The class is noisy again and a few prepare for the spelling test I am about to give. There is groaning and a whole lot of protesting but I insist and so they try. A minute into the lesson, they stand up, walk around, drum their fingers against the cold metal legs of the chair.

A fight starts. A squabble begins behind.

A bunch of boys toocooltostudy gather behind and try to make a mentallychallenged boy (MCB) scream. And everyone starts screaming because the MCB screams.  

It is the worst spelling test I’ve ever given. Soon, everyone is shouting for the next word, the word before, and the words they have missed. No one can hear me and I end up going row-by-row to repeat myself.

Spelling list: Doesn’t matter. Dreams. Believe in yourself. Light…

We go on. I say it once, twice, and they ask me again for the twentieth time what number5 is. I repeat myself over and over again. Still, they struggle. Loudhailer Boy (who just cut his hair) throws his pen up in the air and tears his paper in half before walking around to disturb the girls because he cannot spell. In desperation, I get him to follow me while I make my rounds and force him to learn them again.

Why must I, he laments. He sounds like an old man.  

When the spellingbee is over, they run up to me – from all over the place – and ask me to grade them (onebyone!), their faces hopeful. I cannot do all and so get someone to write the answers on the board. Still, they keep coming. While I know some are cheating, I give them full marks and scribble a red star anyway. They smile.  Five minutes later, Loudhailer Boy attacks me from behind and wants to get the test over and done with. Surely all wrong one la, he grumbles and trails after me, spelling list in hand and writing the words I dictate out with his paper in the air. He gets them all right this time.

I am so shocked I cannot decide whether to hug or pummel him.

Instead, I say he can go for recess, and he is a happy man.