SUPASTAR!!

In Limbo

Steven doesn't say anything after my lesson, but leaves quickly after the class packs up their things. Sarah and Lawrence run up and tell me I did great. Judy smiles and says, "I think you got it." I'm afraid to think too hard on the topic, but there were both mistakes and good things in my last class. If my grade was riding on this one class, I'm not sure how I did.

The Assessor's Visit

She's not a pleasant woman. She's smiling at the right times, and she sort of seems to be paying attention to my lesson, but she writes notes in a little black book and whispers to my tutor often. He grimaces at my lesson plan, sitting in front of him. Steven, my third tutor during the CELTA course, has definitely been the hardest to please. I half-watch helplessly from the front of the room, even as I attempt to teach. No, the assessor, the official ambassador of Cambridge sent to make sure this CELTA course is up to par, is not a happy woman. In an attempt to spare the one boy who is actually in danger of failing from a heart attack, Steven decided to allow the assessor to see his group, with me teaching. He mentions off-handedly that she only comes to see people who are in danger of failing or are in the running for getting an A. I don't want to hype myself up into believing that she's here to see me, but these are not things that you think so calmly while sitting in front of her, attempting to get out a lesson on the Present Perfect.

Afterwards, Steven pulls me to another room. He begins bluntly. He has no time to waste. "Neil and Kate have told me good things about you, and I thought you were a candidate for an A. However, what the Assessor and I saw today was not an example of an A student. You are a strong teacher, but that was not a strong class. For your next class, stick to the book and allow me to give you the grade you deserve." My stomach rises to my throat. I meekly nod an affirmative, and something like, "I will try." Everything is riding on my class tomorrow.

Becoming a Superstar

Somehow during the past three weeks, the tutors began whispering amongst themselves about me. This isn't bad in itself, since apparently they are discussing positive things about my teaching style and abilities. My last tutor, Neil, looked at me after one lesson and said, "You're going to leave me with nothing negative to say about this class." I blushed and fussed with my books self-consciously. My teaching group heaved a collective sigh. Over the past weeks they have been told once or twice to model me in my lesson plans and in the classes I teach. Judy has mended her skulky ways, and smirks at me after Neil pays me his compliment. "You were brilliant in that lesson. It's not fair!" She pouts falsely. She's actually quite good at teaching, as well. In our private feedback, Neil tells me to go for the gold, and to not hold anything back in my last three classes. He says I'm a candidate for an A. Afterwards, in her private session, he tells Judy that she could possibly get a B, but that they only give an A out every three or four months. My insides twist from the pressure.

London Calling

Maria picks me up from the airport. I'm in shorts and searching through my backpack for a sweater. It's freezing cold; the rain picks up and I belatedly realize I forgot my umbrella, as well. The next morning, we sleep in and wake to a brand new day. It's sunny now, if still chilly. We take the Tube (the subway) down to the center of London and walk around. While traipsing around the oddly carnivalesque Covent Garden, I am careful not to spend money when I do a mental calculation of the exchange rate and realize that everything is approximately double its price. The buses are red and double decked. The Thames flows quietly beneath the huge Ferris wheel known as the London Eye, and Big Ben chimes slowly. A wonderful way to become a legal resident of Spain for three more months.

Taking a Break

As Madrid bakes in the heat of August, the rest of the city decides that it's a good time to take vacations. Shops close down. Less and less people roam the streets. The last two weeks of August in the capital city make it seem eerily apocalyptic, somewhere between Hitchcock and a Twilight Zone movie. The desertion of Madrid only makes me more excited for my upcoming "make me legal" visit to London this weekend.

The View From My Terrace