I had promised my students on the Friday past that things were going to change in this class. Therefore, I took a deep breath as my 4th period eighth-graders filed in and settled faster than they had since the first day of the year.

Rayvon, class spokesman by acclamation, said, "Okay, Miss Brown, whatcha got for us today that's different from all the other days?"

I looked Rayvon square in the eye. "Rayvon, might I be perfectly honest with this class?"

There was an immediate stir amongst the class -- whispers of "She ain't got nothing new," "she just don't know what to do with us like all dem other teachers; "she's just looking for a way to get rid of us," and "she's scared of us," were but a few of the comments I could clearly hear.

Rayvon quickly got up from his seat and sidled up next to me, then turned and glared at his classmates. "She asked us if she could be perfectly honest. Let's hear what the lady has to say!"

You could have heard a pin drop. There was nothing about Rayvon's stature that should have given one any sense of intimidation, yet when he spoke, people listened.

I smiled at Rayvon. "Thank you, Rayvon. You can take a seat now."

Folding his arms over his chest like Yul Brenner in Exodus, he simply declared, "If it's all the same to you, I believe I'll stay right here and watch what happens."

Taking that to mean he had my back, I moved on with the information I had discovered about them and my plan to help them obtain better math skills. "Okay, ladies and gentlemen, I spent the entire weekend reading through your permanent* records. I know now why you are so terribly frustrated in math class."

"So whatcha gonna do about it, huh," floated a statement from some gruff voice in the rear of the room.

Before I could answer, Rayvon tersely responded, "Perhaps if you just shut yer fat trap, she'd tell us!"

Silence, again.

Instead of addressing that little spat, I moved on with what I was trying to say prior to being interrupted. "It appears most of you have not passed a math class since leaving the third grade; three of you haven't passed a math class since leaving fifth grade; and only one of you passed sixth-grade math. In other words, not a single one of you has met the minimum requirements to be in this class."

Now my students were really angry with me. "So you're basically saying we're stupid," most shouted in near unison.

"No, not at all," I replied loudly.

"... that we're not smart enough to learn."

"I don't believe I said anything like it."

"You're just like all the others. You don't give a rat's ass about any of us."

Rayvon was shouting for order while I was trying to regroup as all hell was about to break loose. Mercifully, the lunch bell rang.

I stood at my door and told students they could go to lunch when they calmed down. I also stated we would finish our conversation upon their return from lunch. Trust me, nothing calms a group of hyper eighth-graders like lunch does.