My Teacher Bullied Me To Make Her Own Daughter Look Better. She Didn’t Realize My Mom Was Her Boss. How Fast Can Someone Pack Their Desk?
The Confrontation
That’s when I snapped. I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. I just looked at her and said I wanted to discuss this with the principal right now.
Mrs. Holloway laughed. She said fine. She said she’d be happy to tell the principal exactly what kind of student I was. She said the principal would probably recommend I be expelled for cheating.
She told me to go ahead and make an appointment if I thought it would help. I said I didn’t need an appointment. I pulled out my phone and called my mom.
The whole class watched. Mrs. Holloway had this smug look on her face like she was about to win. Then my mom picked up and I said, “Hey mom, can you come to Mrs. Holloway’s classroom right now?”
Mrs. Holloway’s face changed. She said, “Mom?” I said, “Yes, my mom is the principal.”
The color drained out of Mrs. Holloway’s face completely. Mom walked through the doorway, and every head in the room turned toward her. She wore her principal blazer and carried a leather folder under one arm.
Her face looked calm, but I could see the tight line of her jaw. Mrs. Holloway stood next to her desk with both hands gripping the edge. The grade book sat in front of her, and her knuckles had gone white.
Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. I watched my classmate’s eyes go from me to mom to Mrs. Holloway and back again. The silence felt heavy and thick.
Mom’s heels clicked against the floor as she walked to the front of the room. Mrs. Holloway opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her face had lost all its color, and she looked like she might throw up.
Mom stopped a few feet away and straightened her blazer. She looked at Mrs. Holloway without any expression on her face. The professional mask was perfect. Mom asked Mrs. Holloway to step into the hallway for a private conversation.
Her voice came out steady and measured. Not angry, not upset, just completely professional. Mrs. Holloway’s hands started shaking as she picked up her grade book. She fumbled with it and almost dropped it.
The Investigation Begins
A substitute teacher appeared in the doorway behind mom and moved into the room. Mrs. Holloway walked toward the door like someone heading to their own execution. Her legs looked unsteady.
She kept her eyes on the floor. Mom followed her out and closed the door behind them. The substitute teacher introduced herself, but I didn’t catch her name.
Through the small window in the door, I could see Mom and Mrs. Holloway standing in the hallway. Mrs. Holloway’s mouth was moving fast. Her hands gestured wildly. Mom stood perfectly still with her arms crossed.
Then Mrs. Holloway’s voice got louder. I could hear it through the door even though I couldn’t make out the words. She sounded desperate, like she was making excuses and explanations that kept getting more frantic.
Mom didn’t move. She just listened with that same calm expression. The voice rose higher, and I heard the word “misunderstanding” and the phrase “just trying to motivate.” Mom’s face didn’t change at all.
Nicholas Berg sat two desks over from me. He leaned across the aisle and whispered that he’d been wanting to say something for weeks. His voice was quiet enough that only I could hear.
He said he saw how Mrs. Holloway treated me differently. He saw the grades that didn’t make sense. He saw the comments and the way she cut me off during discussions, but he didn’t know how to say anything. He didn’t know if anyone would believe him.
Two other students sitting near us nodded. A girl named Sarah turned around in her seat and whispered an apology. She said she should have spoken up. She said she felt bad every time Mrs. Holloway made those comments to me.
Another student named Marcus said the same thing. Then another. Suddenly half the class was quietly apologizing for staying silent. They all saw it. They all knew it was wrong, but nobody said anything until now.
I felt this weird mix of feelings. Part of me felt good that people actually noticed that I wasn’t imagining things, that other people saw the same unfair treatment I experienced. But another part of me felt sad and a little angry.
Why did it take this big dramatic moment for anyone to acknowledge what was happening? Why didn’t anyone speak up when it might have actually helped? I didn’t say any of that out loud. I just nodded and whispered, “Thanks.”
