Nicole feels

You would think that given the fact that I get to spend the day with over 150 middle schoolers, I would have something witty to write about.

Sometimes I think they are sucking the brain cells from my body. I am pretty much whooped by the time I get home.

But it is a good kind of whooped. Yes, by far, a large bunch of them are whiny-fussy-snotty-pants. But there are those who just reach out and wring your heart without even knowing it.

There's B@iley. You can tell she's a tough cookie. She scans the room as soon as she enters, silently waiting, poised for someone, anyone, to say something to her so she can go all in-your-face with them.

But I've been able to see her softer side too. Behind the dark makeup and all that bravado is a young woman who turns in her make-up work eagerly (but making sure no one else really sees that, of course) and asks me quietly how the main teacher is doing and what she named her baby.

There's the young woman in seventh bell who has decided that I am her worst enemy. I managed to get a "your welcome" out of her today. Perhaps she won't scowl so hard at me tomorrow.

And then there is the young man from another class who came back outside from the clinic, arm in a sling, who, when I asked if he was okay, burst into tears. He's tall and broad and looks much older than 14. But today his arm may have been broke along with his heart; he may not be able to play baseball this season. And as he told me and I walked him to the locker room, he cried, unabashedly.

That tore me up.

And now I remember. These middle school years, they're tough. I watch my own girl struggle at times, trying to find her way. And she's got a pretty good support system at home and church.

That's just not the reality for a lot of these kids.

Am I too naive to think that maybe - just maybe - I can help a few feel like someone really does care?