A Little Futbol, Miss?

I can predict it down to the second. As soon as I set foot into the cafeteria for high school lunch duty, my eyes meet those of a ninth grade boy's.

"Miss?"

I look at him steadily. I sigh. Finally, I give in.

"Yes, Alejandro?"

I just know the next question that awaits me; I see it in his eyes.

"Miss, can you take us outside?"

As the exchange ensues, a group of ninth grade boys gather around him like a flock of vultures, eagerly awaiting my response, ready to pick it apart at the drop of a hat.

I weigh the choices in my mind. Do I really want to get hot and sweaty outside, watching these kids kick around a soccer ball? Do I really want to run the risk of getting hit in the head while watching them?

Do I really have a choice? Not really. I look at my watch, and then I look at the group-- Alejandro, Ramiro, Miguel, Adolio...they're all pleading with their eyes.

I sigh again. And finally, I relent, although really, I had acquiesed silently when Alejandro first approached me.

"Okay. Meet me out on the deck-- ALL of you-- in two minutes. And don't bring any food out to the field with you!"

Joy is instantaneous as the boys disperse to look for the others. In the classroom, it's harder to rein in such energy with such immediacy. The boys (and a couple of girls) tag along with me to the front field, books, shoes, and ball in tow. It only takes a few moments for them to assemble themselves on the field. Slender Alejandra keeps up with her male counterparts easily.

"Mira, mira!"

It's hard to see in the blinding afternoon sunshine. Freddy is a blur on the field as he kicks the ball to one of the boys. For a while, all I hear are the sounds of an intense soccer game-- the thudding of cleats against the ball, the cuts through the short grass, and the concentrated shouts from the players on the field.

I feel their freedom. They have completely forgotten about the worries of the day-- their detentions, their unfinished homework, their run-ins with a teacher from first period. Finally, I let myself go. What is there to worry about when there is soccer to be played?

Then, the bell rings for the next period to begin. My students reluctantly play their final point and then slowly gather themselves, tucking in uniform shirts, trudging across the field to the rows of portables awaiting them.

One lingers behind slightly. As he gathers his bag, he turns to look at me and say nonchalantly:

"Thanks, Miss."