The students turned on Mr. Green like a pack of piranhas, tearing at him with their stabbing demands and eviscerating questions.
“Mr. Green! Mr. Green! You have to move me! I hate my seat!” ordered the kid who had been pestering Mr. Green to set up a new seating chart just last week.
“How do you spell ‘earthquake?'” asked one student, punching the keys on his web-connected device without bothering to consult an online dictionary.
“What am I supposed to write about?” asked another, with a cutting edge in her voice that had not been there when she was talking to her friend, ignoring Mr. Green as he explained what to do not once, not twice, but three times to the entire class.
“Why are they so mean to me?” Mr. Green wondered, his eyes filling with tears. “All I’ve ever wanted is to help kids reach their potential so that they can be in charge of their lives. I offer them freedom and they repay me with insults and scorn.” A single tear broke from Mr. Green’s eye and rolled down his cheek. “Oh well,” he said. “There’s always next year’s kids.”