She storms into the classroom in her skinny pants and high heels and the door slams shut behind her with a loud thud. My attention is ripped away from the warm-up exercise that was left at the front of the classroom for us to begin upon arriving. I look up from my desk near the windows and my eyes move across the room to find my Spanish teacher, with her tight clothing, messy and excessive makeup, jingling gold jewelry, and a can of Diet Coke in one hand. There are wrinkles in her face and dark circles under her eyes. The feeling of nerves pooling in my stomach is almost instant. A heavy silence falls over the room that was filled with conversation and laughter just seconds ago. My classmates and I sit and wait with baited breath as our teacher stares at us with an almost blank, slightly angry expression.
Señora Webster stands at the front of the classroom leaning back against the edge of her desk, with a piece of paper clutched in one hand. One of my classmates, Pat, who is always answering questions, volunteering to do anything he can, and trying to make everyone laugh, finally breaks the awkward silence filling the room.
“Hey, Señora, what’s up” he asks, with a hesitance that is very unusual for someone who is always outgoing and confident. The girl sitting next to him elbows him and shoots him a look as if to say: ‘Oh my God. Shut up!’. Everyone looks around at each other nervously, and then back to our teacher in anticipation.
“What’s up?” Her tone of voice tells me…