Fifth grade at Bancroft Elementary was new teachers, new classrooms, new kids, and new rules. And for the first time since they’d all transferred from Warrington, the band wasn’t together.
Derrick landed in Room 203 with Mrs. Andrews, a calm, petite woman with glasses and a voice that could quiet a room instantly.
Tony was in Room 201 with Mr. Haley—tall, loud, loved math, and loved making kids stand up and recite multiplication tables even more.
Marcus was in Room 205, which was known as the “fun class” because Ms. Clarke often brought in records or assigned creative projects.
Reggie was in Room 204, a quiet class with a soft-spoken teacher named Mrs. Olson.
Leon, in his first year going to school in Minnesota, got placed in Room 206, the class closest to the sixth graders, which he claimed made him feel “half grown already.”
They still saw each other at recess, lunch, and going to and from school, but it wasn’t the same as sitting side by side all day.
“It’s like the world decided we needed separating,” Tony complained the first week.
“Why they do that?”
“Because teachers like makin’ stuff complicated,” Marcus said.
Leon shrugged. “We still hang together. Just not all day.”
Derrick felt it too—the distance. But he also felt something new: curiosity. Fifth grade felt like more of the world just opened up.
Mrs. Andrews’ class was full of some kids from the neighborhood around Bancroft, some kids who came from Derrick’s neighborhood, plus a few from farther to the east over toward Bloomington Avenue.
Here are the ones Derrick noticed most:
Calvin “Cal” Whitaker Tall for his age. Skin the color of caramel. Moved from Chicago during the summer. Cal sat two seats behind Derrick and always looked half-bored, half-ready to outrun anybody. He wore a little black comb in his back pocket and had a swagger like he was used to being the fastest kid in any school. On the second day, he leaned over to Derrick and whispered,
“You play football? You look like you play football.”
Derrick nodded. “Yeah, for Phelps Park”
Cal smirked. “Bet y’all can’t beat my old team.”
“We beat everybody.” Derrick replied.
Cal raised his eyebrows. “We’ll see.” A challenge, but a friendly one.
Thomas “TJ” Jarrett. Skinny, with glasses so thick they made his eyes look huge. He was smart. Really smart. He could do math faster than the teacher sometimes and carried a notebook everywhere. But what made him interesting was his laugh—loud, unexpected, contagious.
On the first Friday, TJ dropped all his books and papers in the hallway. Kids started stepping around him like he was invisible. Derrick and a few others helped him gather everything up.
TJ said,“I’m gonna remember this when I get famous.”
“Famous? For what?” Derrick asked.
TJ pushed up his glasses. “I’m gonna build rockets.”
Derrick smiled. “Okay then. Remember me when you go to the moon.”
“I will,” TJ laughed.
Yolanda Brooks was sharp and stylish. Smarter than most adults. Her hair was always perfect—pressed, curled, or braided beautifully—and she answered questions before the teacher even asked them. When Mrs. Andrews asked the class to define a “civil right,” Yolanda gave a whole speech that sounded like something from the evening news. She turned to Derrick once during silent reading and said, “You’re quiet, but you listen better than most boys.” He didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded.
Gordon “Gordy” Middleton A white kid who lived near 38th and 12th Avenue. Stocky, shy, and new to Bancroft after transferring from a school farther east. He kept to himself the first week until the class had to line up for lunch. He dropped his lunch ticket and when Derrick handed it back to him, Gordy whispered,
“Thanks… uh… it’s my first week. I don’t know nobody.”
“You know me now,” Derrick said. Gordy smiled, looking a little relieved.
Lisa Moreland She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t the best at school. But she had a quiet confidence and a sketchbook she carried everywhere. And she could draw. People. Houses. Streets. Even the cars on 38th Street. Her pencil moved like magic. Mrs. Andrews paired her with Derrick for an art project, and as they worked, she said without looking up:
“Your eyes move a lot. You see details. That’s good for artists.”
Derrick laughed. “I’m not an artist.”
“You could be,” she said simply.
He thought about that for the rest of the day.
Mrs. Andrews wasn’t afraid to talk about the real world. Dr. King. The Civil Rights Movement. The Black Panthers. Why Minneapolis schools were changing. Why some neighborhoods were mostly Black or mostly white. Some kids got uncomfortable. Some got confused. A few got angry. But Derrick listened hard. He felt those things in his life already. When Mrs. Andrews asked,
“How has this year felt different for you?”
Derrick said, “People seem more serious.”
Yolanda nodded. “Because the world is serious.”
Recess time was fun, and it was a chance to see the fellas. All of the classes played touch football or tag, or Pom Pom Pole-Away – “Catch your booty anyday,” or just sat on the grass trading stories:
Tony always complaining about Mr. Haley’s math drills.
Marcus bragging about Ms. Clarke letting them listen to music during reading time.
Leon describing how a sixth grader tried to push him but regretted it.
Reggie saying Mrs. Olson made him feel like he was the smartest kid in the room some days.
Derrick told them about Cal, TJ, Gordy, Yolanda, and Lisa.
“So you got ALL the new kids,” Tony said. “Lucky,”
Marcus added. “My class is all the same kids from fourth grade.”
“And they still don’t know your name,” Leon laughed.
“That’s ’cause I’m incognito.” Marcus laughed.
After school, they headed over to Phelps for football practice. Derrick felt sharper now. Faster. More confident. Something about fifth grade made football feel even more important—like he wasn’t just a little kid anymore.
At home, he found himself reading more. Not just school books, but anything he could get his hands on. Fiction, real life, old books his parents had on a bookshelf in the basement. He also started noticing things. How people talked. How the world seemed to tilt and shift. Fifth grade was waking him up.
On the last Friday of September, at lunch in the school cafeteria Derrick and the fellas sat together like always.
“I kinda like fifth grade,” Reggie admitted.
“I kinda hate it,” Tony said.
“Because Mr. Haley yelled at you for talking?” Marcus asked.
“No,” Tony said. “Because he yelled at me for NOT talking.”
Everyone laughed.
Leon looked around the table.
“Man, it feels real different this year. Going to school in Minnesota. I never went to school with white kids before.”
“They never went to school with you before neither.” Marcus laughed.
“Man, shut up,” Leon said, rolling his eyes.
Derrick didn’t say much. He finished his lunch, listening to the conversation, feeling the rhythm of his friends and the echo of new names in his classroom. He looked out the cafeteria window.
Leaves were starting to fall. Summer was gone. Football was here. School was changing them. They were learning more about the world. The world was changing too. But his friends? Still hanging together. Still laughing. Still moving forward. Fifth grade had begun. And Derrick could feel something big coming—he didn’t know what, but he was ready for it.