swivels to look at Jet, his eyes growing wide before they meet mine. I sit back up, unsuccessful with my foot-fishing. Shit!
“Uh… because….” Oliver’s brow crumples, his expression saying, Good fucking question, and I can’t help but bite my lip to refrain from laughing. “Maybe Ms Hanson can answer that question, Jet,” Oliver says, looking rather pleased with himself before turning back to the whiteboard.
I smile—not an entirely happy smile, because the stench of my foot is near killing me. “Sure,” I say. “Time is measured by the movement of our planet, Earth, in relation to the sun.”
My Grade 3 and Oliver’s Grade 2 students all turn their heads to where I’m sitting, so I continue. “The earth rotates or spins—”
“The earth spins?” Jet asks.
“Yes, it—”
“Then why aren’t we dizzy?”
“I know!” Hannah Morris’s hand shoots into the air. “My dad told me. It’s gravity.”
I nod. “Yes, you’re right, Hannah. But that’s a whole other lesson, so let’s stick with time today, okay?” Another waft of feet swims around my face, and I cough, blinking because I’m not sure if it’s burning my eyeballs or not. “So the earth spins around an imaginary line—” Cough. “—that runs between the North Pole and the South Pole—”
Jet’s hand shoots up into the air again, but as per usual, he doesn’t wait to be addressed before he speaks. “Can Santa see it?”
“No, Jet, it’s imaginary.”
His shoulders slump. “Oh.”
“As I was saying—” Cough. “—the earth turns around the imaginary line you can’t see, and when all the places above the line face toward the sun’s light, that’s when it’s daytime. And when all the places below the line face away from the sun’s light and it’s dark, that’s when it’s night-time. We get daytime and night-time in one whole day, don’t we? So that’s how long it takes for the earth to do a complete turn, one whole day.”
Most of the kids nod their understanding while some shove each other, and one picks his nose.
“How many hours are there in one whole day, Dylan?” I ask, hoping he’ll remove his finger from his nostril to answer.
He quickly does but also shrugs.
“Want to take a guess?”
He shrugs again. “Twenty?”
“Close. There are twenty-four. Twenty-four hours for the earth to do a complete spin. “Now—” I cough again, wishing I could fan some fresh air in front of my face. “—can someone tell me how many minutes there are in each hour?”
Emma Johnson bounces on her bum, her arm stretched so high I’m almost afraid it’ll tear off.
“Yes, Emma.”
“Sixty.”
“Very good. And how many seconds in each minute?”
She bounces again.
“Yes, Emma.”
“Sixty.”
“Uh huh. Sixty seconds equals one minute, and sixty minutes equals one hour, and how many hours in one whole day?”
Most of the students yell, “Sixty!” and I can’t help but giggle.
“No, it’s twenty-four. The ancient Egyptians divided the day into two lots of twelve, because two times twelve equals?”
The kids shout various answers, some saying, “Twenty-four,” some saying, “Ten,” and one shouting, “One hundred!”
“Twenty-four,” I reaffirm. “They divided the day into twelve hours for daytime and twelve hours for night-time.” Standing up behind my desk, I finally breathe in fresher air. “On an analogue clock, like the one Mr Bunt has drawn on the board for you, the twelve daytime and night-time hours are marked out around the edge in a circle. The number twelve is always at the top, the number six always at the bottom, and the rest are equally spread out in order between the two. The two pointers, called hands, show the hour and the minutes.”
“They don’t look like hands.” Jet flaps his, and the students copy him, flapping their hands and laughing.
Evan Hunter stands up and spins around, pretending to get dizzy. “I’m the earth, wheee.”
“Sit down, Evan,” Oliver snaps.
Evan drops to the floor and lands on Emma. She cries out and bursts into tears. Without thinking, I walk around my desk and rush toward her, when Jet points to my foot.
“Where’s your shoe, Ms Hanson?”
Shit!
“Uh, I lost it.”
My cheeks flush with warmth just as the bell rings, and I sigh with relief. As much as I love being a teacher, I love the recess, lunchtime, and hometime school bells even more so.
“You may head outside for recess,” Oliver says to the kids before stepping up to where I’m now squatting next to Emma.
“Where does it hurt?” I ask her.
“My hand.”
She clutches it to her chest but rotates it so I can have a look.
“Ouch! It looks a bit red,” I say. “I