The Rulebook

Miss Chapell scanned the classroom, the pen still unused in her hand. “…Does anyone know where I can find the school rules?” No one raised their hand. Somewhere, someone was chewing gum. “Damn,” she said, and only realized in the next breath that she’d said it out loud. She wasn’t prepared for this. She was new to the school. This was her first class. “Oh well. Somewhere on the website, I suppose. She pulled out her phone, tapped, scrolled, tapped again. Home. About Us. Downloads. Forms. Nothing. No PDF. No link. Not even a single sentence. Victoria exhaled: “Then they’re not available digitally.” She placed her phone back on the desk, screen-side down. “We’ll look for it later. Let’s go over the contract first.”

They listed rules that sounded like school policies, even though no one had a copy in front of them. Attendance. Punctuality. Homework. No disrupting class. Respect. Whoever is here participates. All dull and dry, but Victoria wrote them down, neatly, without sugarcoating anything.

“You agree to follow the rules,” she said. “Just as we’ll define them in more detail tomorrow. Today, we’re just covering the basics.” No one nodded; she’d written most of the items down herself. She figured she had to earn their trust. “I’ll sign first,” said Victoria. She wrote her name at the bottom of the list: firmly, legibly. Victoria Chapell. “Whoever comes to class tomorrow signs. Or just stay away. No drama, no half-promises, but we’re going to be upfront about this.”

“Okay, we’re going to have a few intensive project days now to prepare you for the upcoming exam. I’m not standing here for you to test how long I can last. Although,” she flashed a small, affectionately stern smile, “you’ll do that anyway. I know.”

She turned to the class to distribute the task. “First up, get the information, at the school library or the office. There’s a set of school rules somewhere.” She handed out hallway passes to the pupils, one by one, with the name at the top and the destination below. “But no smoking. No nonsense in the hallways. You’re out on a mission.” Then she addressed the whole class: “As for today’s assignments, I need you to work in groups. I expect you to be through your books’ first chapter by tomorrow.”

In the library, the last three copies were in a drawer that smelled like a basement.

“School rules,” said Sofia. “All the ones you still have.”

The librarian pulled out the booklets as if she were handling relics. They seemed as old and fragile as ones, anyway. “Three. That’s all. And I’m reluctant to lend them out. Nobody wants to read them. They’re from a different era, back when discipline and order still reigned here.” She sounded awfully wistful when she said that.

“We have to,” said Noah, holding up his hall pass. “Assignment from Miss Chapell.”

They received the last three copies. Three booklets. 1970 edition.

When Victoria stood at the counter twenty minutes later, the shelf was empty.

“Damn.”

She said it quietly this time, to herself. Then came the other feeling, uninvited and honest: pride. So fast! On the very first day. She’d sent them off, and they’d gone and some exactly as she’d asked them, without detours or loafing around. “Thanks anyway,” she said to the librarian and left.

In the hallway, she ran into the principal, Mister Nelson. He was a jovial fellow, large and heavyset, but in her brief engagements with him she’d known him to be able to turn serious when the occasion called for it. “Miss Chapell, already ambulatory, not in your classroom?”

“The class is out too,” said Victoria. “Library. They’re looking for a book I’ve assigned.”

raised his eyebrows. “Impressive, to get them to perform an actual task on the first day.” Victoria gave a polite but empty laugh. Mister Nelson lowered his voice a little, even though the hallway was empty. She could sense he was going into his serious mood and braced herself. “I hate to tell you this on your first afternoon, but you should know… You’re their last chance. Not in a poetic sense, in a mortifyingly real bureaucratic one. If you don’t stay — if this class ends up without a permanent teacher again — the students will have to leave. The course is going to be cancelled, there’s not going to be an exam, let alone a diploma. A few of these students have already had second and third chances, some have nobody who can afford to pay for another one. The municipality will only tolerate this and fund the course as long as there’s someone to shepherd these kids and take responsibility. If you leave, they’ll go with you. They’ll be out by the end of the month.”

Victoria gulped. How awful! She recovered herself and turned to the principal. “I’m not leaving; I have a few unconventional ideas. Can I have free rein with the class and run a project week? Maybe a separate room, a little off to the side. I was thinking of an art project to boost motivation,” she said, mattering-of-factly.

The principal sized her up. “Fine, you’ll have complete freedom, just see it through. The class won’t keep everyone. And not everyone will keep that class together.”

Victoria hesitated. Then she said: “Um. Do you still have the school rules somewhere?”

Mister Nelson laughed briefly, mirthlessly. “I don’t think so. There were still some in the library, but they’re so old that nobody uses them here, they might’ve turned to mulch by now. I think other ones were destroyed in a water main break in the basement — moisture and mold destroyed those archives. If there are any left, they’ll date back to the school’s founder, back when this was a girl’s school for… difficult-to-manage students. We don’t like to look back on that past. Officially, though, the rule is that as long as nothing newer has been decided, the old rules remain in effect. In practice” — he gave a hearty guffaw — “nobody knows them. I wouldn’t have the faintest idea what’s in them.”

“Thanks,” said Victoria.

“Don’t thank me until the exams are over,” the principal smiled, “not to put you under too much pressure on your first day, of course.”

Later, after the final bell, Miss Chapell passed by the library once more. The lights were on. Three groups were bent over their workbooks, whispering and working diligently. Victoria stopped outside the glass door, hidden enough not to barge in. She was proud. She left without knocking. Tomorrow they’d all come in and sign her contract, she was certain of it. You just need to have some faith in them, she thought to herself.

Group chat: Class 204

They photo-copied the pages that were supposed to be on the desk tomorrow — adding a few sentences and subclauses that had never been written that way in 1970, but sounded as if the school’s founder had saved them specifically for Ms. Chapell.