No Talking (5 page)

Mrs. Marlow could see there was plenty of activity, but those high-pitched playground voices, all that buzz and chatter and calling out, all that was definitely missing.There was no mistaking it:These kids were not talking, which would have been unusual for any bunch of students. For
this
group of kids, the custodian had called it right: It was practically a miracle.

But why? There had to be a reason they were all acting this way. And as a science-minded person, Mrs. Marlow was curious.

So, as she stood there thinking, Mrs. Marlow
began to adjust her afternoon lesson plan. Because in about ten minutes, twenty-six of these fifth graders would be sitting in her room, ready for science class.

And there was nothing Mrs. Marlow liked better than a good experiment.

I
n all her years of teaching—seventeen in total—Mrs. Marlow had never walked into a quieter classroom full of students. It was a new experience for her.

It was also new for the kids.

Dave watched Mrs. Marlow go to the front of the room and pick up her attendance book.The teacher looked at the list of names in the book, looked up and down the rows of the class, looked at the book again, and said,“I thought maybe I was in the wrong room. Pretty quiet in here today. Can someone tell me why?”

No hands went up.

But Mrs. Marlow was watching for anything that might give her a clue about this unusual behavior.

And after her question, she saw a few sly glances between kids, and she noticed some of them trying to hide a smile. She knew what those looks and smiles meant:These kids were keeping a secret.

Time for her first experiment.

Looking over the class, Mrs. Marlow settled her eyes on Seth Townsend, smiled, and said, “So, Seth, did you do your science homework last night?”

With no hesitation, Seth smiled back and said, “Yes, I did.”

Mrs. Marlow looked at Amy Gilson and said, “How about you, Amy?”

She nodded and said,“It was hard.” “Really? What did you think was hard about it?” she asked.

Amy scrunched up her face and then said, “Too much math.”

Her answer got a lot of nods and a few laughs from the other kids, but then it went completely quiet again.

Mrs. Marlow couldn't get over how beautifully these children were behaving. Just yesterday, she had asked one student a question, and about fifteen others had blurted out answers, and then the whole class began arguing, and that had started a huge free-for-all that didn't end until she banged on her
desk with a book. It was always like that with this class, and with the other fifth-grade classes too.

But not today. No one talked at all . . .
unless
she asked a question.

Which gave Mrs. Marlow an idea. “Please get out your homework sheets.” There was a lot of rustling and bustling as the students obeyed.

“Now,” she said.“Ellen, look at problem number one. How did you decide if the given quantities were reasonable?”

Ellen riffled through her papers, and the look on her face surprised Mrs. Marlow: Ellen looked scared.

It was one of the standard questions about science problems, a question the whole class was used to. But the girl seemed completely confused. Mrs. Marlow could see that she'd done the assignment. Plus, Ellen was one of the best science students. What was she so scared about?

After a few moments of what looked like absolute panic, Ellen calmed down. Then, very slowly, she said, “The numbers . . . worked.”

Mrs. Marlow waited for the rest of her explanation. It didn't come.

“Right,” she said,“and . . .” “I . . . made estimates,” Ellen said.

Again, her words came slowly. And then there was another long pause.

“And . . . ,” the teacher urged. “I used . . . math.”

Mrs. Marlow nodded.“Of course you used math. But I want to hear about your
process
,your
thinking
.”

Ellen said,“I did . . . comparing.”

Frustrated, Mrs. Marlow turned to the other side of the room. “Dave, tell us the answer you got for problem one. And explain your
process
.”

Dave didn't look scared, but he also took a long time to respond—too long for Mrs. Marlow. She said,“I'd like your answer
today
, Mr. Packer.”

Slowly, Dave said,“Four hundred forty.” “ ‘Four hundred forty' what?” prompted Mrs. Marlow.

“Barrels of oil,” said Dave. Slowly. “Per ...,”said Mrs.Marlow.

Dave said,“Per ...day.” “Wrong,” said Mrs. Marlow.“Look at your work and tell me what you forgot.” She was losing her patience.

Dave frowned and squinted at his paper. He nodded and then slowly said,“Um . . . the first day.”

A ripple of giggles swept through the room—girl giggles.

Mrs. Marlow snapped, “Since when did wrong answers become funny?”

The science teacher thought,
Are they all pretending to be stupid today? Is that it?

Whatever was going on, she didn't like it. It was disruptive. It was slowing down her class. It was annoying.

And suddenly Mrs. Marlow was in no mood for games. She was
not
going to play along. If these kids wanted quiet, then that's what they were going to get.

She glared around the room.“Pass in your papers.” Everyone obeyed without a word. “Open to chapter four and read.The homework is on the board.”

The next thirty-four minutes in the science room passed in complete silence, except for the rustle of paper and an occasional cough or sniffle.

And sitting at her desk, Mrs. Marlow had to admit that she enjoyed the quiet, enjoyed not having to fight the battle of the mouth every second with these kids. The Unshushables were completely shushed, all right—very weird.

But the science teacher wasn't any closer to figuring out
why
the kids were acting this way.

Dave felt something hit his arm and then drop onto his leg. It was a note.

He glanced at Mrs. Marlow.All clear. So he slowly reached down, picked up the note, and unfolded it.

You said, “Um, the first day.”
Um
counts as a word.
So you said four, and
you
cost the boys one whole point—loser!
Ha-ha!
Lynsey

Dave knew Lynsey was sitting two seats back on his left. And he knew she was waiting for him to turn around so she could give him a sickly-sweet little smile.

So he didn't turn around. But he felt the tops of his ears getting pink. And he began thinking of a million things he wished he could say to her—all sorts of clever insults, like,
If brains were money, you'd be broke,
or
Wow—you can count to four!
or
I had a pet turtle that . . .

“Mr. Packer—bring it here.”

Dave snapped to attention and looked up to see Mrs. Marlow staring at him, holding out her hand.

Putting on his best innocent face, Dave said, “What?”

“The note. Here.”

As Dave walked up and dropped the note into Mrs. Marlow's hand, the bell rang.

Mrs. Marlow tucked the paper into her pocket and then stood up quickly. Because when the bell rang, she had to hurry out her door and try to maintain law and order in the hallway between classes.

But, of course, there was no need for the corridor police, not today. Mrs. Marlow watched all the fifth graders move from room to room, smiling, waving, making faces, nodding at each other.There were a few laughs and whistles, and she heard Tyler Rennert make a loud snort in the general direction of some girls, but there was no talking.

She looked across the hall and caught Mrs. Escobar's eye, and they both smiled and then shrugged at each other. And since there wasn't any patrol work to do,Mrs.Marlow reached into her pocket and pulled out the captured note.And she read it.

For a logical person like Mrs. Marlow, Lynsey's note to Dave was like the Rosetta stone, a key that helped her begin to understand what she had seen and heard on the playground and then in her classroom.

So . . . this whole thing was something about counting words. More than three words resulted in a penalty—which explained all those short answers from Ellen and Dave.And it was the boys against the

girls—nothing new about that, not with this group. And they were all trying to keep quiet.

Mrs. Marlow remembered the “jinx” game from her own school years, when two people said the same word at the same time and then had to keep quiet. Maybe it was like that.

Except this wasn't two people. It was more than a hundred and twenty-five of the most talkative children on planet Earth.

As chunks of the puzzle began to fall into place, Mrs. Marlow immediately thought,
The others are going to love this!

She meant the other teachers. But then her scientific curiosity kicked in, and she thought,
Why spoil the kids' experiment? And I should really let the other teachers figure things out on their own. And, of course, my preliminary findings could be wrong. I should certainly gather more data before I present my theory to the scholarly community.

And as Mrs. Marlow chuckled at her private joke, she said to herself,
Kids!

T
uesday afternoon in the fifth-grade hall was a challenge for everyone.

Mrs.Akers walked into the music room, sat at her piano, smiled, and said, “My, you are all behaving so
well
this afternoon—wonderful! Now, please open your songbooks to ‘This Land Is Your Land.'”

As she played the introduction on the piano, she said,“Backs straight, big smiles, deep breaths, and . . .”

No one sang.

The piano stopped mid-measure, and Mrs. Akers frowned at the class. “Now, I
know
you can all do better than that.”

She began the introduction again, counting in the beats.“One, and two, and three,‘This land is your land, this land . . .'”

Mrs. Akers stopped. She was singing a solo, and

her high, quivering voice made the kids giggle.

She frowned again.“All right, students.This is
not
funny. And it's not good. We have less than two weeks before our Thanksgiving program, and we have no time for this kind of silliness.”

She pointed a bright pink fingernail around the room. “Brian, Tommy, Anna, every one of you! I want to hear you
sing
!”

She banged out the introduction again, and the whole class sang,“This land is . . .” and then stopped.

The piano kept playing, and Mrs.Akers bellowed, “Sing!” And most of the kids jumped in on “. . . my land, from . . .” and then stopped.

After another shouted command, they sang “. . . the redwood forest ...,”and that's how the whole song went, chopped up into three-word bits.

And when Mrs.Akers, her face bright red by this point, thumped on her piano and said,“What is
wrong
with all of you today?” the kids didn't say a word.

Like all teachers, Mrs. Akers understood the “divide and conquer” rule: When you need to get to the bottom of something, you don't ask the whole class; you ask
one
student. So she pointed at Lena in the front row and said,“Why aren't you singing?”

Lena hesitated, and then motioned at the kids all around the room and said,“Not talking today.”

Mrs. Akers said, “What's that supposed to mean? Not talking?”

Lena nodded.“Only three words.”

The music teacher was even more puzzled. She pointed at James and said,“Explain.”

James had trouble expressing himself even under the best conditions. He gulped and took a deep breath.Then he said,“Not . . . words. Everyone.”

A light dawned on Mrs. Akers's face. And, still talking to James, she said, “Oh—so, is it like that project kids do, when they take a vow of silence? To protest how there's still slavery in Africa? I read about that—is that it?”

James looked lost. He shook his head. “Hard . . . explain. Not.”

But Mrs. Akers felt like she had answered the riddle, or maybe partly answered it. And whatever was happening, she decided to be a good sport.

Looking around the room, she said, “So, tell me—can you all hum? Is humming allowed?”

Everyone grinned and nodded like maniacs. “How about clapping? Can you clap in rhythm?” More smiles and nods. “All right, then, here we go again,” and she ripped back into the piano. “One, and two, and three! Hmm hmm hmm hmmm hmmm . . .”

And twenty-four fifth graders clapped and hummed along as Mrs. Akers played all seven verses of “This Land Is Your Land.” Then the whole class giggled and laughed and hummed and clapped their way through the other four songs on the Thanksgiving program.

And they all survived their first wordless music class.