A name on the list

The last five minutes before the bell are always a strange, suspended time. The energy in the room shifts, a low hum of anticipation. I had a list of names on my desk, a simple grid of checkmarks and blanks from the week.

The list wasn't about right or wrong

It was just a record of voices. I’d glance at it during a lull, maybe while they were working on a problem. The quiet ones had fewer marks, their squares mostly empty.It felt important to see that. Not as a failure, but as a pattern in the room’s rhythm. I wanted to disrupt my own habits, the easy pull toward the always-raised hands.

During a short break

We’d just finished a practice question. I gave them a minute to check their notes, to just breathe. That’s when I’d look at the list again.My finger would hover over a name near the bottom, someone who hadn’t spoken yet today. The choice felt deliberate then, not random. It was a small nudge, an invitation held open.I’d say the name calmly, just as the minute ended. ‘Let’s hear from Sam.’ No fanfare, just the next step in the work.

The space after the name

That moment of silence after you call on someone is its own kind of teaching. You see them gather their thoughts, you see the class wait. It builds a different kind of attention.

A shared responsibility

Over time, the list became a quiet contract. They saw I was keeping track, that I noticed who had spoken and who hadn’t. It wasn’t surveillance. It was a promise that the floor would be offered, fairly.