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“You’re a liar, Tom!” a red-headed boy says.
“No, I’mnot, Frank!” Tom snipes back. “I know what I saw, it was him!”
“You probably watched too many Orc Warrior cartoons last night.”
“It was him!” Tom yells.
I push Brayden back behind me. This situation looks volatile.
“Stop lying!” Frank balls his hands into fists and holds them by his side. “You're always lying, it’s stupid!”
Tom looks on the verge of tears. “I do not! I saw Jaromir in the hallway, you jerk!”
Years of instincts honed from working around kids kick in as I can see a punch forming before it even pulls. I jump into the chaos and grab Tom before he can get himself suspended for a month. I pull him away, but the other boy is just as riled up.
Luckily, Larson Grey is also nearby. The other teacher slides in and helps me separate Tom and Frank, avoiding a violent resolution to this argument.
“Did you really see Jaromir?” Brayden asks.
“Yes! He was right here!” Tom yells. I let his feet touch the ground again and turn him around to get his attention. His eyes are red and puffy, and he’s slightly trembling still.
“Tom, can you do me a favor? Can you take a very deep breath for me?” I ask gently. Tom, instead, tries to look over his shoulder at Frank. “Nope, ignore him for now, okay?”
“But he started it!” Tom whines.
“You’re not in trouble. Just do this for me. Here, let’s do it together. Ready?” I take a deep breath alongside the little boy, and together we hold it in for a few seconds before letting it out. I sigh in relief as I do.
Tom stops trembling and wipes at his eyes.
“It can be really frustrating when people don’t believe us, huh?” I ask. Not too far away, I can hear Larson having a similar cool down pep talk with Frank. “But using our fists won’t make them believe us. It’ll just make them afraid of us. And that’s not any way to make friends.”
Tom nods his head solemnly. “I’m sorry, Nurse Wentworth.”
I pat him on the shoulder and smile. We bring the boys back together, and they both apologize for getting too heated.
“See? Next time, if you think someone is lying to you, just ignore them instead of starting a fight,” Larson says.
He looks up at me and smiles knowingly. I appreciate it when the teachers follow a gentle protocol for de-escalation, too. It’s a nice resolution to a scary situation, one that isn’t exactly rare in these hallways.
Now I’m imagining this same sort of argument breaking out, but with both boys holding giant, heavy sticks in their hands. A hundred peer-reviewed articles on traumatic brain injury and sports-related emergency room visits flood my brain.
Absolutely no way is Ryan signing up for hockey. Nope. Absolutely not!
He can hate me all he wants right now. But when he’s eighteen and accepted into Juilliard for their acting program, and he has his entire brain functioning and intact, he’ll thank me for pushing him to theater. I’m sure he will.
I walk back into my office and notice the stack of papers Ryan and Tina worked so hard to put together. They sure have a way of making me feel like the bad guy, don’t they? I do feel bad. They did a great job forming their argument. I don’t want to dissuade them from speaking their mind or putting so much effort and research into it.
Maybe I can soften the blow with something fun. I was really looking forward to that organic quinoa vegetable casserole tonight, but I bet if I took them out to eat, it would make the letdown feel less harsh.
The rest of the morning is quiet. Only one kid comes in for her scheduled medication, and one kid needs a bandage after tripping on the pavement during P.E. I make a note to discuss with the gym teachers safer ways to teach the kids exercise. My smiley face bandage budget can only go so far.
Ryan and Tina come by before my lunch break, just like they said they would. “This is a waste of time,” Ryan says forlornly. “We’re just interrupting our own recess, Tina.”
“Shh! So, Auntie Melody, the best school nurse and nicest aunt in the whole world! Have you considered our reasonable proposal?”
Tina puts on the charm. She daintily clasps her hands in front of her dress and sways back and forth innocently. Her big eyes and shining smile are a stark contrast to her older brother’s palpable depression.
“Actually,” I start, and immediately regret it. That single word makes them think I’m deciding to rule in their favor. I sigh and try again. “Why don’t we talk about it at…. uh, what’s that place you guys like? With the weird mole mascot that skateboards? Chunks of Cheeses? We can go there for dinner tonight!”
