Help me!

I am helping out at a school. I am supporting students while they rush to finish a piece of work before the end of the lesson. They are trying to prepare for a test tomorrow. Most of the class and their teacher are in another room.

Susan (not her real name) is sitting opposite me. She says she wants to finish the Maths work on her computer. She scribbles a note on a piece of paper and throws it at a classmate. She turns round to insult another classmate and gets into a verbal argument. She gets up, walks to the door, opens it, looks outside, closes it with a slam and sits back in her place. She re-engages with the verbal conflict. She scribbles something else on a piece of paper and accuses a classmate of having written rude words about her.?

She studies the screen for a few seconds and then looks at me across the top of the screen and shouts, “Help me!”

There’s something in her cry that brings my full attention. I hear desperation. The Maths questions are simple. I’m sure she can do them if only she can turn her attention away from what’s bothering her and focus on the problems on the screen.?

My impression is there are two students sitting opposite me. One inside the other. There is a conflict between them. One wants to learn. The other is unsure of her environment and her relationships with other students. If only she could calm down, her thoughts could turn to Mathematics.

“Help me,” she shouts again.

I remain calm. I make eye contact and give her a gentle smile to communicate that I believe in her, the child within, who is seeking to learn; and there is nothing to fear. I am attempting to create a coaching bubble around us, a safe space where she need not worry herself about the other people in the room or the noises coming from the next room.

I ask her what she wants to do. I ask her what she knows. I ask her what she thinks the answer is.

She guesses.

“Is it right?” She asks.

The computer program she is using is able to receive and assess the answers she gives. If it’s not correct it says so. When the answer is almost correct, it gives an encouraging nudge to have another go.

“Find out,” I say.?

“Tell me,” she says.?

“Find out,” I say. “You know how.” I wave my finger at the computer. She types in her answer, it is incorrect.

“It’s wrong,” she says.

“So what else do you know? What else can you try?”

Finally, perhaps by guessing, or by paying attention to the nudges from the computer, or from reading the text in the question, she gets the answer right.?

The look on her face is of pure delight. She calms down a little.

We tackle the next question in the same way. I maintain the coaching bubble, refuse to engage with her fears and instead hold the belief that she can - with an occasional nudge - find her own answers.

We work on several more questions. The lesson ends. The teacher opens the door and tells us to stop.

“Noooo,” she cries. “I want to finish this.”

“What have you done to her?” the teacher asks me with a smile.

I ask, “Just one more. Can we do one more?”

“No two!” says the student.

The teacher leaves the room.