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Stella, 11

Zoom sagas

Stella, 11

“I ain't never used this alien program!” —Darlene


The only thing my sister could see of her second grade teacher for the whole first week of school was Mrs. Watson's eyebrows. She couldn’t hear much either. Probably because Mrs. Watson had all twenty-nine kids' microphones unmuted. So you could hear everything from Aliza’s dad talking about how everyone in the government was spies to Niklish's mom cooking masala in the background.

On the first day of my sister's first week of second grade, Hana showed up in Mrs. Landis's fourth grade classroom. Turns out, Mrs. Watson gave her the wrong Zoom link. By the second day, my sister was so bored that instead of listening to Mrs. Watson talk about subtraction, Hana had learned to take screenshots of her friend Lily's face and edit them.


“Welcome to the Rancho Simi Park and Recreation District board meeting. . .

[ Black screen] “Frank! Frank! Frank, darling! Can they hear me? I can’t see myself! What in Lord’s name is going on! Frank!”

“First, I would like to thank everyone for attending. . .”

[Black screen] “Frank!”

“But could everyone please. . .”

“Hi, My name’s Darlene, and this is my first time using this Zoom thing. I’ve never used this futuristic alien program before! It feels like being in outer space!”

“Mute their mics. . .”

[ Black screen] shhhhhsjkdiskshktisksssssssk weneedskkkkkktosssssavekkkkkkktheshkshAsh treehkdiskhhhhin the park!

[Screens freeze]


Mrs. Rozenberg was explaining decimals to the class. Just like she did yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. Because learning about how a decimal point represents a whole number and a fraction of the whole number needs to be taught everyday, for two and a half months straight. And about how a decimal point is a point that we use to separate the whole part of a number from the fraction part of the number. We’ve already heard that twelve times. No one can bear to look at the teacher anymore, and two of the students have taken to playing charades in the chat.

Then, out of nowhere, Noah’s little brother wanders into the room in nothing but his brightly colored superman boxers. Clueless, unsure of what to do, he shrugs, waves hello, and scurries away from the utterly horrified thirty-eight pairs of eyes staring at him.


“And to move the aperture. . .”


“. . .you need to. . .”


“. . .also make sure your elbows. . .”


“. . .so your camera doesn’t. . .”


“Everyone got that?"


“Okay, moving on.”

You have lost internet connection.

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