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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 4 years

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After the Bombs Fall [Animorphs ficlet]

[Note: I seem to have lost the ask where someone requested my post-war headcanon for Alloran, but anyway here it is.]

Less than a month after the end of the war, Alloran applies for transfer off of Earth and back to the homeworld. When the first request gets cancelled due to a minor typo in a sub-section of a supplemental form, he curses himself and immediately applies again.

The second application lingers in the metaphorical z-space between agents for longer, nearly two Earth months, before it gets cancelled as well. The systems are overtaxed due to the sudden influx of Earth tourism, the form letter tells him this time, and they’re very sorry for their inability to accommodate his request.

The third time he applies, the form remains “under review” on the submission portal for half a year, even though the review process normally takes less than a day. So he applies a fourth time, a terrible suspicion taking hold by now. The Electorate automatically cancels both applications, and has the gall to send him a snippy comm message asking that he refrain from filing redundant claims from now on.

The fifth application gets reviewed and cancelled; the sixth one doesn’t even get that courtesy. It just stays there, “submitted” but not yet “under review,” unwanted and ignored.

Just like its author.

Alloran considers, then. For nearly a day he paces, watching the andalite computer and the primitive human device alike, and weighs the merits of stealing Visser Three’s Blade ship out of the impound lot. It wouldn’t be hard; the security system is coded to biometrics. No one but he or Tom Berenson could fly that ship now, and Tom Berenson is dead.

After another day, Alloran instead morphs human and walks to the nearest CVS.

He has to swallow an entire jumbo bag of marshmallows and three jars of tomato sauce for comfort before he can swallow his pride as well. But the comfort food does its trick, and at the end he pulls out the human cell phone still registered under one of Esplin 9466′s aliases and enters the fifth speed-dial option.

“Hey, you.” Eva answers immediately. “How’s it going?”

They don’t know each other, not really. And yet in every one of their three conversations, Eva has greeted him like an old friend. Her voice brings a reaction to Alloran’s human morph: tightness in his throat, the heat of tears behind his eyes.

“I apologize for troubling you,” Alloran says stiffly. “Please, if you are busy, disregard this request.”

Eva snorts a laugh. At least, Alloran thinks that that’s what the sound is. “I’m not busy, and I owe you a favor anyway. Shoot.”

Alloran glances around the room, but there are no weapons, so he decides to disregard that last. “I am truly sorry if it slipped my mind,” he says, “but what favor do you owe?”

“My kid is not in jail on some foreign planet right now, and I hear that’s all your fault. What’s the favor?”

“The War Council would not have imprisoned the Animorphs. That is, perhaps Aximili and Prince Jake may have been imprisoned, but doubtless the full Electorate court would have proven merciful—”

“Alloran. What’s the favor.”

He’s stalling, and she knows it. “It’s a bit of a complicated political matter, and I’m afraid I am not well equipped to explain it to a human, but enforcement of our travel policies is more subject to individual agents’ personal judgment than we ideally would have it be, and...”

“Hijo de puta. They’re not letting you go home, are they?”

Alloran fills his human lungs with more air than they technically need for speech. “It’s a complicated matter.” Nevertheless, his voice comes out small.

“You still camping at the Sharing Community Center?”

“Yes.” His voice is even smaller now.

“I’ll be there in half an hour, querido.” She hangs up.

While he waits, he goes outside to run, to graze, to stare up at the stars.

He didn’t lie; it is complicated. The Andalite Electorate is struggling to recover from a decades-long war, one that threatened the existence of their very soul as a people. Seerow’s mistakes — and Alloran’s own decision to publicize the failings of his prince — have ensured that the whole debacle was a massive embarrassment even before the defeat on the hork-bajir homeworld.

And then...

He’s heard the word, whispered and hissed and screamed and shouted.

Abomination.

His face is the public face of the Yeerk Empire. His voice is its voice. The morph he was just using — a bald, middle-aged human male — was constructed from the DNA of a dozen human-controllers. Everything he owns, from the black limousine parked at the curb to the press pass of a woman called Aria, was taken from the hands of murdered slaves.

Of course his people don’t want him back. Of course not. The quantum virus was one thing, but then he had the gall go to and get himself captured by the yeerks. And he’d added insult to injury when he’d challenged a captain on Aximili’s behalf.

He can see it. That’s what stings. He can stare up at the glittering point of his home star even as he runs across a field of dull foreign grass, and at this rate it’ll never be anything but a fixed point of light in an unfamiliar sky ever again.

Eva shows up then, before he can feel too sorry for himself.

She brings a human substance known as pinot noir.

**********

“And then...” Eva points a wavering finger at him. Her words have gotten blurrier over time. “And then, we just sneak it in, and bam!” She slaps the tabletop.

Alloran leans in across to her. “Bam,” he agrees.

“You needed a ride home?”

At the new voice, Alloran stands up sharply. Too sharply. He gets his two flimsy little legs tangled in the chair and almost pitches over.

Marco catches him. “You all right?” he asks.

“I,” Alloran intones, “am intoxicated. Tox. I. Cate. Ed. Wonderful word. Intock. Sick. Kate. Dd-d-d-d-d.”

“Yeeeaah, I was getting those vibes from the—” Marco leans around him in an impressive display of human balance. “Bottle of wine apiece you two’ve apparently emptied.”

Eva draws herself up. “I did not call and request a ride home, I called and requested a ride to the Netherlands!”

“You’re right, you did.” Marco rolls his eyes. “Which is why I made the decision to show up and bring you home instead.”

“No, no, the Netherlands.” Eva steps up next to Alloran. They both regard Marco carefully. “Not to worry, we’ve thought it through. You call your friend with the private plane, Bradley or Bradford or whomever his name is. We fly out to the Hague tonight.”

“Where is this going,” Marco mutters.

“Holland,” Alloran informs him. “It is-sssss in...”

“Yeah, I’ve been.”

“Anyway.” Eva gestures sharply, bringing attention back to her. “We shall have a perfectly ordinary canister of table salt with us, and we shall request to visit with Visser Three—”

“Oh Jesus. Mom.”

“The guards will not suspect a thing, for it is just an ordinary condiment. All we must then do is create a diversion, and...” Eva flings out both hands as if miming an explosion.

“Splat,” Alloran says. “Pllll-lat. Hissssss.”

“And this will accomplish what, exactly?” Marco asks.

“Making Alloran feel better,” Eva whispers to him. However, she seems to be whispering a great deal louder than she realizes. Humans are ill-equipped for private communication, with their sad reliance on verbal speech. “None of the andalites want him back.”

“Yeah. Cool.” Marco laughs. “Ten out of ten therapists recommend war crimes for a friend in need! And as a guy who’s been to at least ten therapists, I’d know.”

Alloran is not certain, but he believes that Marco might be employing the human verbal quirk known as “sarcasm.”

“No one will suspect a thing.” Eva pats him on the shoulder.

Marco sighs. “Security will just think it’s cocaine.”

“Cocaine?” Alloran asks. “Coke-cane? Co-c-c-c-c-c-c-aine?”

“Something you’re never going to try.” Marco levels a hard stare at him. “Given how well you handle your red wine.”

“Cooo-caaayyy-nnnee. Co-cane.”

“How did you get wrapped up in this dumbass heist, anyway?” Marco looks from one of them to the other.

“Alloran needed me,” Eva says.

“I have no friends,” Alloran announces. “And Arbron does not own a cell phone. Ell. Elffffff-own.”

Marco closes his main eyes for several seconds, massaging the bridge of his nose. An impressive feat of daring, for a creature with no stalk eyes who relies upon bipedalism. “Should’ve known you’d be a morose drunk,” he says.

“So, you’ll take us to the airfield, then?” Eva asks.

Lifting his head up, Marco opens his eyes. “In the words of my wise and estimable mother: if you want it that bad, you can have it when you’re sober.”

Eva opens her mouth halfway, squinting in what Alloran would guess is the effort of remembering when she would have said that. After a second, her expression clears. “I was right to say it, that floozy would have broken your heart in the morning, and this situation is entirely different!”

“That floozy’s name was Jake Gyllenhaal,” Marco mutters, “and I totally would’ve gone for it when I was sober, but I never got his number.”

Eva says something in Spanish, presumably about the loose morals of Jake Gyllenhaal. Marco’s expression would suggest that he only pretends not to understand her.

“Anyway. The point stands. I’m driving you home.” Marco jerks his chin at Eva. “And you,” he says, looking at Alloran, “are gonna morph and sober up before we go anywhere. I’m not having you nothlited on my conscience.”

“But,” Alloran says, “the salt—”

“We’ll revisit the salt in the morning,” Marco says firmly. “Demorph. Please.”

Alloran considers pointing out that he is a war-prince, he does not take orders from alien children, he has his pride... And then considers whether any of those statements is actually true.

He demorphs.

Instantly, he feels both better and worse. On the upside he’s more clear-headed now, but on the downside he’s more clear-headed.

“I’ll call you.” Marco gives him a long look while shepherding Eva out the door.

**********

Marco does not call, but he does send several written missives to Alloran’s cell phone. The Animorphs still have an illegal andalite communication device, it would appear, and Marco has put in requests to channels both official and not about the possibility of transport from Earth to the homeworld.

—Ax is on it, Marco’s latest text reads. —He’s calling an old friend. Might take some smuggling, but we’ve got an idea.

—Thank you, Alloran types carefully on the tiny keyboard. —Your assistance is greatly appreciated, and undeserved.

He’s debating whether to hit send when there’s a knock on the door.

Alloran’s in an abandoned building the Sharing used to use for housing human-controllers. There is very little chance that this is an incidental knock, or someone who wandered by accidentally.

The thought occurs to him that it’d be smarter to morph human and blend in before he answers. But the fear of facing the unknown in a half-blind, tailless morph wins out. He opens the door as is.

It proves to be the right decision. The andalite on the other side didn’t bother to morph either.

Estrid stares at him in silence for several seconds. Her expression is unreadable, all eyes ahead and carefully blank. Alloran doesn’t know what she’s looking for, but he lets her look.

«Estrid,» he says at last, when it’s clear she isn’t going to speak first. He gestures with his tail blade, the downward sweep of greeting for an honored warrior.

«Father,» she says.

Her own sharp tail-turn puts the flat of her blade toward him. A greeting between equals. An insult. Both not formal enough for an aristh to acknowledge a war-prince, and too formal for greeting a family member.

But then, Alloran went for Estrid, didn’t he. Not Aristh Estrid-Corill-Darrath, not Estri-kala or my child.

They haven’t seen each other in over two years. They haven’t spoken in almost twenty.

Arguably, given how young she was when he was taken, they’ve never really spoken at all. Certainly Alloran knows little of the person his daughter has become as a young adult. As a groundbreaking aristh. As a brilliant researcher.

As a war criminal.

Humans have a saying, about apples that don’t fall far.

«How is Jahar?» Alloran says. It’s what he really wants to know, and he doesn’t know how to approach any of the other minefields that lie between them. «And Ajaht, how is he?»

Judging by Estrid’s expression, she takes this to be a standard small-talk opening instead of the deeply earnest inquiry it is. «Mother is well enough. I suppose you’ll have to apologize to her in person.» She doesn’t mention her brother.

Alloran feels his tail blade drop nearly to the floor without his permission. «Yes. Of course. Estrid...»

«I’m on a diplomatic mission to Earth,» she says briskly. «Prince Aximili and I have concluded discussions with several local leaders about access to morphing technology and tourism restrictions going forward. Therefore, I will be able to exit the planet and return home after being subject to nothing more rigorous than human security scans.» The dismissive little flick of her tail at this last is, all things considered, somewhat warranted. Humans have yet to devise a single effective way to detect morphers.

«Return home,» Alloran repeats.

Might take some smuggling, Marco said. It’s sinking in: Estrid is here to bring him home.

Home. To the wife he disgraced. The brother he got killed. The children who won’t even acknowledge him, a feverish pair of overachievers desperate to leave his legacy behind. Ajaht’s tail-fighting is so legendary that, even using human channels, Alloran has been able to find scraps of news. Estrid’s skill is not praised so publicly... but the yeerks got ahold of Arbat’s files, after their disastrous mission to Earth. Alloran knows more about her, he thinks, than he ever wanted to.

«We’re leaving now,» Estrid says. «My window for authorized exit ends in two-point-eight-six Earth hours, so we need to move.»

She must have been here for days if not weeks, to negotiate the way she’s describing. And yet she came to find him at the last possible second. Likely to minimize the time they’re forced to spend together.

Alloran doesn’t have the time or the energy to care. «What would you prefer me to morph?»

«Something small and Earth-based.» She barely finishes speaking before she starts to morph herself.

Alloran pauses in surprise, because Estrid morphs with shocking skill, melding from andalite to human in a mere forty-seven seconds, all without ever once losing her footing. She even wears a normative amount of clothing when she’s finished, a sundress and sneakers and a coat overtop.

She sighs, looking him over. «We don’t have all day, here.»

«You were wasted in Arbat’s lab,» Alloran says.

«You don’t have to tell me that,» Estrid snaps. «Tell me, dear father, what else was a girl and a second-born and the child of a disgraced bloodline meant to do?»

Alloran has no answer. Silently he morphs.

His options are limited — Visser Three overwhelmingly preferred large to small morphs, and Alloran hasn’t bothered acquiring much else — so he opts for snake, Lachesis muta according to a human-controller from the area. It’s still larger than most Earth reptiles, but by coiling in close he becomes small enough to drop into the oversized pocket of Estrid’s jacket.

Estrid doesn’t speak to him, and he doesn’t ask her to, the entire way back to her fighter. She’s under no obligation, and he won’t force the issue.

********

«We’re landing soon,» Estrid tells him, three Earth weeks and eighty-two light years later. She’s maintained that icy formality throughout the entire journey so far, responding to Alloran’s questions — about her research, about her brother, about her morphing — with flat non-answers.

Alloran steps to the viewport to look out over the rolling grasslands of home like a child on his first in-atmosphere flight. Is it home, really? It’s been thirty-nine years since he left home to quell the small skirmish on the hork-bajir homeworld, forty-seven since his first offworld assignment serving under Prince Seerow. He has seen a dozen planets, been a hundred species, since that time. This body belonged to Visser Three for nearly as long as it did to Alloran himself, decades of nonexistence until he all but forgot his own name.

«What will you do next?» Alloran asks Estrid, still desperate for conversation.

She flicks a dismissive hand at the air. «I have my work.»

«Even without Arbat?»

«I didn’t say it was easy.»

«And the quantum virus?»

She turns all four eyes on him. A small part of him wants to scold her for bad form, but a far larger part of him recognizes he’d be overstepping. «The quantum virus never happened,» she says sharply. «And if it did, I was never informed of its existence. This journey was my first visit to Earth, Arbat died in a lab accident, we were never involved in weapons development, and if you even think about saying differently the War Council will back my story, because all of the documentation —»

«Estrid.» He cuts her off as gently as he can. «I would never...»

He sees it, in the stiffening of her stalk eyes. Hears it in the catch of her breath. She doesn’t want a father. Or if she does, she doesn’t want him.

«I would never dishonor the memory of my brother by raising questions about his death,» Alloran says instead.

Estrid relaxes, and turns back to the controls.

He is weary of war, weary of being alone. The person he’d been when he first met Esplin 9466 would have been shouting by now, demanding to know what right Estrid has to consider herself any better than him. He only deployed a quantum virus, had no hand in its evil creation. Either she is a hypocrite... or she is just like the War Council officials who consider it a far worse crime to be enslaved by yeerks than to have murdered ten million hork-bajir.

It’s been a long war, and Alloran has missed her every moment of it. Let her be angry; she’s here.

There is one more delicate question Alloran needs to ask, however, before they disembark on their family’s land. «Jahar,» he says. «I assume... She has found someone else. To help raise you, and...» Dark Sun, but this is hard. «She deserves to be loved, of course.»

Eva’s mate remarried, after all. Together they’d cried about that, somewhere between the third and fourth glasses of wine.

«Who would date her?» Estrid asks. «Who would be seen speaking to her? No. There’s no one. There hasn’t been. There was me, and Ajaht, and that’s it.»

Alloran feels sadness and relief and disappointment and shame at his relief, all at once in a rush too complex to understand. «I see,» he says at last.

«So go to her.» Estrid yanks hard to unseal the fighter’s outer door; they’ve landed without his noticing. «Go to her and—» Another hard yank. «Kriffing thing!»

Alloran puts his hand next to hers, pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t pull away. As one they move, and the door comes open at last.

She came to meet them. Alloran doesn’t know why he wasn’t expecting that, and yet...

Jahar is older, lined around the eyes and stooped in her shoulders and dull-edged around her hooves. She’s radiant. Transcendent.

Alloran is frozen. Aware of all the knocks he’s taken, all the shine he’s lost. Aware that they’ve been apart for longer than they ever were together.

He blames that last for the way his knees lock. For the voice that freezes inside his mind, unable to form words. For the crack in his breath and the painful squeeze of his hearts as she becomes the one to step forward. As she raises a hand to his cheek, in the first gentle touch he’s felt in over twenty years.

[Note: I know that Aloth’s line in #38 about Estrid being Arbat’s niece — which would make her Alloran’s daughter — is probably not meant to be literal in context. But the straightforward interpretation is boring, so I went with the fun one.]

#animorphs #animorphs fic #long post #ficlet #alloran #alloran is my trash baby #animorphs spoilers #victim blaming #estrangement #alloran semitur corass #Estrid Corill Darrath #alloran is estrid's dad #actual dumpster fire alloran semitur hardass #star wars swear words #cold mountain... in space!

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quickspinner · 4 years

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Killer Combo - Ch 5 Game On

Marinette had butterflies in her stomach for more than one reason when she arrived at the tournament venue. She paused in the bathroom to apply her makeup mask, and took her hoodie out of her bag, taking a deep breath before slipping it on over her shoulders. She pulled a couple of elastics out of the hoodie pocket and pulled her hair back into her signature pigtails, and the transformation was complete. She wanted to be perfect today. Not for Luka, who’d seen her through many competitions at this point, but for the attention she would inevitably garner with him as her partner. Their livestream would likely get a lot of views today, and she expected at least one video interview.

She tapped a finger three times to her lucky earrings, the inspiration for her entire look, and took one more deep breath before nodded at her reflection, and packed her things back in her bag. She had her own matches to focus on before the team competition.

As much as she enjoyed playing him, and as much as she wanted another chance to beat him, especially now that she understood him a little better, Marinette was kind of glad that she wasn’t paired against Luka in this event. They would have managed, but it might have made things weird, and Marinette did not need any more complications today.

Besides, she admitted to herself with a grudging, lopsided smile as she put down her controller and left her pod after her final match, if she’d been paired with him she might not have swept her matches. So maybe it was just as well. It would be more satisfying to take him down in the playoffs anyway.

Luka was already waiting for her when she got to the place where they were supposed to meet up, slumped back against a concrete pillar and scanning the crowd—presumably, for her.

The butterflies got worse and Marinette reprimanded herself, taking a deep breath and blowing it out between black-painted lips. Of course he was looking for her, he was her teammate and they had agreed to meet here, and she needed to not be stupid about this. She needed to be Ladybug.

She was Ladybug and Ladybug did not freak out on competition day because of a boy. No matter how inconveniently hot he was or the way his voice melted her or how much she wanted to know more about what he hid behind that damned lopsided roguish grin—no, she realized, a sudden image in her mind of the way it had looked when he flashed it at her on the boat. That damn pirate grin.

Marinette shook herself slightly. Not thinking about that now. Definitely not thinking of him in a pirate’s loose shirt and tight pants. Those period dramas were never accurate in their fashion anyway.

She was so doomed. Marinette made a little whine in her throat, throwing her hood up over her head for a second so that she could have a quick freakout to herself.

“Come on, Ladybug,” the very smooth voice she’d been thinking about suddenly teased, and a hand tugged on the front of her hood. “It’s not that bad. We prepared. We’ll make it work.” She hadn’t known him that long but she’d recognize that little shoulder squeeze anywhere.

“I’m fine,” she said, throwing the hood back and smoothing back her hair. “It’s fine, I’m chill.”

Luka chuckled. “You are definitely not chill.”

“Shut up,” Marinette grumbled, and fumbled her bag around to where she could dig in it. Anything to change the subject at this point. “Look, I, um...I have something for you, but I—I don’t want this to be weird, so don’t freak out, okay? It’s just this is a thing with us and it would look weird if you didn’t—so I—well. Here, I made this for you.” She shoved the bundle in his hands and stepped back. “Yours is dire, anyway, it offends me to look at it.” She eyed his ratty old hoodie, and to her chagrin, noted that her statement was less true than it had been since it now bore her red stitching at the seams.

“Oh, we’re back to the tough guy talk now, huh?” Luka chuckled, his eyes on her face not helping her find her equilibrium again at all. “Guess I should have expected that.”

“Yeah, you should have expected that,” Marinette shot back, folding her arms and cocking her hip. “I don’t mess around at game time.” She narrowed her eyes slightly, taking in the way his long fingers tapped against his leg, and though his posture was relaxed as always, now she could see the tightness around his eyes. And though she couldn’t put her finger on what was different, she sensed, too, a change in his energy, a tension and excitement that wasn’t there when he was truly calm and relaxed, like he had been in his home. “And you can’t fool me anymore,” she added. “Neither do you.”

“Guilty,” he shrugged, smile widening. “I have to stay on my toes to keep up with you.” He reached out and tweaked one of her pigtails. “Not gonna lie, I’d have missed the tough talk anyway.”

Marinette spluttered and Luka laughed at her before looking down at the bundle in his hands and starting to unfold it.

All the humor in his face faded away as he held up the hoodie. “Whoa…” he murmured, looking it over, and Marinette held her breath. The body of the hoodie was a deep green, with a diamond pattern in a turquoise that matched his hair and his mech down the outside of the sleeves. The same pattern went down the sides, but on a larger scale.

“Cool,” he said, grinning at her—not his usual relaxed smile, but a full on grin that lit up his eyes, and crap, she hadn’t thought anything could hit her harder than the pirate grin and wink that he used so effectively, but she was wrong.

Marinette bit her lip. “Turn it around.”

He did, and his jaw dropped. On the back was her grinning ouroboros design. “Holy shit,” he breathed, and Marinette’s stomach flipped over as that joyful grin got even wider.

“Language,” Marinette said mildly, inspecting her red nails as if she wasn’t hanging on his every word. “That’s a fine if the officials hear you, mister we-have-sportsmanship-guidelines-for-a-reason.”

“Worth it,” Luka muttered absently. “Marinette, this is... way too much, I’m just a temporary team member—”

“Oh, shut up,” she sighed, grabbing his arm a little less roughly than usual as she tugged him over to an abandoned table. “Look, you’re part of Team Lucky Charm now so just deal with it. And...let me do something nice for you to say thanks for helping me out without making me feel all embarrassed because I had a creative fit and went overboard. We’re a team, we need to look like a team. We need to feel like a team.”

“Now what are we doing?” Luka asked, looking unphased by her manhandling as she shoved him into a chair.

“Fixing your face,” Marinette said firmly. She dumped her makeup bag out on the table and rummaged through it, picking out a couple of different pieces. “The hoodie is just step one.” She held up a makeup palette. Luka looked at it, and then at the red and black mask across her eyes.

“I’m in your hands,” he grinned up at her. “Make me pretty.”

Marinette snorted. “You have too many muscles to be pretty.”

“You have muscles too, you’re still pretty,” Luka protested, pouting. "Why does pretty not get to have muscles?"

“Oh my God, shut up,” Marinette muttered, pouting as she felt her face turn ladybug red as she leaned in to get to work. “I hate you so much right now. Close your eyes.”

“You know red is a nice color on you,” Luka chuckled, doing as she asked.

“Stop making this weird,” Marinette huffed, continuing across the bridge of his nose.

“Why is it weird to think you’re prettier than me?” he asked, clearly amused. “You just said you couldn’t make me pretty, and you’re pretty even without the makeup, so—”

“Stop calling me pretty!” Marinette snapped.

Luka sobered immediately. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to disrespect you.”

Marinette sighed. “I know,” she muttered. “I’m sorry, it’s just...I don’t get called pretty that often, not sincerely anyway, and you just did it like six times like it was nothing. Like you...meant it.”

“Can I open my eyes for a second?” he asked. “This is a weird conversation to have when I can’t see you.”

Marinette sighed, pulling her hands back. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Luka opened his eyes, and those intense, deep blue eyes staring at her from the dark shades of green she’d dusted across his face made her breath catch. “I know you get a lot of disrespect from the guys in these competitions,” he told her, his voice both quiet and low in a way that made her stomach quiver. “I can imagine that after a while it wears on you even when you know it’s not true. So, as a guy, let me just tell you, you are very pretty, and very smart, and a kickass gamer, and you have all the respect I can give you.”

He closed his eyes again and Marinette numbly switched colors, dusting a lighter turquoise that matched his hair over his eyelids, willing her hands to stop shaking. “I won’t say it again if it upsets you,” Luka said quietly. “I just thought you should know.

“It...it’s not that it upsets me exactly…” She added a couple of yellow streaks down from the bottom of the mask like fangs.

“Doesn’t matter. I won’t say it again.” Luka grinned, peeking one eye open. “Can’t have you rattled before the match.”

“As if you could rattle me, Couffaine,” she scoffed with more bravado than she felt.

He glanced down at the eyeliner pencil in her hand and plucked it away with two fingers. “I can do that part.”

“Really?” Marinette said skeptically, handing him a mirror compact. “I’ll be pissed if you ruin all that work.”

Luka opened the mirror and gave her a sideways smirk without turning away from his reflection, which was just unfair as his profile was by far his best angle. “There’s still a lot you don’t know about me, Ladybug.”

“Apparently,” Marinette grinned, propping her hands on her hips as she watched him line his eyes with a quick efficiency that she kind of envied, actually. Then he glanced up at her and stood up.

“Here, come here, you could use a touch up,” he said, gesturing her towards the chair.

Marinette sat and Luka crouched in front of her, reaching for her face. “May I?” he asked before he touched her, and she nodded. He took her chin in his hand and began touching up the spots in her makeup mask. “You’re really something else,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then he seemed to shake himself and he asked, “You and Max do this before every competition?”

“Well, not like this,” she said, careful not to move. “Max doesn’t really do makeup, but he’s got those glasses, you know, the mirrored ones, and the horseshoe necklace, and the hoodie, you know.” She smiled ruefully. “Team Lucky Charm knows how to brand.”

“Somehow I feel like you have a lot to do with that,” he said, and though his grin wasn’t nearly as effective when he was distracted, Marinette still had to swallow with his face so close. “Have you ever thought of doing red lipstick instead of black?”

Marinette blinked. “Not really. Max wears a lot of black so I went with black to tie us together a little more. Why?”

“I just think it would look good on you. I mean, the black looks fine, it looks um...it looks good,” he paused and cleared his throat. “I just think the red would suit you.” He let go of her face and sat back on his heels. “There we go. Can’t have a ladybug walking around with faded spots.” He grinned at her, and Marinette couldn’t help smiling back. He was just so... nice . The real kind of nice, not the fake nice. He was just...he was a really good person and a sweetheart and cute and fun and his smile was so warm and...

Luka tilted his head. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

Marinette blinked quickly. “Well, obviously,” she said, standing up a little too quickly. “That was the whole point of this exercise. Come on, we better, um…”

“We’ve got time,” Luka said easily, but he rolled up to his feet. “Guess I better step up though.” He pulled his ratty old hoodie off, and Marinette was treated to a close-up view of the way his shoulders filled out his black t-shirt and the subtle swell of muscle in his arms before he slid on the fabric of the hoodie she’d made him. “Is this original art?” he asked, making a ridiculous face as he tried to peek over his shoulder. “Did you draw this?”

“Yes,” Marinette said, momentarily forgetting his distracting hotness as she stepped up to settle the hoodie on his shoulders and make sure it hung properly. “It fits okay,” she murmured to herself, smoothing the sleeves down his arm. “Not bad, considering I had to guess your measurements.” She looked up at him and realized he was blushing beneath his green mask. “Oh God, sorry,” she said, jerking her hands back. “It’s just—I’m used to—I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have—I forgot it was you and not one of my clients.”

“I don’t mind,” Luka chuckled, but she swore his cheeks turned pinker, and there was something a little softer than usual in the way he smiled and oh God, she really needed to think about something else. She started to turn away but Luka caught her arm and turned her back for a moment. “Hey,” he said, and his usually strong voice had gone quiet, which was bad for her heart as it took on the velvety tone she had noticed mostly in his singing voice until now. “I just want to say thanks. This is a lot of work to go through for somebody who’s just filling in, and...well, I appreciate it. I’m sorry if I sounded too flip earlier, but I really do appreciate all the work you’re doing to make me a part of the team.”

Marinette could only blink at him for a moment. “You are part of the team,” she said, putting her hand on his arm and squeezing gently. Didn’t he know that? “You’ve acted like part of the team, you’ve done everything I asked. You could have just showed up on match day and filled in and I would still be thanking you. But you really came through and you worked with me and you listened to Max’s lectures and…” She pressed her lips together to stop her rambling, and took a breath, and said simply, “You’re part of the team, Luka. You’re absolutely part of the team. So don’t tell me this is too much, because it’s the least you deserve.”

It was his turn to blink at her, and he opened his mouth slowly, but nothing came out, and he just shut it again and shook his head slightly. “Thank you,” he said, meeting her eyes again.

“We’ll be thanking each other all day at this rate,” Marinette said, unable to look away. “You’ve got your game face on, so. Let’s go, um. Go. Game.” Ugh she was so lame.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, smiling—a different, softer smile than she was used to. “That sounds...pretty much like a plan to me.” He gestured vaguely. “After you?”

More than happy to have an excuse to end the awkward that seemed to plague her through her life, Marinette led the way to the team match hall. Before they could enter, someone called Luka’s name, and they both turned to find a guy in the tournament press team uniform hurrying towards them.

“Great, here come the sharks,” Luka said, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing. “I’m not sure if I’m sorry or not, we’ll have to decide later.”

“Publicity is good,” Marinette said, pasting on a smile that projected confidence, though the butterflies were acting up again.

“Viperion, good to see you,” the man said, slapped his hand at Luka’s in a weird sort of bro handshake...thing—all one handed, as he was filming with some kind of tablet in the other. They were probably live, Marinette realized. “Changing up your look for the match today?”

“Hey, Tim. Yeah, turns out Ladybug here’s a fantastic artist and designer,” Luka said, holding his arms out a little to show the diamond pattern. “Check it out,” he turned around, displaying the grinning ouroboros design on his back. “You should see the stuff on her Instagram page, man, it’s fantastic. Maybe I’ll commission something from her when I win the championship.” He nudged Marinette with his elbow, grinning.

Marinette responded almost automatically. “Psh, you wish,” she laughed. “You better start saving your pennies, Viperion, because coming in second isn’t going to make your dreams come true.”

Tim looked back and forth between them curiously. “I see playing together hasn’t diminished your rivalry. You and Ladybug have been going head to head for weeks and it’s been a hotly contested match every time. How do you reconcile that with being teammates?”

“Ladybug’s a fantastic player and a great sport,” Luka replied, putting a hand on Marinette’s back with just enough pressure to suggest that she step forward without compelling it. “We make a great team, but we both know that when we’re back to one-on-one...” Luka shrugged and grinned at Marinette. She smiled back and copied his shrug.

“May the best player win,” she finished for him, cocking an eyebrow with a wicked grin.

“You’re currently listed as an alternate,” Tim said, looking at Luka again. “Does the wardrobe change mean you’re replacing Pegasus as a permanent team member?”

Marinette took the step forward. “Absolutely not,” she said, glancing quickly at Luka to make sure he wasn’t offended. He gave her a tiny nod and she continued. “Pegasus and I are partners and that won’t change. It’s nice to know though that we have backup we can count on when we need it. Viperion’s gone above and beyond to help us out and as far as I’m concerned, he’s part of the team and he should look like part of the team.”

“So Viperion, you’re just a temp?” Tim asked.

Luka and Marinette shared a smirk. “I’m a threat,” Luka— Viperion said, giving the camera a wicked smirk that made Marinette’s knees go a little weak. “The competition better watch out because Team Lucky Charm is coming in hot.” He winked.

So hot , Marinette whined in her head, though she managed to keep her composure. If she blushed, hopefully no one would notice under her makeup.

“Well I think I can guarantee there will be a lot of eyes watching the, uh—augmented Team Lucky Charm tonight.” Marinette’s fingers curled into a fist at her side, and she felt Luka touch her back again. “One last question, Viperion, does this mean your dating hiatus is over?”

“Wow, Tim, it took you like a whole thirty seconds to go there,” Luka snorted. “No, it doesn’t. We’ll see you after the match, okay?” He turned and headed for the match hall, Marinette only a startled half-step behind him.

“Thanks for your time, Viperion, it’s a pleasure as always,” Tim called. Luka looked back at him with raised eyebrows and Tim hastily added, “And Ladybug.”

Luka snorted and shook his head as they walked away. His hand twitched towards Marinette’s arm but he didn’t touch her. “You okay?”

“ I’m fine,” she said, looking at him. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Luka sighed, “Just annoyed. I hate it when he gets personal like that. And I told him that in confidence, he was only supposed to report that I don’t have a girlfriend. I, um—” He glanced at Marinette and cleared his throat. “I had a bad breakup and I’ve been staying away from the dating thing until I had my head on straight. It just—I don’t want you to think I—”

This time Marinette took his arm and squeezed it. “It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it. Especially now, like this, I mean—n-not that you have to talk to me at all I just meant—if you want to, or if you need somebody to listen, I just meant...I mean I’m here. For you. Not...for you for you like he was thinking, but I mean...you’re my...my friend.” The word tasted like ash in her mouth, bitter with memories, and she swallowed as she let go of him.

He only had time to say “thanks,” before they were at the check in and being ushered off to their places, but his hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed, and lingered.

They endured the rest of the usual pre-match whirlwind and finally they were shut into their pyrapod, the noise of the tournament sealed out, and they both took a relieved breath.

“Well,” Luka said, rubbing his hands absently on his thighs before he reached for his controller. “Here goes nothing, right?” His voice was tense and Marinette reached out on instinct and grabbed his hand.

“Hey,” she said, squeezing tight. “We’re good. We worked hard, we did our best to get ready, and we had fun, right? We’ve got this. Even if we lose, I won’t have any regrets.”

“Yeah,” Luka said, and his fingers closed over hers to squeeze back. “Me neither.”

“Just relax,” Marinette said, to herself as much as him as the match countdown began. “Leave everything else outside. Play the game. We got this.” She let go of his hand and there was no more time for talking; they put on their headsets and picked up their controllers and then it was on.

They were a little stiff at first, Luka a bit jumpy and Marinette going a bit harder than necessary, but by the end of that first match they’d found their footing. Luka’s nervousness morphed into eager anticipation and Marinette began to relax into the teamwork and let Luka take his share of the load. Marinette was a little afraid that Luka had been rattled by the question outside, but when the taunting started, which included the inevitable thinly veiled suggestions that their partnership came with benefits, but Luka kept his cool and let Marinette handle it until the match got heated and the insults got more direct. Luka finally snapped, “Hey Ref, what the fuck, are you asleep? Did you read your own handbook, this is bullshit.” It earned him a fine but the official monitoring the channel was quicker to intervene after being publicly called out on livestream.

It wasn’t a sweep but it was close. Even for the matches they lost, Marinette had no complaints; they’d fought for every one and when the screen finally went dark, she had a satisfied smile on her face, though her ears still rang from Luka’s victory cry.

Beside her Luka breathed in deeply, and all the buzzing, excited energy that had filled him as they played seemed to fade from him as he blew it out. “That was intense,” he said, one hand finding her shoulder and squeezing lightly. “We did good, right? You’re happy?”

“We did great,” Marinette smiled, and in the privacy and semi-darkness of the pod, she actually found the courage to lean into his side and slip one arm around his waist in a half hug. “You really stepped up, Luka. I know I said thank you already but, you really bailed me out and you did great. I’m happy to have had you as my partner, even for a little while.”

His hand slid slowly from her near shoulder across her back to the far one, and he squeezed her back gently. “Thanks. You made it pretty simple, honestly.” He sighed. “They’re probably going to want another soundbite when we leave.”

Marinette nodded and pulled away, reaching back to tug the elastics out of her hair and redo her pigtails. “One last opponent to take down,” she sighed, and Luka chuckled.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” he said, sticking his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“You know it,” Marinette said, holding out a hand for a fist bump before realizing his hands weren’t available, and awkwardly dropping hers just as he pulled one out to meet it. She groaned and Luka laughed, pulling her into a loose hug and patting her back lightly. “It’s fine. Come on.”

They emerged from the pod with grins that were maybe a bit bigger than the camera-ready, professional smiles they had intended, but it didn’t matter. Tim grabbed Luka as soon as they were clear of the pod—literally, grabbing Luka’s arm and dragging him off to the side. Marinette followed and heard Tim saying, “—viewer numbers on that match were incredible, and they only went up from there, I’ve never seen a jump that big—”

“You mean to tell me that having a hot girl on camera boosted your viewer ratings?” Luka said dryly. “Who knew. And then they went up after they saw how much ass she kicked? You’re kidding. It’s like some people actually find competent women really attractive or something.” Marinette froze, face reddening. “I’m telling you, Tim, you’re wasting your time on me. There’s your money face.” Luka tipped his head toward Marinette. “Have you watched her play? Her mind is just, it’s amazing the stuff she can come up with on the fly. I’ve watched every one of her matches and they’re crazy entertaining. If you’re not paying attention to her they should be questioning whether you’re qualified for this job.”

As Luka spoke Tim’s mouth dropped open slightly and he turned his eyes slowly on Marinette and she could practically see the smoke coming out of his ears as the wheels started turning in his brain. “Ladybug,” he said quickly, approaching her and pulling a card out of his pocket. “Hey, I just have time for a quick photo op right now with you two but I’d really like a chance to interview you before the next round. This rivalry you’ve got going with Viperion, it was already good stuff, but people are really interested now that they’ve seen you together.”

Marinette drew one of her own business cards out of her pocket and cooly agreed that they could talk. She and Luka went where they were told and posed together. She didn’t really feel like smiling at the moment, but Luka caught her hand and squeezed it for just an instant.

“We did it,” he murmured. “Don’t let their crap take that away from you, okay? Forget all this publicity bull. It’s about the game, and we played it well.”

“Right,” she whispered back. “You’re right. We did. We played it really well.” He grinned at her and she grinned at him and then they both gave their best game time smirks to the camera.

“Sorry,” he muttered as they walked away. “I didn’t mean to volunteer you for anything, it’s just...that’s been bugging me for a long time, and I guess I was still annoyed about earlier, and I just kind of let him have it. Are you going to the afterparty thing, or…?”

“No,” Marinette shook her head. “I’m going to head over and let Max know how it went. He’s doing a lot better now, I’m sure he watched the whole thing and he’s going to want to talk about it. I think he’d feel less left out if I went straight over there.”

“When you put it that way I wish I could too,” Luka said, “But I have another commitment I have to get to after this.”

They walked together out of the conference hall and down the street until Marinette stopped in front of the metro station. “This is me,” she said, nodding to the subway entrance.

“I’m going a different way, so…” Luka leaned his weight onto his heels, ready to step back. “I guess this is it for a while. I’ll see you in the next competition.” He grinned. “You can bet I’ll be practicing so you don’t come in and curb stomp my ass cause I got lazy. Tell Max I wish you both the best, okay?” He started to turn away, and Marinette caught his arm.

“Hey,” she said, looking up at him. “You’ll still be there cheering for us, right?” She smiled and hoped it didn’t look too manic as she let go of him. “Didn’t I tell you? Once you’re one of us, you’re one of us for life.”

Luka gave her a slow grin that made her insides feel like jelly. “You didn’t tell me, actually. Seems like the kind of thing you ought to warn a guy about before he signs up.”

“Oops,” Marinette said airily, raising her hands and hoping they weren’t shaking. “Too bad. You’re Team Lucky Charm for life now.”

“That—” Luka paused and looked away, running his fingers through his hair before he looked back at her. “That actually makes me really happy, Marinette. I’m kind of a loner and...well, it’s been a while since i was part of something I could be proud of.”

Marinette’s eyes widened and she was sure she looked as shocked as she felt. “But you’re so nice,” she blurted out. “I mean, everybody likes you, you have friends all over the place…”

Luka shrugged. “Friends I only see at tournaments. I mean, I do have some good friends, but here people think I’m cool because I win but I know most of them would drop me like a hot rock the second I started losing. Some of them already have, actually.”

Marinette’s throat tightened up at that. He was too nice to say it, but it was because of her, she was sure. Because he was playing with her. She opened her mouth but just looked down, not sure what to say.

“I was in a band, for a while,” Luka continued, either not noticing or tactfully ignoring her sudden inability to form words. “But life happened and we all had to move on, and...I miss that. Feeling part of a group. So thanks for giving it to me, even if all I’m doing from now on is cheering on the sidelines. You ever need someone to step in again, you call me, okay? You’ve got my number now.”

“Yeah,” Marinette said, her hand automatically going to her pocket to grip her phone. “Yeah, I do.”

“Alright, well, I’ll see you around Ladybug,” Luka said, backing away a couple of steps.

Time froze for a second. It wasn’t like she’d never see him again; they’d still get matched up and play and they’d still probably meet up in the tournament but Marinette had felt this way before, and she knew, she knew, that if she let this moment pass, it would be like had been with Adrien. All the closeness and camaraderie they had built up would fade away, and she and Luka would drift apart, back into that lightly teasing but still mostly professional banter they had enjoyed before. It would be fine and they would be friendly and she’d be left wondering what if for the rest of her life. Or worse, trying desperately to save what could have been with a too-late confession that would be awkward and embarrassing and ultimately futile.

Yeah, no thanks. She didn’t want that. She didn’t. She remembered briefly her conversation with Juleka, where she had promised that she wasn’t that person anymore, that she was stronger, braver, able to stand up for herself and others.

Marinette didn’t want any of that to be a lie.

She didn’t want to lose Luka.

Marinette took one quick step forward. “Luka.”

Luka stopped moving, and Marinette took another couple of steps towards him.

“If I, um...If I wanted to use your number some other time,” she said, looking anywhere but at him, aware that she was blushing. “Maybe if I just wanted some company, or someone to s-see a movie with, would...would that be okay?” She bit her lip, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

He didn’t move for a second, and Marinette began to quietly panic on the inside, that maybe she’d been too blunt, or not blunt enough, or maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe she was crazy and this moment hadn’t meant anything. Maybe she was imagining everything that had passed and he wasn’t into her and now she looked like a desperate, lovesick idiot. Again.

“Yeah, definitely,” he finally said, and the smile on his face was one that she’d never seen on him before. “I’d like that. I’d love that, actually. Sometime. Anytime. Whenever.” He shut his mouth with a look on his face that she was very familiar with, the oh God why can’t I shut up look, and she couldn’t help a smile. It was kind of nice to be on the receiving end of that one instead of the one panicking.

“Okay then,” Marinette said, smile growing, genuine and happy. “I’ll text you. Sometime. Or you can text me, if you feel like it. Whichever.”

“Cool,” he said, and Marinette’s smile might have slid into a smirk at the way he was blushing. In fact he seemed to be growing pinker by the second. “I’ll talk to you soon then.”

He turned and walked away quickly, and Marinette watched him go with a sensation not unlike chugging three cans of Red Bull in a row. She turned around and walked three steps calmly before letting out a little squeal and running the rest of the way to the train platform, ignoring the guard that shouted at her.

#quickspins #killer combo #lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #engame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #ml fics

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lovefuturisticmgtow · 5 years

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10 California districts struggle, and find some success, as they shift to Common Core math

Photograph courtesy of Phil Halperin, California Schooling Partners

Haley Marquez, a instructor at Jefferson Elementary Faculty in Sanger Unified, and Karl Kesterke, an area administrator for Sanger Unified, be a part of the discussion throughout one of many periodic conferences of the 10 districts within the Math in Widespread collaborative.

Photograph courtesy of Phil Halperin, California Schooling Companions

Haley Marquez, a instructor at Jefferson Elementary Faculty in Sanger Unified, and Karl Kesterke, an area administrator for Sanger Unified, be a part of the discussion during one of many periodic conferences of the 10 districts within the Math in Widespread collaborative.

For five years, a San Francisco foundation funded, and a research group intently monitored, a collaboration by 10 California districts to boost achievement underneath the Widespread Core math standards. With math proficiency legging behind English language arts performance on the brand new educational standards, the venture took on one of many largest impediments to scholar success and challenges dealing with California faculties.

The findings, specified by six prolonged research, are both sobering and inspiring.

Progress was sluggish and uneven, and average increases in standardized check scores, which have been largely stagnant statewide, have been small, with appreciable variation among districts and faculties. There was an upward development in third by means of sixth grades towards the top of the initiative in 2018. And there was some progress among English learners in those districts, in contrast with English learners statewide, however no closing of the gap between English learners and different college students. There was no improve in center faculty scores.

Associated

Understanding the Widespread Core State Requirements in California: A quick guide

Yet the findings of the stories additionally supply insights from trial and error and a basic consensus, developed over time, on promising methods and educational decisions to boost the chances of enchancment in math.

The overall watchword is endurance, stated Neal Finkelstein, co-director of the Innovation Studies program at WestEd, the San Francisco-based nonprofit research and policy organization that evaluated and offered technical assist for the districts. Math in Widespread, because the Okay-Eight program was referred to as, produced “not a crazy miracle” but noticeable achieve in the latter years, he stated. Significant enchancment in Widespread Core math will require “lengthy, enduring, grinding progress” that touches “each instructor, each day,” he stated. “There’s not a shortcut to it.”

The S.D. Bechtel, Jr. Foundation funded Math in Widespread. The 10 districts have been chosen, out of 27 invited to apply, as a result of that they had shown some success in elevating achievement with some functionality and methods to implement the then-new math requirements. The unified districts, with a mean of 72 % low-income students, have been Dinuba, Elk Grove, Backyard Grove, Long Seashore, Oakland, Oceanside, Sacramento Metropolis, San Francisco, Sanger and Santa Ana.

Bechtel spent greater than $50 million on this system. Bechtel paid for periodic conferences of the districtwide teams, further math specialists, in-school and in-district trainings and the collaboration time of math academics since 2013. That was when districts have been starting to show their consideration to the significant shifts in instruction and concepts demanded by Widespread Core math. California Schooling Companions of San Francisco, which directs schooling networks throughout the state, oversaw the initiative. Districts acquired grants ranging from $2.5 million for small districts like Sanger and Dinuba to $7 million for Long Seashore over 5 years.

“There was no mannequin for implementing Widespread Core” when the initiative began, and the inspiration was “agnostic” about approaches, stated Arron Jiron, Bechtel’s associate program director for schooling. “We needed to shine a light-weight on what labored. We needed districts to figure out how you can do it within their very own visions and seize what they discovered, errors and all.”

WestEd started publishing studies of Math in Widespread in 2014. All the stories, plus the ultimate evaluations, could be downloaded at the S.D. Bechtel, Jr. Foundation’s Math in Widespread website. The half-dozen last stories are:

Roadblocks and Routes: Professional Improvement in Math in Widespread Districts

What Accelerates a Group of Follow? Inflection Factors That Changed the Course of the Math in Widespread Initiative

Understanding Complicated Educational Change: Classroom Observations of Math in Widespread Districts

Educators Collaborating to Improve Mathematics: Three Buildings That Mattered in Math in Widespread Districts

Spotlight on Scholar Achievement: Analyses of Statewide Evaluation Knowledge in Math in Widespread Districts

Creating Principals’ Educational Management in Math in Widespread Districts

The 5-year effort didn’t shake the inspiration’s or the districts’ religion in the Widespread Core standards. However there were — and nonetheless are — what WestEd referred to as “roadblocks” to efficient implementation. There was a shortage of excellent supplies and textbooks on Widespread Core math, leading academics to spend immense time creating their very own lesson plans. There weren’t academics in every faculty with the experience to enhance instruction and districts couldn’t discover subs or schedule launch time for collaboration. Based mostly on their experiences, some academics have been skeptical of dedicating time to “continuous improvement.”

However over time, districts got here up with “routes” around roadblocks. They refined strategies and came to realizations — WestEd calls them “inflection factors” — that guided their work and maintain promise for other districts and providers of help, primarily county workplaces of schooling.

Among these:

Pursue district collaborations; they will make a distinction. Districts, like academics, “can study extra shortly and successfully collectively than by working in isolation,” the studies concluded. The studies pointed to practices and concepts that districts shared, like Dinuba Unified’s adoption of Garden Gove’s “math huddles” — monthly meetings of all elementary faculties’ head math academics. District groups should embrace math specialists and directors dedicated to the trouble with the facility to make selections. Collaborations additionally want time to construct trust to encourage candor about successes and failures.

Slender the main target to a selected space of instruction. Which may appear obvious, however it typically isn’t. Districts tried to deal with too many math standards directly and the district teams ought to have shifted their focus sooner from “vision statements” to enhancements in instruction. “District employees shouldn’t attempt to deal with every side — or even most sides — of methods change all of sudden,” WestEd wrote.

Make mastery of “educational discourse” a district precedence. Educational discourse refers to the potential of students to point out orally and in writing that they understand what they have discovered, by explaining the logic behind their very own answers and critiquing the reasoning of others. Certainly one of eight elementary practices of Widespread Core math, along with the skills to purpose abstractly and apply math logic outdoors the classroom, the Math in Widespread districts ultimately selected it as their focus.

Educational discourse presents maybe the most important Widespread Core problem, since it requires that academics move “away from memorization, drills and rote procedures” towards a “deeper conceptual understanding” of math, Rebecca Perry, senior program affiliate at WestEd, wrote. It additionally “ups the ante” for what districts have to do to successfully and equitably implement the requirements, notably with English learners.

Focus professional improvement at the faculty degree. Widespread Core calls for that academics train in a different way, shifting from lectures to encouraging scholar problem-solving. These are new expertise greatest developed by means of academics working together in school-based work teams centered on lesson planning, not district-led trainings. These efforts require release time for academics to satisfy and a math coach or, if there are usually not sufficient coaches to go round, a lead faculty math instructor. Districts that relied on the strategy of having academics practice different academics reported poor participation if academics lack confidence in lead academics’ experience. San Francisco created podcasts for recommendations on lesson plans.

Observe academics of their lecture rooms. “We’ve knowledge on scholar outcomes, however we still know little about what academics do in the classroom that influences those outcomes,” WestEd wrote. Direct statement is essential to helping academics improve. But the elements for studying are arduous to research and measure. Backyard Grove has revised its software for measuring lesson effectiveness a dozen occasions. After analyzing 201 lessons in 141 lecture rooms in 9 of the 10 districts within the undertaking, WestEd employees found little improvement in instruction over three years however concluded the rubric it used might have been too complicated. Though gathering statement knowledge was troublesome and time-intensive, most collaborating districts felt it should it’s “a agency precedence“ to know implementation success, WestEd wrote.

Develop principals’ educational leadership. Shifting skilled improvement from the district office to colleges magnifies the importance of principals’ position as educational leaders and advocates for math instruction and assets. Principals ideally should participate in classroom observations and instructor trainings. Those that haven’t been in the classroom for years or haven’t taught math find these roles troublesome. In some districts collaborating within the initiative, math coaches tutored principals and created separate learning teams for them.

What’s next?

WestEd concluded that Math in Widespread has offered “many priceless classes” on find out how to implement the standards, however Jiron, of Bechtel, and others acknowledge it’s not clear where other faculty districts will find funding to hire extra math specialists within the elementary grades and the expertise to assist them shift educational practices.

Six years ago, then-Gov. Jerry Brown appropriated $1.25 billion for districts to implement the Widespread Core, with a selection of spending the money on training, supplies or know-how; districts spent probably the most on know-how. Since then the state has dedicated no one-time cash or ongoing funding for professional improvement, leaving it up to districts, underneath native management, to determine whether or not to spend something on standards implementation.

The 2019-20 state finances does present $14 million in federal funding to create a 21st Century California Faculty Leadership Academy for principals and administrators, with coaching in educational requirements one of many said functions. And the Bechtel Basis is funding work with the group that serves the county workplaces of schooling — the California County Superintendents Instructional Providers Affiliation — on learn how to assist districts undertake Math in Widespread findings.

However otherwise, WestEd’s Finkelstein and former State Board of Schooling President Michael Kirst agreed that districts should find cash from within their very own budgets. They’ll should ask themselves, “Are there methods to rearrange what you’re doing?” stated Kirst, who has referred to as the shortage of instructor and administrator coaching a important unmet want of Widespread Core adoption.

As for the Math in Widespread districts, the venture led to 2018, however the foundation agreed to proceed some help for 2 years for eight of the 10 districts. Backyard Grove and Lengthy Seashore, which have been already ahead of the others in implementing the standards and made the most important features in check scores, ended their affiliation. However the basis itself is winding down and going out of business on the end of 2020, leaving districts to switch the funding — if they select.

WestEd instructed the districts have been nonetheless only beginning to determine what they needed to improve classroom instruction. “It isn’t yet clear whether or not the initiative’s work has constructed the type of capacity and innovation, in the collaborating districts, that may finally end in more promising (check) results down the line,” it wrote.

EdSource receives help from a dozen philanthropic foundations, together with the S.D. Bechtel, Jr. Basis. Editorial decision-making and content remain beneath the only control of EdSource.

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#Arron Jiron #California Education Partners #Featured #Jr. Foundation #Math in Common #Neal Finkelstein #Rebecca Perry #S.D. Bechtel #tech #Unsorted #WestEd

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7niichan-stuff-blog · 5 years

Text

10 California districts struggle, and find some success, as they shift to Common Core math

Photograph courtesy of Phil Halperin, California Schooling Partners

Photograph courtesy of Phil Halperin, California Schooling Companions

The findings, specified by six prolonged research, are both sobering and inspiring.

Associated

Understanding the Widespread Core State Requirements in California: A quick guide

Roadblocks and Routes: Professional Improvement in Math in Widespread Districts

What Accelerates a Group of Follow? Inflection Factors That Changed the Course of the Math in Widespread Initiative

Understanding Complicated Educational Change: Classroom Observations of Math in Widespread Districts

Educators Collaborating to Improve Mathematics: Three Buildings That Mattered in Math in Widespread Districts

Spotlight on Scholar Achievement: Analyses of Statewide Evaluation Knowledge in Math in Widespread Districts

Creating Principals’ Educational Management in Math in Widespread Districts

Among these:

What’s next?

EdSource receives help from a dozen philanthropic foundations, together with the S.D. Bechtel, Jr. Basis. Editorial decision-making and content remain beneath the only control of EdSource.

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#Arron Jiron #California Education Partners #Featured #Jr. Foundation #Math in Common #Neal Finkelstein #Rebecca Perry #S.D. Bechtel #tech #Unsorted #WestEd

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ask-accord · 5 years

Text

10 California districts struggle, and find some success, as they shift to Common Core math

Photograph courtesy of Phil Halperin, California Schooling Partners

Photograph courtesy of Phil Halperin, California Schooling Companions

The findings, specified by six prolonged research, are both sobering and inspiring.

Associated

Understanding the Widespread Core State Requirements in California: A quick guide

Roadblocks and Routes: Professional Improvement in Math in Widespread Districts

What Accelerates a Group of Follow? Inflection Factors That Changed the Course of the Math in Widespread Initiative

Understanding Complicated Educational Change: Classroom Observations of Math in Widespread Districts

Educators Collaborating to Improve Mathematics: Three Buildings That Mattered in Math in Widespread Districts

Spotlight on Scholar Achievement: Analyses of Statewide Evaluation Knowledge in Math in Widespread Districts

Creating Principals’ Educational Management in Math in Widespread Districts

Among these:

What’s next?

EdSource receives help from a dozen philanthropic foundations, together with the S.D. Bechtel, Jr. Basis. Editorial decision-making and content remain beneath the only control of EdSource.

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#Arron Jiron #California Education Partners #Featured #Jr. Foundation #Math in Common #Neal Finkelstein #Rebecca Perry #S.D. Bechtel #tech #Unsorted #WestEd

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varianappreciationuniverse · 5 years

Text

10 California districts struggle, and find some success, as they shift to Common Core math

Photograph courtesy of Phil Halperin, California Schooling Partners

Photograph courtesy of Phil Halperin, California Schooling Companions

The findings, specified by six prolonged research, are both sobering and inspiring.

Associated

Understanding the Widespread Core State Requirements in California: A quick guide

Roadblocks and Routes: Professional Improvement in Math in Widespread Districts

What Accelerates a Group of Follow? Inflection Factors That Changed the Course of the Math in Widespread Initiative

Understanding Complicated Educational Change: Classroom Observations of Math in Widespread Districts

Educators Collaborating to Improve Mathematics: Three Buildings That Mattered in Math in Widespread Districts

Spotlight on Scholar Achievement: Analyses of Statewide Evaluation Knowledge in Math in Widespread Districts

Creating Principals’ Educational Management in Math in Widespread Districts

Among these:

What’s next?

EdSource receives help from a dozen philanthropic foundations, together with the S.D. Bechtel, Jr. Basis. Editorial decision-making and content remain beneath the only control of EdSource.

fbq(‘init’, ‘1049081075186735’); fbq(‘monitor’, “PageView”); fbq(‘monitor’, ‘ViewContent’);

The post 10 California districts struggle, and find some success, as they shift to Common Core math appeared first on Spouting-Tech.

#Arron Jiron #California Education Partners #Featured #Jr. Foundation #Math in Common #Neal Finkelstein #Rebecca Perry #S.D. Bechtel #tech #Unsorted #WestEd

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lilaccure · 7 years

Text

Friends - pynch fic

I haven't done a pynch Fic for so long don’t fight me on this pls thanks. Also I h8 titles. the titles could fucking suck it. fuck. have a fucking quote why not.

“I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.” ― Virginia Woolf

Ronan knocked twice. thrice until Adam Parrish opened the door and the raven boy entered the threshold without so much as a nod. "What time is it Ronan? Its like, 12 at midnight," Adam said with a husky voice, still drowsed in sleep. wiping both eyes with the heel of his hands, he sat on his bed (if you could even call it that) with Ronan beside him, looking over his wrist at what probably seemed like a nonexistent watch. "yep, seems about it," he flopped down the mattress, sending the two of them mid-flight, then plummeting back down the cushions with a heavy thud. Ronan buried his face with an arm, and so he lay there, breath hitched, sharp edges, even in his sleep.

The moonlight teemed off the window pane, timidly fell across the planks, and silently, so very quietly teemed off the floors and crawled through the bed sheets until the blue filtered light met a face of a prince. Until it met the continuance of Ronan Lynch, and behind all that flashy grins and the sharp pugnacity, the light shone something soft. something amiable and unfazed.

It scared Adam. "Ronan," he began to whisper amid the sudden solitude that enclosed around the both of them. Or maybe its just Adam. because godammit, silence never felt this comforting before. it never consulted him like an embrace. oh dear god, it scared him. "Ronan," it was a hiss this time. He instantly wished he took the name back, when Ronan grunted, voice still drunk in his little dreamscape. "what do you want, Parrish," "you can't dream here, you bastard." "and you can't live in this hellhole Parrish, but hey, we do weird shit anyway," "god, Ronan you don't even make sense" except he did. he did he did he did make sense, at lease to Adam, and he wanted him to leave and he wanted him in his arms and he wanted him- didn't he?

he's wanted him for so long. and laying in his bed like this, with the damn moon on his side, with the damn world on his side, the stars and the sun and the trees and every ocean in the damn world..it was clear that the boy had everything.

and then there was Adam. Adam; who isn't even anything at all. he shook his head, wanting his thoughts out, wanting Ronan out, wanting everything out.

finally getting his head straight he asked, "Why aren't you even in Monmouth? c'mon Ronan don't make that face. stop it. stop pouting. oh my god you are so embarrassing. really, Lynch, why aren't you in Monmouth." Ronan sat up, and clearly dodging the question, he shot, "y'know i was gonna dream you a whole new apartment. then you could finally settle in a place you actually like."

it took all of his will power for Adam not to do anything, say anything stupid. "I do like this place."

Ronan arched an eyebrow.

“okay, so it isn't paradise or whatever but its enough to get me going, alright?." It really wasn't paradise, and it really couldn't be, not if the air condition continues doing its jack shit purpose, but it is enough, and enough for Adam Parrish was all he ever asked for. "also, i see you dodge my question there, great job with that by the way," "gee, thanks Parrish. i might apply myself for some football practices now," Adam couldn't help but chuckle at that. "whatever Lynch" he smiled at Ronan, and something passed in his eyes. something that Adam couldn’t put a finger on, couldn’t name... he looked away. "No, really. Gansey kicked you out didn't he." he didn't ask it. he simply stated it, a statement, hovering over the air, left for Ronan to deal with, to mess with, to splatter the syllables with, to rephrase it. all he said was "pfft, and why wouldn't he?"

and then the silence intruded, an uninvited guest. it polluted the air around them, and the silence Adam once felt, the silence when Ronan was asleep, was long gone now. "what did you do now?" Ronan, to Adam's surprise, smiled. it was the smile built for battle fields. smiles like that were used for triumphant victories. or whatever the hell americans rejoice over nowadays. "kinda got drunk, and may kinda did this whole scene. also am kinda drunk now. I think. and i kinda miss you by the way, you don't go to Monmouth that often anymore."

"yeah, i figured you were drunk," Adam said, pretending he didn't hear the words, "kinda miss you," leave Ronan's lips. it was almost hard to tell if Ronan Lynch got himself wasted. almost. maybe for some people, having the knowledge of Ronan's sanity was as hard as having the knowledge of the geographical lines of Mexico. But really, it was the way Ronan moved that gave it all out. it was his voice, a little high pictched at times, low pitched most times.

The catch was that Ronan Lynch wasnt one to go full on drunk. he seldom had the drive to cover himself with false euphoria and delirious liquor. Ronan unfailingly got himself sober. and sober Ronan had little boundaries and differences between regular Ronan.

Adam knew the invisible marks. the hidden spots and parts that labeled the translucent facets within those metal walls, those boundaries.

He knew every damn spot. It was a challenge not to smile at the thought.

"you did? jesus christ, I thought i sounded pretty sane," Ronan scoffed at himself. "Sane, whatever that is." he looked at Adam. no, he didn't looked at Adam, he really looked at him. with the sharp eyes, and the piercing intention. he looked at Adam. and Adam couldn’t help but look back. "what?" he mumbled out.

and then like a thunderbolt, Ronan's hands were suddenly on both his shoulders, grasping. it was the sensation of flesh against another’s flesh that Adam drank on. "Adam Parrish," Ronan declared. "never, ever, stay sane." "Ronan, what are you-" Ronan's lips collided with Adam's. and then almost as instantly left. they stared, and stared.

"I-" Ronan started, except Adam interrupted with his lips back on his.

and, again, left.

Adam felt his eyes widen. So were Ronan's eyes. no. this can't be happening. the cosmetics of the universe simply do not allow this. this isn't supposed to be happening. not now. god, no, not now. and it was that realisation, that stupid, damn realisation that sparked Adam's thoughts, that ignited the whole gravity of their new found situation.

"Your drunk." it was only the realisation, that made his voice as calm and as unfazed. "your drunk, oh god." rattled by their own intentions, his hands went straight to his hair, tangling itself, remaking itself, disconnecting himself from Ronan, doing whatever he can to disconnect whatever tether pulled him to Ronan, disconnecting anything, any treacherous thought that would inevitably hurt him later. "Ronan," he said again, voice so lethally calm he thought he saw Ronan flinch and oh god it scares him. "your drunk," he whispered this time.

he could feel the tears sprout. this cannot be happening. Ronan stood up and headed straight for the door.

hands still buried in his hair, Adam wanted to actually find cabeswater and scream. now the tears started to come. they came, streaming down his cheeks like pools of dark matter.

Ronan glanced over his shoulder. he didn't say anything as he closed the door.

“Ronan, this is Adam Parrish.” Gansey introduced. Adam really didn’t care if this guy, Gansey, tried to make acquaintances. its not like other people actually tried. they pass by him, like always, as usual. the eye contact really wasn’t a problem for Adam. he just needed to do what needed to be done, and get it done right. he didn’t go to Aglionby Academy to make friends. so a part of him didn’t exactly know why or how he ended up helping Richard Gansey.

nevertheless, he took his chances.

that is, until he introduced him to Ronan Lynch.

It wasn’t because he looked intimidating. but, hell, he looked intimidating. Adam didn’t need to put much effort into hiding the fact though. he was pretty familiar with the feeling, he practically conquered it by now.

but really, Ronan Lynch was an intimidating beast. he was built from scratch, from hard metal, from the burning of coals. he was all sharp edges, sharp as a blade. in short, he was practically capable of joining a damn biker gang. so it striked Adam as uncanny for him to be beside someone like Gansey.

“What?” Ronan snapped. “too intimidating for you?” Looks like he hadn’t done a good job hiding the shock after all.

Suddenly they were at lease 2 inches apart. one was a lean, freckled thing. the other was a tall, impenetrable creature. “I don’t have a problem with the intimidating, mind you.” Adam replied casually, cautious of his henrietta accent, balancing the fragile syllables as if the letters might inexorably tilt.

Before anything sever may happen between them, Gansey backed off the two with an arm, separating the two of them “Okay, now you two have to get along in some way…” He mused more to himself than to the both of them.

“oh trust me, we’ll get a long really well.” Ronan snapped, heading back to Monmouth. the message didn’t feel at all that threatening. just maybe a little too sarcastic to be considered a threat. and underneath all that sarcastic venom, a rather playful note.

Adam couldn’t give two shits about the both of them anyway. They might as well forget about him. he’ll play along with their sorry excuses for what they call adventures. by the end of the day, he’ll just be another passerby along the halls in their periphery. it was just all a matter of timing before they’ve forgotten his name.

he followed Gansey to the threshold of Monmouth Manufacturing.

Morning came by too quickly. staggering across the floor, Adam opened the door to his bathroom and examined his face as if dissecting a rotting, already withered plant. His hairs still a mess, as if a bird laid eggs in it. the black and purple bags underneath his eyes were definitely familiar, although he couldn't help but regain a conscious, deliberate scene about the small matter.

he buried his face in his two palms and groaned.

he needed to see Ronan. he just...he needed to. Running away would do no good. even for the both of them. Running away could better yet lead to innumerable wars Adam coudn't even begin to imagine.

why did he do this to Ronan?

He sprang out of the bathroom, grabbed a jacket, and headed straight for the door.

For Adam, home wasn’t a physical thing. not an object, not even a photograph. Home was a feeling, and home, in general, was a privilege Adam considered a depravity in his life. though he simply did not show a use for it. he didn’t even need it. he had everything he needed in front of him. a crappy apartment, sure. a scholarship. and ordinary friends. or, extraordinary, in that matter.

to him, this was what he considered home. and home sat beside him on the porch of 300 fox way. “Got you a soda.” Ronan Lynch said. “Hope you like coke.” he did liked coke. “thanks,” he replied, taking the bottle out of the boy’s hand. “no problem man.” they sat there in silence for a moment. both boy’s didn’t really mind the quiet atmosphere. it was simply there. silence in its finest. a fascinating, simple thing.

“so you and blue broke up huh?” Ronan said. the words didn’t really take him by surprise. nor did blue’s decisions. the wound was still a fresh, throbbing thing, but he knew the situation would pass, like all else. “yeah. I honestly don’t know what happened,” He answered truthfully, looking down at his lap. Ronan scoffed. Adam gently shoved him with a shoulder. “as i was saying, It didn’t really work out , i guess.” What part in Adam’s life did work out? “hell yeah it didn’t work out.” Adam shot an exasperated look. “should i be laughing?” “no, look, okay.” Ronan turned around, facing him. he placed his coke on the floor. “I know you could definitely find someone better. if not better, than, i don’t know man, more whatever your type is. or whatever.” Adam laughed, and Ronan gave a deadpan expression. He knew he was going somewhere here, so he held back a smile. “as I was saying,”

Adam smiled. Ronan smiled back. “You deserve someone else. and that may be crappy, and its a statement we’ve all heard, but,” he got his coke, and took a long sip. he dropped the now empty bottle, sending it clattering on the floor, and added with an air of finality: “You do deserve someone else. and if that someone else doesn’t appreciate you, or what you do, then i’ll kick their ass.” Adam chuckled at that. the thought of Ronan Lynch defending someone like Adam Parrish…the thought of someone defending Adam Parrish.

he just had to laugh at the thought, impossible as it seems. but somewhere underneath the doubt, there was also a yellow light that sparked. sparked and unraveled everything into flames. Adam wasn’t familiar with this, but he did know its name, prestigious and unassuming as it is. hope. it echoed, it ricocheted along Adam’s dry bones like guitar strings. it ignited the darkness that settled in his gut. the darkness that settled for who knew how long.

It was nice to feel happy for a change.

“You’ll kick their ass all the way to California.” he mused, taking a sip off of his coke. a sigh escaped his lips as he leaned on the porch wall, and Ronan soon followed after.

“California and back.” he clarified.

they settled into that quite, perfect solitude.

Adam knocked twice. thrice when Ronan lynch opened the door. there were bags underneath his eyes too, and the sight made Adam's insides turn cold with grief. they tangled themselves with the strike of punishment, they ricocheted across every hallow space in Adams chest.

it wasn't guilt. god, no, Adam knew guilt as well as he knew pity. guilt is what practically fuels the foul thing. no. he felt ashamed. and shame, like any other foul thing, demanded to be felt.

he felt every damn blow.

"Ronan, I-" "look, it was my fault." he interrupted. Adam's eyes shot up to Ronan's lighting blue. "God, of course it wasn't! look, I-" "Can we just-" he clenched his teeth, and Adam wanted the shame to just drown him already. Wanted the shame to devour him whole before the anger. or the sadness. or the pain.

but pain was another foul thing. except now, this damn creature, Adam welcomed. he used it by his side, a spectre for a ravished labourer. a leash for an unwanted peasant. he used it as coal, to ignite him, to push himself, to drive him. except now, and only now, did the pain turn against him.

it never shattered him whole so completely, so treacherously like this exact moment. "lets just forget about it. I just want to forget about it." Ronan Lynch never lies. and if you didn’t believe him, you just had to take his honest word for it. although this time, his words surely felt like a lie to Adam.

he nodded his head. "i- yeah. yeah, sure. ok." He felt like he was an actor, playing in a show no one wanted to see.

he left without saying another word when he heard a crackling voice, "kerah!"

the shame drowned him when he realised he hadn't even greeted Chainsaw. and then realised he probably didn't have the right to, not anymore.

hell, he probably didn't even care if he was being ridiculous. he was a walking ridiculous, blind human fool. and now there was no way in hell he was going to get what he wanted. no way in hell was he getting what he needed so badly at the very start. he messed up. fuck, he thought. i messed up.

He knew it was Adam Parrish.

he didn’t know how long its settled there. he didn’t know exactly when it settled there, or indeed, why. What Ronan did know was that it definitely started, if not, disclosed itself to every rib, every bone and tissue and being that was Ronan Lynch.

hell, he could set planets on fire with this feeling. god, he was on fire. Everything else that wasn’t freckles and bronze hair or thin flesh around wrist’s seemed to catch in flames.

somehow, he knew it wouldn’t hurt him. this feeling. whatever it is. it felt safe in a way. it almost felt okay.

He leaned against the pig’s bumper, indulging himself with this alien feeling when he heard the footsteps of combat boots crushing against gravel. “Where’s Gansey?” He asked when he noticed the empty space beside her. Blue merely sighed, appearing beside Ronan. she placed both elbows on the pigs hood, heavily leaning against the edge. “He found some weird geographical book. he’s been turning the pages since the past hour. i’m honestly not surprised at this point.” “he does know the gas isn’t an unlimited shit fest right?” they both glanced at noah through the glass, riding shot gun, a snow globe in hand. he repeatedly shook the glass sphere, and every time, marvelled at the sheer sight of the drifting snow.

he complained that the sun was too hot for his liking and the air conditioning would be a better preference. both Ronan and Blue had to agree.

“Ugh, i’m so boorreeeeddd,” Blue threw her head up, facing the yellow heat above. in response to this, Ronan “tsk tsk”ed. “I told you you should have brought entertainment” she brought her head back down to face him. “and what would be entertainment for you anyway?” Ronan gave a moments hesitation, when he replied, “a sense of humour?” “ding ding! correct.” “dude, your so fucking weird.” “I think your great too, lynch.” they stood there, indulged in their on thoughts. “How’s Adam doing?” Blue asked, bringing a hand up to and pick her own fingernails. (that needed thorough cutting) “why do you ask me.” he asked, more of a demand, a statement perhaps, than a question. suddenly his eyes laid interest upon the gravel.

he nudged the small stones with the heel of his sneakers.

“oh c’mon stop it. you might as well be the one person in Adam’s life where he would greet with a genuine smile.”

Ronan grinned, eyes still on the gravel.

he took this as the highest compliment he’s ever received. or in that case, ever will receive. being a part of someones life could show little significant, depending on the relationship between.

but being part of a person’s life you admire, you care so very deeply in the extent of inexplicable measures and have the distinction of someone acknowledging that purpose, one that you may actually have the ecstasy of filling, the natural inclination to continue filling…and to be reminded that this particular person may want that presence, may actually smile genuinely upon…

Ronan just couldn’t help but grin. “he’s…well, Adam.”

“Adam..” blue echoed. the name chased each letter after daunting letter in the air. The name ricochetted across the skies, rattled the clouds. it startled hiding stars and made leaves unravel itself. it felt poignant, leaving their lips. it felt virtuous.

“I wish he weren’t so,” Blue started, but once the phrase left her lips, the syllables, the words, the meaning all faded away into itself. collapsed, drifted into some alternate atmosphere.

“What?” Ronan pushed, eyes now on blue.

Her hand dropped to her side. She returned Ronan’s vigorous glare. when she finally found the words, she said, “I wish he weren’t so hard on himself. He has to take things so severely. so thoroughly. no one should ever be allowed to live like…like that.” Ronan simply nodded, and that was all it took for Blue to give a consoling smile, and place her attention back to her nails.

Ronan crossed both his arms and threw his head back, the heat of the sun slapping him across the face. “I wish he weren’t so hard on himself either.” He heard pure, profound pain strangle himself in his throat when he said it. it choked on him.

he breathed though the uncanny strain in his chest.

“I’m here!” Gansey said, walking towards Blue and Ronan.

Ronan Lynch knew what this feeling was. fucking finally, he thought.

he wanted this feeling to consume him.

it was 12 at midnight. 9 hours since Adam knocked on the door to Monmouth. he didn't want to hear the apologies. didn't want to hear anything. he couldn't anyway. there was no way he could manifest a truck's passing engine through the thuds and the beats of his own racing heart, a raging truck itself. a fuelled hungry, ravished thing.

god, he was a mess. god, he was a walking staggering mess that wanted something so far different from what he was. he wanted Adam Parrish. he practically laughed out loud at himself, at the sheer thought of the same boy who kissed him. the same boy who regretted kissing him. the boy who he wanted all these years...

he took a swing off his brandy.

Chainsaw cawed beside him. "jesus, what do you want now?" he fished for some leftover biscuits in his jeans pocket and found only crumbs as small as ants. or maybe they are ants? nevertheless, he dropped the crumbles (ants?)(he really didn't care at this point.) on the cement. Chainsaw didn't even glanced at the bits. Ronan sighed, taking another swing. He didn't even know why he did what he did. didn't even know why he even thought of doing it. in what alternate universe was it okay for Ronan Lynch, son of a dreamer, possessor of dreams, king of thieves, to even touch Adam Parrish?

Adam Parrish. untouchable. Adam Parrish; Cabeswater’s descendant. someone who definitely deserved more. someone who deserved stolen dreams, and liquid sunsets in bottles, countless universes in stranger's hands, a whole forest of tangled brambles, a whole sky of fading clouds. Someone who is capable of innumerable possibilities. someone who had possibilities. someone who isn’t Ronan.

someone who deserved the whole world.

someone who is the world.

Thieves like him don't deserve the whole world. The crowds of people would declare him a bastard before he could even hover a finger upon it. and anyway, he couldn’t do that. steal the world. some other person, another person may be worthy enough to finally take it. that person isn’t Ronan. he knew that fact well enough.

another swing off of his brandy and this time he could definitely feel himself tilting. "goddamit," he rasped, clenching the bottle in his fist, watching it crumple into itself, watching the material fold and shrink and crunch, until he see's his knuckles go white, until he's certain he could actually manifest the capability of shattering a bottle of plastic to pieces, shattering little crumbles of what was once lethargic and full, now small, insignificant.

Ronan clenched his eyes tightly shut when he heard footsteps, then,

"you might as well throw that bottle."

Ronan could find that voice in a room of crowded applause. he practically memorised that husky tone, fabricated in his memory, romanticised by his fantasies. he could grasp that voice even through death. even in the brink of insanity.

"I thought i'd find you here." Adam said, sitting down beside him in the sidewalk. the post lights seemed brighter in this part of town. the night seemed dimmer. the streets were quiet, and so were the two boys. Ronan threw the bottle.

it skidded across the gravel, crashing against the edge of the opposite sidewalk.

"you have another bottle?" Ronan passed him another bottle. Adam opened it with a thumb, sipped, sighed. then sighed again, this time with an air of exasperation. In his periphery, Ronan could just see his fingers fidget with one another, hands sprawled on his lap.

"Adam-"

This time, when Adam's lips met his, it was nothing like before. it was nothing like a question, a hanging, silent inquiry. it was an exclamation point, loud and triumphant, proud, holding with it a single period at the bottom. a statement.

It was like winning. it was like plunging down a cliff in search for a field, it was like swimming in an ocean. he was kissing Adam Parrish. Adam Parrish was kissing him. their foreheads touched, their noses whispered against each other. and then Adam's lips left Ronan's for a small laugh to escape. his eyes were closed, both of their eyes were closed, and Ronan opened them to see Adam's laugh.To a possibility in front of him.

"Ronan," Adam whispered, smile as ear splitting as any thunder, as any racing heartbeat. his eyes bore laugh lines, and the moon shone every facet, every freckle, every patch of skin, that was Adam Parrish. his lips met Ronan's ear and the raven boy felt every damn surge of possibility in this boys arms. "your my best friend." Ronan smiled, putting his lips to his ear as well, "we're not just friends," He looked at Adam. "and you fucking know it." the post lights burned brighter.

in that moment, in the guess of a five minute frame, in what actually seemed like a transient five century long night, the two boys knew what the other was thinking after all these years. or rather, who.

All this fucking time, the two of them thought. "why didn't we do this right before?" Adam asked in between kisses. "I bet St. Agnes is a few steps away from here," Ronan pointed out, a message behind those words. Adam smiled. "Well what a fucking coincidence Lynch," he took the boys hands in his, softly nuzzling his forehead. "I knew it had to work out." because somewhere amid chaos and battles and doubt, there was a thought, always that thought, that combusts a dark lit room, that breaks a milestone asunder. it was the thought of just maybe hoping. of hope.

someone had to take their chances. "your my best friend too, Parrish." "shhhh" he buried his head in the nape of Ronan's neck. "te amo, Lynch."

they staggered along the pathway to St. Agnes.

#yay its a fic #pynch #pynch fic #fanfic #writing #fic #trc #Adam Parrish #Ronan Lynch #mine #pynch fanfic #the raven cycle

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bughead-bound-blog · 7 years

Text

Softening the Edges - Betty/Jughead

AO3: Prologue (Ch 1) Ch 2: Childhood Reflections Ch 3: Liking “Like That” Ch 4: Navigating Choppy Seas Chapter 5: To Smithereens

(Warning: This is a very dark chapter.)

I saw your picture It made me sorry For all the things I never said It seems that you Have cause to worry It seems that you Don't wish me well

---

Archie had found out about the chaos and agony of the past two days from Betty via telephone, mercifully. Jughead was actually relieved he would not have to go through the painstaking ordeal of revisiting everything that had happened on that fetid Friday evening. His red-headed friend had rushed out of his house on Sunday afternoon to meet him on the sidewalk when he showed up in front of Archie's house. His friend collapsed into him with arms wide, face blotched with tears and snot bubbling.

"Oh my God Jughead, I'm so sorry I wasn't here. I'm so sorry." He clasped Jughead as if gravity no longer applied and if he let go his best friend would float into the void of the heavens. Although embarrassed and self-conscious by this open display of affection, it touched Jughead deeply to know the depth of his best friend's care. It was nice to know that you were loved, even if the whole neighbourhood did, too.

"Sorry, I'm --" Archie stood back, swiping at the mess of his face with his sweater sleeves as his jaw trembled. "I just can't believe how much stuff changed in a weekend. I'm so sorry I wasn't here. I never even got to say bye to Hot Dog."

Jughead felt that damn lump threatening to claw it's way up his throat.

"Don't feel bad about it Arch. I never got to either."

This caused his friend to erupt into a fresh batch of sobs, holding him again on the curb of the sidewalk. One thing could be said readily about Archie: he was never very good at hiding how he felt. This made him an excellent best friend because he withheld very little and when he did he was a terrible liar about it.

Jughead both admired and envied this about Archie. Fred Andrews had instilled such virtuous and genuine traits in his son. Jughead had unfortunately inherited the broken gifts of evasion and concealment from his own dad, his emotions constantly protected by a barb-sharp wit and a talent for deflection. Like the jagged edge of a broken bottle, he tended to prick those who dared to attempt to reach in and seek the truth about his feelings. Not Archie. His best friend was open and wholesome, healthy and adjusted in his capacity for expression. Archie finally sucked in a few steadying breaths and released him. Out of the corner of his eye Jughead glanced the shift of curtain in the window of Betty's room. She hadn't come down yet and he concluded that she would keep her distance after being so present with him over the weekend. She would give the boys their space to go over the tumultuous events of the past few days, and as much as he appreciated her respecting their time together, he missed her company already.

"I don't know how I'm ever going to make it up to you for this." Archie said thickly, wiping at the now damp fabric of Jughead's left shoulder. Jug mustered a weak smile and shook his head.

"There's nothing to make up, Arch. You went to see your mom."

"But still." He sniffled. "I feel awful. Listen Jug, today is going to be your day. I have the whole thing planned out. Dad's going to have a barbeque, his homemade cheeseburgers -- your favorite! Dad even let me get the new Mortal Kombat game for us to play after supper. We stopped by the comic shop and picked us both up a copy of the new Deadpool Volume 4 so we’ll have lots to talk about in the tree house tonight."

"You guys really didn't have to do all that-"

"Yes, we did." Fred Andrews walked down from the patio steps to grasp Jughead in a one armed embrace, bringing him against his side. "Anything to make my pseudo-son's day after one hell of a weekend -- even if it means buying an M rated game just this once." Fred then put his hands on Jughead's shoulders and gave him a studying gaze. "This goes without saying Jug, but mi casa es tu casa. I know things are difficult at home and I want you to know that you're welcome here as long as you want, any time. Even if Archie's not here. You're the son I chose, remember? Don't you forget it."

Jughead ‘s vision blurred and the tears that accumulated there threatened to overflow under that stern, loving gaze. Fred had always said that to him growing up, and the reminder now hit home more than ever. All he could do was nod gratefully, trying not to cry under the weight of all of this genuine love. It was one of the few sources of it that he had in the world. Fred gave his right shoulder a solid clap and began to lead him in, guiding Archie with his other hand.

"Alright boys let’s get to it, I don't want any burnt burgers on my hands and I need an honorary veggie cutter."

---

Behind the victim Behind the trouble Are all the things You've not expressed I see you standing behind your mother I see you hiding behind her dress

--- Time began bleeding together as Jughead found himself taking Fred up on his offer on the regular. Home life at the trailer was increasingly difficult and Jughead frequently found himself at the Andrews residence or the Cooper house with Jellybean. Betty had taken to his little sister, thrilling at the opportunity to experience the big sister life for herself, and Jellybean always looked forward to seeing her. Between the chaos of his own home and the normalcy experienced between Betty and Archie's houses, Jughead managed to quilt together a semi-normal existence for himself and Jellybean while his parent's marriage crumbled with increasing finality. Sure there were broken dishes, screaming matches, and bouts of peeling his blacked-out father off of the filthy floor of the trailer as his mother disappeared for days at a time, but there were also pool parties and treehouse sleepovers on the other side of town in his other world.

His friends knew his life and Jellybean's were coming apart at the seams in their Southside existence, so they attempted to compensate by fashioning a cozy and safe existence for the Jones children to run to. Betty developed a strong fondness for Jellybean and often pleaded to have permission for her to stay at her house, resulting in side-by-side sleepovers. Jellybean would be at Betty’s while Jughead camped out at Archie’s. But it was like wrapping a bandage around a festering wound; one could easily cover up the damage so that you would not have to look at it’s grotesqueness, but there was a deep infection underneath it all. Covering it up and ignoring it didn’t make it go away, and it became more difficult to hide from and ignore with each passing day.

The day arrived when it all came to a head, and there would be no bandage that could mask the pervasiveness of this wound. It promised to poison everyone involved deep within their very bones and blood.

Jughead was back at the trailer late in the evening with Jellybean in his arms, whimpering. She always ran to his room during the worst of it, seeking out some semblance of comfort. Although he had turned the TV on loudly in a piteous attempt to dampen the yelling it was failing miserably. The screaming was overpowering, then the sobbing, then worst of all, sudden silence. He perked his head up, Jellybean still snivelling with her face buried deep in his shirt. Suddenly he heard pounding steps coming toward his room with the echoes of his father’s pitiful voice, hoarse from crying, pleading in the background: “No Gladys please don’t. Just think about this for a minute--”

“Oh I’ve thought about this every night and morning I’m awake Forsythe for far longer than I should have.” His mother’s voice was nearer than expected and he braced himself as she charged into the room, thrumming with frantic energy.

“Kids, come out here please. We need to talk.”

That statement dropped like an anchor through Jughead’s insides. He knew rock bottom was upon them all.

“Gladys please just wait until morning. Lets sleep on it. At least give me a chance to sober up--”

“If I had to wait for you to sober up we’d never leave.” His mother snapped, leading them into the living room and guiding them toward the couch to sit down. Jellybean was already in tears, scared of their mother’s rattled disposition.

“Where are we going?” She moaned thickly, and Jughead hugged her close against his side.

“It’s OK JB, I’m here.” He soothed, rubbing a hand up and down her arm reassuringly, though he felt numb inside. His lips felt impossibly dry, tongue heavy as his mother paced before them. His father just sat in his arm chair, inebriated and weeping into his hands.

“I never wanted it to have to come to this.” She said finally, stopping before them. She looked impossibly exhausted. Her tired eyes found the terse forms of her children and immediately they began to fill with sadness. “I just can’t do this anymore.” Her voice broke, and she sank down in front of them, crouching like some small bird as she reached her quaking hands out to capture one of theirs. “I can’t live like this anymore, and I can’t bear watching either of you live like it either.” She sniffled, and Jughead felt as though he were having an out of body experience. He felt as if he were floating like some deity or spectre, seeing this unholy scene from the ceiling; this liquor soaked heap of sobs that was formerly known as a father, this frail, broken woman kneeling before two terrified and impossibly trapped children. He knew what was coming next, like an animal standing with a dull stare in the headlights of a train, helpless in the face of the oncoming force about to run him down. His life was running away from him like a petulant child and he was powerless to control it. He had no idea what turn this would take him in. “I’m leaving your father.” The words sucked the air from Jughead’s lungs, and his vision grew dim, as if watching this benignly through a foreign body.

“Why?!” Jellybean screamed next to him, angry and fearful.

“Because sweetheart, your father is sick. And it’s hurting all of us. He needs to get better, and until he does we need to be somewhere safe so he can focus on taking care of himself. Daddy needs to get stronger and he can’t do that if he has all of us to worry about and take care of. We need to do this for him” She cupped Jellybean’s face, sobbing, and FP wobbled to his feet seething.

“Don’t pretend you’re doing this for me, Gladys. You’re doing this to me. You think you can just up and leave? Take my whole family away from me and you think I’ll just stand here and watch?!”

“You’re not WELL!” Gladys spiraled around, rejuvenated with fresh adrenaline. “My God Forsythe, don’t you care what this does to them at all?! Seeing you like this every day?! We can’t afford to live like this, you’ve been fired and you’re not working anymore! You’re just drunk all the time and I can’t do this alone anymore. I’m going with the kids to mom’s house in Toledo. I’ll go back to school so I can get a better job. But we’re running out of money. Our children need a future and they’ll never get one like this. Don’t you even care?!”

“OF COURSE I CARE!!” FP screamed, eyes red and streaming. “Just don’t do this to me. Don’t take them away from me . . . if you take them I’ll --” He hiccuped, falling back into his arm chair haphazardly and shuddering with sobs. “I’ll have no reason left to live.”

“Oh my GOD Forsythe how dare you say these things in front of them!” Gladys gasped, spinning quickly to take each of her children by the wrists. “Grab your coats, now. We’re leaving. We’ll come back for our things in the morning.”

“But dad!--” Jughead managed to choke over the loud sounds of Jellybean’s wails. His mother had a vice-like grip on his wrist, dragging him toward the porch with a force he had never experienced from his mild-mannered mother.

“He was right -- he needs to sober up. And until he does we can’t be here anymore.”

“But mom he might--”

“This is not a debate.” His mother hissed, throwing his coat toward him. “Please, do you think this is easy for me to do? We’ll be back in the morning for our things. He’ll be sober and we can talk reasonably about this then. But for now my children are not spending another toxic minute in this hole.”

And somehow he was led into the night with the screams and cries of his sister muffled by the ringing in his ears, guided like a blind man into the back seat where Jellybean collapsed upon him like a deflated balloon. They drove in silence and darkness then, his sister slowly exhausting herself into a fitful sleep. They went through the motions of checking into a motel for the night, and they slept together in one bed -- or at least, Jellybean slept. All the while Jughead lay awake in the dark, staring at the bland ceiling as his mother silently sobbed beside him until the early morning light. He knew he should feel so many things -- fear, anxiety, suffocating sadness -- but he had felt so much that he simply felt emptied. He was a hollow existence that had replaced his living breathing self, so pummelled by the toxicity of his home life that he had nothing left to feel. Press down and B: he had become the statue. He contemplated his future with a grim finality, foreseeing no feasibly hopeful outcome.

---

So don't make me sad I couldn't stand to watch you fall 'cause everybody has a tender heart Remember this I didn't mean to break it down to smithereens

---

In the morning the statue persisted; he was passing through time in a deadened haze. He felt as if he had dramatically aged overnight; he felt so much older than he did yesterday. It was his sister who stuck by his side as they went through the morning routine in the motel bathroom. He even faintly remembered her brushing his hair. She took him by the hand and guided them back to the car as they moved closer and closer to the end of their established life in the Southside as they knew it.

When they got to the house they found FP face down on the floor, and Jughead felt sensation rush back into each fibre of his nerves as the horror took over.

“Oh Forsythe . . .” His terrified mother breathed, grasping for Jellybean with one hand as the other flew to her mouth. Jellybean was screaming out for her dad as Jughead immediately rushed to his father, the fear of the worst seizing his mind.

“DAD!!” He yelled, grasping the collar of FP’s plaid shirt as the fingers of his other hand sought out a pulse at the neck like he’d seen them do so many times on television. Never in his young life had he thought he would ever need to use that. Please, please don’t be--

His father suddenly groaned and shifted, groggily starting to move his limbs like a drugged animal. Slowly he pushed himself onto all fours and clasped his throbbing head. He moved to sit on the floor dazedly, still attempting to return to reality and awaken from the shroud his mind was in. He felt Jughead there, whose emotions had finally rushed forward through the crack in the fortress he had sealed himself away in from last night. He sobbed as he engulfed his dad in his arms, his shuddering heaves taking over as everything spilled out. He didn’t know how long he sat there on that floor, and during that time his father’s arms had found their way around him, cradling him close as they shared in this grief.

“I thought you were dead.” He barely managed to get out after some time, still consumed by all he felt from the shock of that moment, from the events of last night . . .

“I ain’t gone yet.” His dad whispered, reaching up and stroking the wet streaks of ebony curls clinging around his son’s damp and blotched face. Jughead could dimly hear his mother finishing a conversation on the phone in the adjacent room, then her speaking in comforting tones to Jellybean. The both of them came back out into the living room and his mother was looking at the two of them there on the floor pitifully.

“I was just talking to mom.” She said hoarsely. “She’s put some money in my bank account to help us out with the travel expenses. I’ve packed most of my things and Jellybean’s. We’re just taking what we need.” She turned from FP to address her son. “Jug, I have most of your clothes packed up too but I wanted to leave your personal things to you, so please come and--”

“No.” Jughead said quietly, swiping an arm across his wet lashes. When he glanced back up his mother looked positively stricken. “No, mom.”

“What? Sweetheart--”

“I’ve made up my mind and I’m not leaving dad.” He stood up and now by the look on her face he could tell that his mother was panicking. She started shaking her head and came toward him as if through a fog. She pawed at his chest in a desperate bid to smooth some reason into him.

“Jughead no. You can’t make that kind of decision, this isn’t safe, you--”

“I’m not. Leaving. Dad.” He said in a stern tone with finality, pulling back from her.

“You don’t get to make that choice, now go gather your things.”

“I already have. And if anything happens to dad, I’ll never forgive you or myself. I’m not going.”

“JUGHEAD--”

“HE’LL DIE! Is that what you want?!” It exploded out of him before he could hold it back, and he was crying again. “If we just abandon him he’s going to die here. It’s not fair for you to ask me to do that, mom. I won’t.” She recoiled from him, his words stinging her like the lash of a whip. His gaze softened, but his stance remained firm. “Look. I know that you have to go and do this. I’m not angry at you for it, but don’t ask me to do this. Jellybean needs to go with you. You’re right, it isn’t safe for her to be here growing up in this. But someone needs to be here with him to take care of him. I understand if you can’t do it anymore, but I can and I will. Don’t try to change my mind -- I won’t. I’m staying with dad.”

“Oh my God.” Gladys whispered, and then bawled a fist and held it to her face, pinched with agony and littered with tears. “You can’t expect me to just leave you here with him--”

“You can’t expect me to abandon my dad. It’s done. Take Jellybean and go. I’m staying and that’s final.”

He was sure that he had broken his mother when she went down, sobbing as she held his knees.

“No, please no . . . my baby . . .” she quivered in a thin voice “not my baby . . .”

“Mom . . .” Jellybean whined fearfully, tugging at her shirt from behind. Jughead took his mother by the shoulders and stared her down levelly.

“I’m not a baby anymore, mom. I know that you have to do this for all of us. But someone has to look after dad. I’ll never be happy in Toledo knowing that we did this to him. Please let me do this.” The silence stretched out dreadfully before them until at long last a gentle, tentative nod was his answer.

“OK.” She whimpered, meeting his eyes with trembling lips. She smoothed his dark hair back from his forehead before holding his head in her hands, entirely heartbroken. “OK sweetheart. I trust you. I’m just going to miss you so much.” And she collapsed into his arms on the precipice of the complete destruction of their family unit. When they had regained enough composure to separate and move about Jughead got to work helping his mother pack Jellybean’s things.

---

I heard you crying I learned the story I saw the shadows behind the past They fall behind you And creep up slowly We're only human Behind the mask

---

It was in his little sister's bedroom that she decided to confront him about his decision, and of everything he had to endure in those twenty four hours, this was the worst moment of all.

“You’ve gotta come with us.” She said in the tiniest voice to his back, and for a moment he could not even bear to turn around and see that devastated little face.

“Someone has to watch dad, JB--”

“But I need you.” She sniffled. “I’ll miss you too much. I don’t know how to be without you.”

“You’ll have to be strong.” He struggled to speak.

“I don’t want to!” She shouted tearfully. “I want you!” She stomped her foot angrily. “You’re being stupid!”

“Jellybean--”

“I don’t wanna move to a new place without you!” She bawled. “I had to lose Hot Dog and now I gotta leave my friends and Betty and I can’t lose you, too!”

“Please listen to me--”

“NO!” She screamed. “You know you’re supposed to be with me! Polly wouldn’t leave Betty like this. Why are you doing this Juggie?!”

He spun around to face her and it was worse than he could have imagined. Just the splintered sight of her was enough to run him through to his very core. It killed any words that had been sitting on his tongue. It seized his very being with guilt and searing shame. He would never, ever forget how she had looked at him that day.

“If Betty were here she would tell you the right things and you would come with me. C’mon, let’s go talk to her, she’ll know what to do--” “JB stop. This is hard enough as it is we can’t just--”

“I’m not leaving town without you and I’m not leaving without seeing Betty.” She broke down again, her little frame jolting with sobs. “I WANNA SEE BETTY!!!” She screamed, slamming the door in his face as she ran from the room. He chased after her, stumbling out into the hall as the front door ricocheted loudly in it’s frame. He ran out onto the lawn just in time to see her pedalling away on her bike. His mother followed him out and clasped him by the shoulder.

“It’ll be good for her to see Betty before we go.” She said quietly, utterly defeated. “Come inside, you can help me finish packing.”

--- So don't take me down I couldn't stand to watch you fall 'cause everybody has a broken heart Remember this I couldn't stand to break it down to smithereens

---

Smithereens Lyrics by Annie Lennox

---

This was a very difficult chapter to write, to say the least. We all know that what happened in Jughead's past was devastating enough to shatter his family as well as his ability to love and trust wholly. I have had the misfortune of seeing what thing kind of upbringing can do to people firsthand. For those of you who might be going though something similar, please know that my inbox is always open to you. <3 Let me know your thoughts, updating again soon!

#riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #bughead fanfic #bughead #jughead jones #fp jones #gladys jones #jellybean jones #riverdale fanfic #bughead fanfiction #betty x jughead #betty cooper #betty/jughead #angst #archie andrews #fred andrews

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wildehorroruniverse · 5 years

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10 California districts struggle, and find some success, as they shift to Common Core math

Photograph courtesy of Phil Halperin, California Schooling Partners

Photograph courtesy of Phil Halperin, California Schooling Companions

The findings, specified by six prolonged research, are both sobering and inspiring.

Associated

Understanding the Widespread Core State Requirements in California: A quick guide

Roadblocks and Routes: Professional Improvement in Math in Widespread Districts

What Accelerates a Group of Follow? Inflection Factors That Changed the Course of the Math in Widespread Initiative

Understanding Complicated Educational Change: Classroom Observations of Math in Widespread Districts

Educators Collaborating to Improve Mathematics: Three Buildings That Mattered in Math in Widespread Districts

Spotlight on Scholar Achievement: Analyses of Statewide Evaluation Knowledge in Math in Widespread Districts

Creating Principals’ Educational Management in Math in Widespread Districts

Among these:

What’s next?

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The post 10 California districts struggle, and find some success, as they shift to Common Core math appeared first on Spouting-Tech.

#Arron Jiron #California Education Partners #Featured #Jr. Foundation #Math in Common #Neal Finkelstein #Rebecca Perry #S.D. Bechtel #tech #Unsorted #WestEd

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