Work Text:
Chapter 1: The Vanity
I have to admit, I'm worried about Qoheleth. I know that it's normal to go through some angst when you're a teen, but few of my students openly discuss such darkness as she's injected into, well, almost all of her work. Perhaps if it was just that, I'd attribute it to a creative mind giving words to old traumas, but just last week, I caught her in the bathroom during my planning period, staring into the mirror almost vacantly. "Vanity of vanities," she murmured. She didn't see me, nor the lack of regard I had for that particular vanity over any other. "All is vanity. What have I gained for all I've done? Perfect grades can come to naught, and blue skies will bleed forth their rain."
I tried to sneak past her quietly, but those ears are not human, I swear. "Hello, Mrs. Deuteronomist. I apologize, for the sage has nothing to share but truth." I never know quite how to respond to Qoheleth. I'm supposed to be the teacher, but I don't know how to teach her to think when her thoughts are already... well, alien, I suppose, in their exceptional humanity. I know that doesn't make sense, but I don't know how to change that. I murmured a soft excuse - we're in the bathroom, by the Principal, we shouldn't even be acknowledging one another! - and walked down to the last sink to freshen up.
Her eyes tracking my fingertips seemed to burn the dirt I should have washed away hours before. Her voice seemed hollow. "You will have washed your hands soon; soon they will be filth."
The door closing behind me did not stop the feeling of being watched.
Chapter 2: Wisdom and Madness
Qoheleth left her journal in my classroom. Something tells me she didn't forget it. She writes poetry in purple ink.
"Pencil-lead breaks under stress
Quills bend
They adapt, taking the shape of the page,
Opening, deepening, pouring forth their ink,
And come back none the weaker for their journey.
That's why I use pencils.
If I break, I break.
If I dullen, I dullen.
If I strive and climb towards perfection,
I find myself no greater
For like the lead, I sink.
Why climb?"
I try to push her, I honestly do. There is a right thinking, a striving for truth, that she doesn't seem to understand. Or perhaps she just won't accept that wisdom will be its own reward. I must find some way to reach her - is this journal, then, her hope to build a bridge?
Chapter 3: The Principal
Nobody is really sure what happened this morning in classroom 61. It's on the far side of the building from my class, but rumors spread like wildfire. Whatever it was, it can't have been good; Mr. Hobbs was requested in the Principal's office by intercom. The Principal's voice had everyone quiet at first, of course - seems like that's the only time this classroom is ever quiet, with all the self-appointed wise guys in here - but whispers rapidly turned to speculation. Very few people ever return from the Principal's office.
Amos and Obadiah seem convinced that Hobbs hit a kid. The Tetras claim to have inside information, but they're whispering too quiet to hear - nothing new for that clique, though. I need to restore order, but something in me just wants to find out what Qoheleth is thinking.
She doesn't seem to care that Hobbs got called up to the Principal. She's just sitting at her desk, the same way she always does. Right now, she's watching me. I think she's waiting for me to pull things together. If she's always asking for something new, though, today she'll get it. I'm just going to wait.
My wait ended up being short. Chronicles noticed that Qoheleth wasn't involved in the conversation, and he asked her what she thought. I don't think Chronicles knows her yet, he's just the outgoing sort who wants to reach out anyway. Her eyes were surprisingly indifferent when she turned them to respond - I expected some kind of anger, or angsty irritation, or something at least. But she's just calm. "It was Hobbs's time," she answered. "Who are we to question it? When the Principal calls you, you will go, just as I too will go. Until then, it is not our time."
She's too calm.
Chapter 4: A Handful of Quietness
The second poem in her journal doesn't make sense. It doesn't have a consistent theme, it doesn't follow any meter I'm familiar with, it doesn't even rhyme. Neither does the first one, now I think of it, but at least it makes sense. This one... I'm just lost.
Louis Vuittons have sharp heels.
They leave marks on your skin,
little angry red holes in your shoulder
that remind you it's better to be short
so they won't climb as eagerly.
Still, I am a sunflower, alone in a field,
I twist myself by day,
By night I sleep not, but labor back where I began
For all my labor, the tree careth not.
When the time of dying comes, seeds scatter through the field,
And I tell them, beware the trees,
And some listen, and some die,
As I dwindle away beneath the ancient oak.
Qoheleth's poetry feels as if it could be great, but if it is, I don't know how. All I know is that somehow, in this, I doubt her drive. I think she's content where she is, and so long as that is in heterodoxy, I cannot join her.
Chapter 5: The Apology
"Yes, Principal, I know that Malachi has been out all week. I have every confidence that the work he's already turned in will prove up to par, and I expect to see him back in as soon as possible... No, I don't think he needs special attention from the office yet... Yes, I'll keep you updated once I've graded those papers. Will that be all?... Thank you, you too." I hung up the worn black receiver, looking out across the quiet room. Every student's eyes were fixed on me, but only one student broke the silence.
"You shouldn't make assurances you can't back up, Mrs. D. The Principal is not a person you wish to mislead." Qoheleth, of course. No matter what else you think of her, she's bold. She isn't afraid to question authority. I just don't think she has the right aim in mind here.
"I don't intend to mislead the Principal, and I made no definite assurances, other than that I will do my job. That's already in my contract. But if I may, I'd like to take a teachable moment here, Qol. I think that it's important that I support my students, because you all are the reason I come to work here every day. I agree with you that it's important to pick my battles, and I agree that when disputing the Principal, you've got to be very certain of yourself. But in this case, I stand by what I said, one hundred percent. Malachi is a classmate you may feel no particular loyalty to, but he is my student whom I love and support. He's going through a lot, and if by my vocal support I can protect him, I will. Malachi may be a prophet, and Malachi may have stood before the principal, but I have no wish to push that upon him again unless it is necessary. That's why I protected him, and why I would do so again."
I feared I may have overspoken; many teens will shrink away from an extended response, even if it isn't a direct criticism. Some of the shyer students were visibly retreating into their seats, despite not being at all related to this conversation.
Qoheleth, however, seemed unfazed. "Good," she replied curtly, "It is far better to love your students than to love your pay. If you hate your labor, then your reward cannot be worth the time you have spent on it."
Not knowing how that tied into my comment, I elected to continue with the day's lesson.
Chapter 6: Of Unsatisfied Souls
Two students were sitting against the outside wall of my classroom today, though I don't know either. The shorter one was dressed in a button-down shirt with an aged, worn collar, untucked and rumpled over her torn jeans. The other's cashmere sweater somehow exuded wealth and power. His tears were soaked up readily by the soft wool. Her arm was around him.
"It's going to be okay," she murmured, "you'll figure things out." Her voice sounded doubtful, as if this were a conversation they had had many times before. Her eyes turned up to me for help. Though I had no training in therapy nor the disciplines of comfort, I knew what it was like to be a teenager, and I've seen many tears in my time as a teacher. I knelt down on the other side of him, and I asked softly for his story.
"It's not one you want to hear, ma'am," he said. "I don't have a tragic reason for all this. No family deaths, no personal struggles, I don't know why I'm sad. I just... am." It was hardly unheard of - being a kid is tough, even if you don't recognize how at the time. Hopefully some encouragement could nudge that thinking in the right direction.
"Not everyone does, buddy, but that's okay. I know it's hard to be a kid - believe it or not, I was young once, too. But consider your friend here - she's also young, but she's got a positive outlook. That's not because her life is good, it's because she's got people to care for her, like you, and like your other friends. People are important, you know?" The icy daggers he glared at me told me that he'd heard it all before. "Uh, I don't have much time right now, but I'd love to take time later and-"
"You know," Qoheleth cut in. Apparently she had stepped up at some point since my arrival. Honestly, I was glad for her interruption; I was floundering there. I think she knew it. "I do understand your pain. You seem so above struggle, but that doesn't exempt you from it. I know it feels selfish, but it's okay to recognize that you'd rather be your friend there in second-day clothes than yourself in your nines. All that stuff? It doesn't matter. Where your mind is, that's what makes the difference. And sometimes, it feels like you can't do much about that. I'm not going to lie and say you can. I just want to be sure you know it's okay to not be okay, ok?"
Something in there sparked a chuckle in him, and I slid over to offer my spot to Qoheleth. She was obviously better for this situation than me. His voice sounded different somehow as he replied. "Thanks - yeah, you're right, I just guess I wish you weren't. I'm Nebuchadnezzar, by the way, but you can just call me Neb."
"Qoheleth, or Qol. Pleased to meet you." The handshake they shared was almost comically mechanical, but neither of them seemed to recognize anything abnormal, and I saved my giggles for a more appropriate time.
Neb - I think he's in Mrs. Kenlan's class - opened up a bit more. "I guess I just feel a bit out of control. Like, despite everything my status tells me I should have, I really don't have any real and meaningful choice. You know what that's like?"
Qoheleth smiled, a warm smile I wish I could see more often from her. "In a way, I think. I think you can see that I'm of no special privilege, but I've definitely thought about that. I mean, the richest kid in school is really still just a kid in school. We don't choose our classes, nor our teachers, nor the order of our day. That's all up to the Principal. The only thing we have open to us is how we use the time in that day. And you've got to figure out what you want to do with it, not what the world tells you that you want to do with it. If you hang in the most elite cliques, and follow all the trendiest fashions, and it doesn't make you happy, you're no better off than a loner dressed in rags. You know what I mean?"
"Definitely." His nod invited Qol to continue, and she did.
"So really, yeah, if you count on your privilege, you kinda are powerless. The Principal has made a level playing field in that way. The beauty of that is, though, you've got the same opportunity and choices that everyone else does - even if nobody has ever taught you to take it. You can be whoever you want here, and that means you're free to be happy, whatever that looks like for you. Trendy or wacko, cool or crazy, straight A's or straight D's..." Qoheleth glanced at me there, but I let it slide. A student’s mental health is more important than their grades. "And the path to figuring that out isn't short, I know. But you've got your friend here to support you along the way, and teachers and even other students who would gladly help. So yeah, while it's okay to not be okay, there's an opportunity there for you to learn how to become okay. Ok?"
"Okay," Neb murmured, then again, more confident. "Okay!" His friend's smile seemed relieved for the first time in a long time, and they stood and made their way towards Mrs. Kenlan's.
"Thank you, Qoheleth. I... yeah, you were great there. Thank you." It's a little embarrassing to be so upstaged by a student, but my dignity isn't what was important here today. What was important was that Neb found a kind of hope, and hopefully that Qol is figuring out how to use that wisdom she has to help her peers. Today is a good day.
Chapter 7: A Memory
I know by the first line the day on which Qoheleth wrote this poem. It was the second day of the second week of our class, and Ben Sirach's knuckles were flaming red from the strength of his punch. I won't say he was in the right, because violence is not the answer here, but I understand his pain. I had made report after report to the office, trying to get our counselors to step in and keep Zebulun away from him. He was cruel, and he was aggressive, and he knew the rules by heart, so he would antagonize to his heart's content, needling into Ben, pushing and pushing until the day he snapped.
The intercom spoke Ben’s name. He did not return to gather the book under his desk, nor the water bottle that fell and rolled underneath Daniel's feet. When the day was done, I left them there, and the next day there again, but after a week, I tidied them away into a drawer in the back, which has not opened since.
I did not know that Qol had known Ben, but she wrote of him as a brother. We all miss him, and many of my students have written relating to him. This poem was the first such I’ve found from Qol.
Some would say the punch was thrown and that is all we need.
I disagree, and dispute too “better are those he leaves”.
Rage has bubbled into passing, Principal has called him forth
All assembled, were we better? What, protection's greater worth?
Cherish not your wisdom; wisdom to the desk shall kneel.
Hear instead of Folly, wisdom's ever-guiding keel.
This is by far the closest Qoheleth has come to a structure or a consistent rhyme scheme. What is it with loss that brings out the best in her?
Chapter 8: The Emissary
Ms. Parker brought my class pizza today. I must admit, the interruption was not exactly welcome, but she's the office secretary, and not a good person to lock out - especially when she has pizza. Most of the students crowded around the table she set the pizzas on, hardly noticing that she had disappeared without a word.
Qoheleth, being vegan, came over to me instead. "I'm sorry she interrupted your lecture, Mrs. D. I was honestly enjoying how you explain chiasms. But whatever her reason for bringing pizza, it's not our place to question it."
"Yeah," I agreed, "I kinda wish they'd remembered that you don't do pizza though. I've got some cinnamon candies, would you like one?"
Her eyes lit up with excitement. "Yes, please! I'd love one!" She tore through the plastic wrapper eagerly, popping the candy into her mouth. They're a bit strong for me, but I keep them to reward students; almost every kid I've had seems to either like it, or not want to admit it's too strong for them. Qoheleth, it seems, is on the side of liking it.
Qoheleth's voice was a bit muffled by the candy, but she carried on nonetheless. "The secretary represents the Principal, so there's not really much choice of timing there. Still, it's good that they get to enjoy this pizza. Especially now, I suppose."
I must admit I was quite entirely lost - I didn't think I had any major tests or stresses planned for the students in the near future, and it's chicken tender day in the cafeteria. Hardly an unpopular meal. "Especially now?", I asked.
"Oh, certainly," came her cheerful response. "After all, we've got studying to do after this, and who knows when the next of us will be called up to the Principal?"
Something is wrong with that child.
Chapter 9: The Fight
I took a stroll before class today, leaving the classroom open for students to arrive and come to their seats. As I came back towards my classroom, David and Jonathan crept past me, still holding hands but visibly shook. "Mrs. D," Jon said, almost a whisper, "get to your classroom quick. Qol is angry at Levvi."
Leviticus, unfortunately, is not exactly supportive of David and Jonathan's relationship. If the rumor mill is to be believed, she has a huge crush on David, and doesn't know how to move on healthily. It's not an excuse to antagonize them, but at least it isn't blatant homophobia - I think. As I walk in, I hear Qoheleth and Leviticus before I see them, their voices raised.
"Look, those two are happy with one another, which is more than I can say for any of your miserable little group of Tetras. Just because you can't find love, that doesn't mean you should go around making life miserable for people who have a real chance at happiness. That's just stupid, but I don't know what else I would expect of someone like you." Qoheleth's rant hardly paused a moment when she noticed me enter, before she returned to her tirade over Levvi’s seat, where the latter spat back her fiery response.
"I just don't think it's right that those two are so giddy-giddy saccharine sick with their PD...A..." Her voice, much like a more typical teenager’s, quickly dwindled upon my entry.
"Break it up, ladies, break it up. I spend five minutes out of the room and this is what I come back to? Honestly, it's disgraceful." I point to Qoheleth's seat, which is thankfully on the other side of the room from Leviticus's. I suspect that she only went over when David and Jonathan left - they usually spend the morning in my classroom with their friend Samuel and whichever prophets happen to arrive early, but there's rarely a problem since Leviticus is almost always late. Qoheleth is nice enough to them, but I doubt that she was involved in the conversation before whatever started this mess.
"Okay, I'd like to talk to each of you separately, in the hallway. Samuel, since you were here and weren't a part of this argument, could you also contribute your perspective afterwards? Thank you. Qoheleth, you're first." As we exited the room, Levvi didn't think I noticed her sticking her tongue out in Qol's direction.
"Honestly, she's just so rude to them! They have every right - the responsibility, even - to enjoy their time together as much as they can. They're doing nothing wrong, and the Principal can call at any time. Ugh, I don't mean to be angry, but I'd seriously rather be a gnat who recognized what's right than be a Tetra like her who doesn't recognize sense when it’s right in front of her. She might be important, but she isn't any better than anyone else, and a whole lot worse than most." Qoheleth's angry outburst spewed out before I could even ask her what had happened, but I let her speak. Hopefully the words would be sufficient outlet, and she could compose herself for a calm account soon - or at least, could return to the class without jumping Levvi.
"Alright, Qol, how about you go and get a drink from that water fountain, then tell me what happened?" As she walked off down the hall, I reflected on the incident. It's not often that I saw genuine anger from Qoheleth. It's almost refreshing. Soon she'd return and I'd have to go about the duty of figuring out all the details of what happened, but for a moment, I could just think. Qoheleth is a person of strange expression, but she holds passions as deep as any - deeper, even, than most. Learning to understand that was, perhaps, the biggest challenge then before me.
Chapter 10: The Long Day's End
Today was a hard one. The class was rowdy and disrespectful, the Principal called again about Malachi, I took up essays from two different assignments and have to grade all of them, I forgot my lunch and had to eat cafeteria food - why do we make the students do that? - and last night's episode of The Mandalorian was a downer. Frustrated, I opened the drawer I keep student work in and took out Qoheleth's journal, hoping that whatever was on the next page would be encouraging. I don't really know why I thought that it would.
"The best thing I can say about Zebulun is that he makes it easy to notice that he's an idiot. He knows all the rules, and he's nominally a good student, but he keeps hurting people, and he laughs in the face of authorities bound by rules. He may think he's [all that], but he'll get what's coming to him. The cruelty is more than enough to make the whole [person] stink."
I was not in the mood for teenage ranting, so I closed the journal and put it back. I was quite surprised, on looking up, to find Qoheleth standing on the other side of my desk. Her manner was quiet, and if she resented my reading her journal, she didn't show it. "You look down today, Mrs. D, and I doubt that what I've written helps much. What's going on?"
Behind that dark exterior, Qoheleth really is a sweetie. I couldn't help but share a weary smile, shrugging. "Honestly, just normal work stuff. Being a teacher is a tough job sometimes, you know?"
Qol nodded sympathetically. "I know what you mean - as much as I hated writing those two papers, I'm sure it's worse having to grade seventy-eight of them." My nod invited her to go on, and she did. "Thing is, though, I can tell that you also really love teaching. That's important, because every job is going to have those bad days. I bet that even professional cotton candy tasters have the days when the company decides it's a good idea to make licorice flavor. If you don't love the job you do, then all the work is going to wear you down. But I see in you a love for your students that's greater than your hate for today."
I closed my eyes, nodding agreement. "You're right, of course, but that doesn't change the fact that I've got a lot of work left to do."
"[Disregard] it," she said, a bubble of laughter softening the expletive. "I know you're going to get it done, and not a single person in this class expects it all back tomorrow. You've worked hard today; you've earned an evening off. Do something fun!" As I glanced over at her, the sincerity of her manner contrasted with the darkness of her exterior presentation. She was right, I've earned the time off. I scratched out my plans for grading that evening, and penciled in dinner with some dear friends - who, exactly, I'd figure out after Qol left.
"Thank you, Qol. You're right. Now head along, so I can keep working hard until my contract says I can leave." As she left, I thought of what the Principal would encourage, and added a little note below the dinner. "Then grade some more."
Chapter 11: The Seer
I swear, Qoheleth's paper was not on top of this stack when I left school. Now, however, I've finished my microwave dinner and sat down to grade, and her paper is there on top, a sloppy, handwritten cover sheet paper-clipped to the top of a stapled packet. At a glance, I mark a red X across it - proper formatting has her name, not mine, at the top.
On second glance, however, I realize that I've just marked a letter, not a cover sheet, incorrect.
"Mrs. Deuteronomist," it begins, "I know you will have disregarded my advice by the time you read this. You think you know the ways of the Principal better than I, and that in your wisdom you understand how best to fear and how best to do as the Principal would have you to fear and do. This is folly, Mrs. Deuteronomist, and I urge you to reconsider. Who are you or I to claim to know the will and the way of the Principal? You have done your task; can it not be the Principal's will that you enjoy your reward? Rejoice in the days of your youth, ma'am, for the Principal will judge whom the Principal will judge, and the life wasted away in toil is no more righteous than the life lived in joy. Go, for the sun is preparing to set; catch the dying rays of the light, for they are beauty. Though we live in the shadow of the Principal, we still may see light and beauty therein. Put down this paper, ma'am, and go see that my words are true."
Perplexed for a moment at whatever sleight of hand had brought this to the top of my pile, I shrugged and put the paper aside. Taking up once more my red pen, I began to grade.
Chapter 12: Final Report
Qoheleth,
Throughout the time we have spent together, you have shown depths of wisdom beyond many of your peers. You have been an inspiration and a blessing to have in class, and I am grateful for that. I say all of this to let you know that my criticism comes from a place of love. Though you are wise, you sometimes apply that wisdom in foolish and dangerous ways. Your guidance can lead in many ways counterproductively, and your words may undermine the authority of both myself and our Principal. So, as you go forward, I invite you to turn that wisdom to right thinking, that you may bring glory to yourself, to your school, and to your Principal. Fear the Principal as you do, but keep too his decrees; these you know, and this is the whole duty of a student.
Your teacher,
The Deuteronomist.