Mrs. Moody had been my English teacher for over a semester but it wasn't until the day that she pulled me out of the principal's office that I realized she cared more about whether I turned in my paper or not. I hadn't chosen to go to the principals office. My friends had, by moving away or finding new friends over that summer. The jump from sixth grade in elementary school to seventh in junior high had left me disoriented, because I went from top of the school to bottom of the trash can.
My math scores had always been low, but it wasn't until they put me in basic English, "applied math" and a reading class because of them that I realized how low they were. I stopped going to reading class because they were teaching a 5-6th grade level and I read at 11-12th grade. This extra time gave me an excuse to get in trouble with the teachers who didn't appreciate my hanging around the halls. It also let me get into trouble with the other students who decided they had better things to do than go to class.
During one of these encounters, I clocked a kid for telling me I was a fatherless son and that my mom was a female dog. I don't speak/understand lots of Spanish, but I understand enough to insult and understood when I'm being insulted. Given my Irish and Italian background, I felt it was my duty to teach him some manners. This landed me in the principle's office.
Mrs. Moody walked in and asked me in her stern voice "Barton, what did you do this time?" After explaining my situation, she shrugged her head and told me to help carry some boxes of paper to her room. She got me out of the principal's office several more times before the end of junior high, and I tried to get sent there less.
Mrs. Moody is a middle age woman who is in charge of the school newspaper and yearbook at Dixion Middle School. Because of this she is always on a strict deadline and anything that seems to threaten her deadline she immediately attacks it. She never wears her glasses on the bridge of her nose, but always on the tip of her nose that gave you the impression that even when she was complementing you, she was somehow still unsatisfied.
She put me to work on the school newspaper staff and convinced me to be a yearbook editor the next year. Partly to keep me out of trouble, but also because she could see that if I am pushed a bit, I can do some decent work at writing. She slowly raised her level of expectations of my writing, so that by semester's end, I could transfer to a normal English class and was able to leave the reading class. I know that if I had stayed in those classes, I would have given up on a lot of things and just bummed my way through high school and not attend college for myself.