I had pulled my bangs back in a barrette that morning, which in hindsight was a bad choice. Ok, I had a blemish on my forehead. A small imperfection. Small. It happens to the best of us once in a while. That’s why every good woman owns good powder. I put my good powder to work, and from 6 inches away or further, I looked flawless. Or so I thought; I forgot that teenagers not only have selective hearing but selective vision.
I was standing at the front of the room talking about an upcoming test. Half the class was writing down the details in their planners, half the class was spacing off, and Juan Contreras was squinting at me, because as always Juan couldn’t see. He desperately needed glasses–or maybe he had them and didn’t wear them. But Juan couldn’t see anything, which is why I made him sit in the front row. (Yes, I had to make him.)
So there I was talking about the test, and Juan was squinting, and I asked if there were any questions about the upcoming test. Juan raised his hand. ”Umm….Ms. Jane, did you get bit by a spider?”
I had no idea what he was talking about. It was so random, I wasn’t even sure I had heard him right. ”Nope,” I replied, “Any questions about the test?”
“On your forehead. I think you got bit by a spider. That can happen in your sleep,” Juan continued.
Oh. My blemish. How in the world could Juan Contreras of all people see that? I mean, I knew it was there, I have 20/20 vision with my contacts, and I could not see it in the mirror. Juan, half-blind Juan could see it? Was he faking not being able to see the board? No way. No way he would fake being forced to sit in the front row. Juan was a back row guy. This was an anomaly. My thoughts were interrupted.
“Oh. my. god. Juan. You are SO rude. That’s not a spider bite, that’s a zit, you moron.”
(Ok, note to self, Lexie Frank also has good eyes.)
“Yeah, Juan. That’s a zit,” added Bobby.
“Oh, my god, you guys, stop talking about it. She’s standing right there. You guys are probably embarrassing her. I would be totally embarrassed if I was her.” (Thanks, Lexie.)
But it was Juan who was embarrassed, poor kid. His face was maroon. Juan adored me, and I suspected he had a crush on me. He had been in trouble with every other teacher, but never me. He worked hard for me (relatively speaking), he never cussed in my class (a huge gesture), he made me a wooden pencil holder in shop class, and a homemade card for my birthday. And he was mortified.
Still baffled by the seemingly eagle-eye vision of these kids, I intervened, “Ok, thank you Lexie for your concern. Yours too, Juan. Unless anyone has a question about the test I think we should get started.”
Juan raised his hand.
“Yes, Juan?”
“Ms. Jane, don’t worry about the zit. People will just think you got bit by a spider.”
“Thanks, Juan.”
