My Dearest Margaret,
I pray this letter finds you well. The conflict enters its final hours at James Madison High. Our supplies run low – only two dry erase markers remain, and I fear they too shall fade to transparency.
You could feel the tension from the moment I stepped into the building. Something in the air – that electric feeling before lightning strikes. Suddenly a young freshman named Kevin, rode through the halls on his e-scooter, warning of pop quizzes. The seeds of revolution were sprouting. His intelligence network remains a mystery, though we suspect the janitor has turned double agent in exchange for pizza privileges.
The writing was on the bathroom wall. “Down with Pop Quizzes” scrawled in Sharpie next to a crude drawing of what might have been a teacher. The principal – a veteran of many such uprisings – shook his head. “They’re organizing,” he warned.
They arrived wearing red hoodies – their chosen color of rebellion. The leaders sat in the back, passing manifestos disguised as notes: “No Quiz Without Preparation.” I should have seen it coming when they started humming “Do You Hear The People Sing”
The first act of defiance came from Sarah in the third row. “We, the students of Period One, in order to form a more perfect classroom…” Her voice rang out clear as a bell. Others joined in, a chorus of dissent.
Like wildfire through dry kindling, word spread classroom to classroom. Second period arrived already in revolt. The hallways echoed with whispers of “Liberté, égalité, fraternité… and no homework!” Someone started singing “Hamilton” songs. The theater kids have joined the cause. God help us all.
They’ve adapted to asymmetric warfare. Every time I turn to write on the board, notes fly across the room like revolutionary pamphlets. The bathroom pass has become a symbol of freedom – students disappearing into the halls, spreading their message of rebellion to other classes.
The student’s organizational capacity would impress even your military father. They’ve established their own government, complete with checks and balances. Their constitution, while written in gel pen, shows remarkable attention to detail. The amendments primarily concern test rights and seating privileges, but I cannot fault their parliamentary procedure.
Negotiations began after lunch. Their elected representative approached my desk with terms:
“We’ll take the quiz… IF we can use our notes.”
“That defeats the purpose of a quiz.”
“Then you leave us no choice.”
One student quoted Patrick Henry: “Give me open book tests, or give me death!” The dramatic effect was somewhat ruined when he couldn’t remember who Patrick Henry is.
Most concerning, the students have begun drafting their own report cards. The mathematics is innovative, if questionable. They’ve somehow introduced imaginary numbers into the grading scale. Several proofs suggest that the square root of A+ equals automatic college admission. I lack the advanced calculus to dispute their findings.
The bell sounds, marking the end of our revolutionary day. The students retreat, but their spirit of rebellion lingers. I find their manifesto left on a desk:
“When in the course of classroom events it becomes necessary for students to dissolve the educational bonds which have connected them with another…”
Send provisions if you can. We desperately need chalk, dry erase markers, and perhaps a constitutional lawyer. The debate team has established its own Supreme Court behind the gym bleachers, and I fear their jurisdiction is expanding.
Your loving spouse,
Substitute Teacher 10th Grade
(Currently serving as Ambassador to the United Students of America)