I was friends with these people. They made cruel jokes. Jackson continued to demonstrate how his brother on the spectrum walked and talked, I stared at him but said nothing. We were friends after all, and everyone else was laughing. Was it funny? I picked at my own skin as my lips curled into the fakest smile and I chuckled a bit to fit in. I glanced to Mr. Smith, our English teacher. He had a frown and his brows furrowed while his glasses drooped lower on his nose, but why didn’t he say anything?

I heard him clear his throat and stare at me. Silently. I looked away and my smile dropped. Why did I feel guilty? I wasn’t the one who was making ableist jokes here, nor was I the teacher just letting it happen.

*****

I watched my favorite student goof off. He and the class laughed and it took me a moment to register what they were talking about. I wasn’t sure how to approach the subject and tell him to sit back down. I was the cool teacher, and didn’t want to be seen as lame. But the more I listened and watched, the more frustrated I became by the students’ ignorance. It was a good learning experience and right as I cleared my throat to speak, I glanced at him— Evan, the only student failing my class. He stared at me like he was confused and I stared right back. He looked away from me. I thought, he should be ashamed for laughing at these jokes, but then I wondered to myself why he wasn’t telling Jackson to just stop. Jackson would listen to him. They were practically inseparable and talked all class period. Is he scared to speak up?