The other two periods were handled by the co-teacher, a young woman in her second year. She was a little too soft-hearted for the assistant who worked with us, but I thought she did really well, and I could see a lot of potential in her.
Of course, the kids tried to take advantage of the situation, and in the last class of the day, three boys were horsing around on their five-minute break. Despite repeated directions to avoid physical contact, two of them tried a leaping chest bump as the final seconds ticked off the clock. It was not successful, and one of them claimed he was too injured to do any more work.
The teacher made eye contact with me, and I suggested he sit quietly and check back in with us in five minutes. A few seconds later, I saw him laughing with one of his friends. "It looks like you're feeling better!" I said, but quickly he reapplied his grimace and assured me he was still in a lot of pain. I could tell the teacher was wavering on the clinic pass, but after a little while, he was absorbed in his online vocabulary tutorial and did not ask to leave again.
The teacher promised to give the class the last five minutes as free time if they worked well enough to earn it, and when they were close, I quietly suggested that she offer the injured kid the chance to go to the clinic during break. "That way, he can't say we wouldn't let him go," I said. And as soon as it was break time, she did just that.
"Nah, I'm fine," he told her, as we suspected he would.
"I'm so glad you recovered!" she told him.
"I'm always a quick healer," he shrugged.
"Good to know," she nodded, and then looked at me.
"Good to know," I agreed.
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