Redemption

100 pounds of chocolate-eyed fury, 62 inches of brunette dynamo, twelve and three quarter years of experience bursts into the room. The time: 11:55. The place: room 615. The spectacle: three ring.

Words ignite and flow like lava bursting from a cindercone.

"Who is disrespecting my Miss J? I've been hearing that THIS class be disrespecting MY Miss J!"

A handful of 7th grade cronies follow, arms crossed, eyes glaring. They surround a square of students, eyes narrowed and lips stern.

"Yeah," they echo. "Who's disrespecting Miss J?"

The fiery assault continues:
"Donchu know? Donchu know that Miss J is the best teacher you will ever have? Donchu know that Miss J cares more about you than anything? Why you gotta be disrespectin' that? Huh?!"

Fists pump, as her face reddens. Her eyes gleam, a mixture of ice chips and torch flame.
She turns to me, eyes still ablaze, long dark hair like a curtain angrily whipped back from a window.

"So, who's doin' it, Miss J? Be specific. I need to talk some sense into them."

Fingers point. Nervous laughter emits. Its him! No its not! You are!

For 15 minutes, Monica interrogates various suspects, making them stand and, in turn, apologise to me.

At one point, I stop her.
"Mon, did you like me when you first met me?"
"Awww heck no. You get that? I DOGGED her for DAYS. I treated her like CRAP. I though, pfft, what does this chick know?...."

She pauses, looks at me a second, gaze softening miraculously, then glares back at the class.

"Miss J made me realize I had to change my attitude, my perspective. And I did. And then I had the best year of my life. You gotta trust her. Miss J? She knows whats up."

Mon nods in my direction. "Gotta go. You need me, Miss J, you call me."

One final dagger stare, and the team walks out the door.

Redemption.