good help

"Ms. P., you know how much I love you."

"What do you want?"

An enrollment form is brandished along with an Eddie Haskell smile. I so should have known. I never had a teacher aide until last year, and that was pure serendipitous necessity, a way to rescue a girl from a class she never should have taken. I don't have 160 students; I don't have dozens upon dozens of papers to grade. I don't really see much reason. But the wanna-be, gonna-be Seniors, oh, they have a different perspective. For months the three of them have maneuvered, begged, whined incessantly. Employed every teenage strategy guaranteed to elicit, "No."

I have attempted to explain, to point out the flaws within their plans. "How," I've asked, repeatedly, "is annoying the crap out of me"--at least I did not say hell--"supposed to persuade me to volunteer to spend extra time with you when it is not required?" The rejoinder and follow up are always the same: "So, can I?"

"NO!"

Until this time, when, way past weary, I have only one objection for this student who is not even mine.

"Why not?" he asks, up front, and I ponder. I like him; he makes me laugh. He's good natured and not mean. He does everything I say. He pays back borrowed lunch money and brought brownies he baked himself to the Christmas party. And, novelty of novelites, he's American: I'm intrigued at the potential to not explain every last thing.

And yet, one thought nags: "You know he'd kill me." I'm referring to his friend, his connection to my class. The relentless kid who has been campaigning for the post way longer than I can remember.

"You're never going to pick him anyway," he points out. This is oh, so true. Even if he asked until the day I retire, I'd never volunteer for that hardship duty. We bargain a bit, and I reach for his form. Make his day with a signature, and somehow mine, too. None of the above seems an excellent choice, despite the remaining catch.

"If you tell him, it's off, it's over, it's done," I say, straight-faced and firmly. The conversation may be inevitable, but later is better than now. My aide-in-waiting proposes revealing his new role to the nagger-in-question on the last day of school, so he can get over it during the summer. I find that kind of brilliant, in a wishful thinking way. And if it's a little weaselly, well, I started it, and I'm willing. I think we'll get along fine.