable.” 

The teachers nod in agreement. 

My throat tightens. 

“We expected more from you 7 and 8s. We have kindergarteners and primaries looking up to you. Think about what examples you are setting for them;” 

The whispers of a group of grade sevens beside me intensify and I inch away from them, predicting what will happen. 

“Boys, is there something you’d like to share?” Mr.Ternidi, the P.E. teacher, suddenly booms in his burly voice. His words reverberate in the tall gymnasium walls. 

He stalks over to the bleacher I’m on and the boys freeze. Forget Ms.Patel or Ms.Fernandez or even the police officers, Mr.Ternidi is the scariest person you’ll meet in Sunville. He has a way of making students shrivel up into a tiny ball. And his face, it’s always filled with annoyance. 

“No? Then I suggest you be quiet and pay Ms.Patel some respect because as she said, your behavior is absolutely unacceptable.” 

The pregnant silence in the gym shatters as Mr. Ternidi walks away. 

“Thank you, Mr.Ternidi,” nodded Ms.Fernandez. “Clearly, we have lots to go over. I know the end of the school year is nearing, but that is not an excuse to put down your classmates. From Kindergarten we’ve been teaching you to ‘treat others the way you want to be treated” and that moral doesn’t fade as you grow older. In fact, it should be strengthened.

“We review cybersecurity and cyberbullying every year so none of this is new. Yet we’re still hiding behind our screens and putting each other down. It’s gotten so bad that we’ve had to call the police.” 

Almost in unison, everyone glances at the back doors where the man and two women in blue stand at. 

There is a long moment of silence before Ms.Fernandez says, “What is most disappointing is that it is only now being brought to our attention. This chat room has been open since, what, September? And now it’s January. It’s been four months. You don't know what could’ve happened during those four months. Someone should’ve said something sooner.” She emphasizes her last sentence with claps of her hands. “Even if you weren’t directly involved in the chat or you didn’t see anything happen, you knew that there were unkind messages being spread online and you didn’t do anything about it. You were a bystander when you could’ve been an ally.” 

The air leaves my lungs and my chest tightens. Ms.Fernandez’s words were a direct attack. I saw the messages and the pain my classmates felt, yet I didn’t speak up until yesterday. What if it was too late? What if the struggle became too heavy for someone? 

What if, what if, what if. 

“How many of you have been bullied, belittled, or hurt by someone else's words?” Ms.Patel softly questions. 

Slowly, students begin raising their hands. One by one the gym is filled with raised hands. Even the reluctant, quiet students do it. 

“We’re all humans and our voices and feelings will always matter.” Ms.Fernandez concludes with a contemplative voice. “I know this meeting didn’t cover everything that needed to be said, but an email has been sent to all teachers and parents regarding implementations regarding new social media rules. We’ll also be calling certain students down to the office to further discuss some things. For now, though, you may return to class.”

Everyone stands up and within a blink of an eye, the chatter begins. The noise is so deafening, it’s almost comforting. Voices wrap around my body, a blanket of protection from the deathly silence. 

“STOP, STOP, STOP,” a stern voice shouts amidst the cacophony of noise. 

My warm blanket disappears.

Most of us pause, but it takes a few more minutes to gather up the students who have already escaped from the gym. 

Ms.Fernandez throws her hands up. “Do you all always run out of class in a stampede? I don’t want to see that again, OK? I want proper single file lines behind your respective teachers with zero talking. Let’s try that again: you may return to class.”

You could hear a pin drop as we exited the gym again, somber and reflective. 

Everyone’s head is down, even the rowdy students’. Whether they’re thinking about their actions or about who snitched on them is unclear—though, knowing my classmates, it’s most likely the latter. I wonder if they’ll figure out it’s me or blame it on some other kid. 

My heart is beating out of my chest so forcefully I swear it’s going to tear apart my skin. 

Despite the entire talk Ms.Fernandez just had with us, I know a new chat room with new names will be created and more evil messages will be spread. Suspension, expulsion, and arrests don’t scare them. 

It’s an endless social cycle. 

That talk may have stopped one student from continuing his/her toxicity, but there are hundreds of students and it’s impossible to have over a hundred assemblies. 

Maybe it’s hopeless, people will never change their ways.

But, maybe, just maybe—there is hope for us all. 

There certainly are clouds on the horizon for Sunville Elementary, but there’ll always be rainbows there too.