On a few occasions, while desperately struggling to get this class under control, she had seen her principal standing in the hall outside her door.  Mr. Whitehead never said anything to her about the thunderous noise and obvious chaos that he had observed, but she was sure he had taken note of it.
This troubled Ms. Marston because she knew that teachers who could not control their classrooms did not last long in the teaching profession.
...and now a newly admitted student was causing the teacher so much anguish she was seriously considering taking those little pills that some of her colleagues used when conditions became just too stressful.

*      *      *

...the assistant principal watched the young scholars trek lethargically from busses and cars into the school courtyard, and as he watched he noticed Ms. Marston’s arrival in the teacher’s parking lot. Hoping to catch her eye, he stared in her direction while she got out of her car without looking up, bent over laboriously exposing her shapely back side while unjamming a heavy book bag from behind the front seat of her economical black sedan, and walked briskly with eyes straight ahead toward the main entrance.

*      *      *

......the potential for pandemonium had been lurking in every classroom and hall. ..... a few eighth-grade girls had found a new way to harass their male friends. They would sneak up from behind and spray their victims with a heavy dose of a very potent feminine smelling perfume, which lingered on them for the rest of the day. The boys retaliated of course. They put hair gel on their opponents’ heads, messing up some carefully prepared hairdos and creating some rather bizarre new ones. The pervasive aroma of these cosmetic products was a distraction to the teachers’ lessons but did provide students with an opportunity to practice their theatrical skills as they feigned unbearable annoyance to these scents.

*      *      *

During the first weeks of the fourth quarter, there had been an unusual lack of disheartening incidents for Ms. Marston.  She hadn't seen Mr. Whitehead outside her door for some time.  There hadn't been any parent complaints.  Her afternoon classes had begun without the customary uproar.  And her students had been doing their work and behaving fairly well.  However, there was now a persistent, irritating, and seemingly unsolvable problem that was causing the teacher so much anguish she was seriously considering taking those little pills that some her colleagues used when conditions became just too stressful.
A new student, who had been assigned to her afternoon session about three weeks ago, had progressed from being an occasional nuisance to a first-class, chronic class wrecker.  It was impossible at times to  keep everyone's attention and conduct the class in an orderly manner when he was in attendance, which fortunately was not regular.
*      *      *
In the afternoon of the second day of this third-to-the-last week, in the incredibly crowded school hall in the building's upper level, young commuters progressed even more slowly  than usual to their last class; because in the central part of this level, in a  large open area near the library that conveniently served as an arena for the settlement of disputes, traffic was blocked by a mass of jubilant youths jammed together making it almost impossible for anyone to  pass.  Boisterous sounds emanated from this area, and there was much pushing and shoving  by  those seeking a better view of the excitement going on inside the impromptu circle that had formed at the core of this melee.
Mrs. Klausen's compliant teammate, the mild-mannered Mr. Colberson, happened to be in the vicinity at this time and sensed a call to duty.  He promptly removed his glasses and worked his way to the center of the circle where two bruised and bloodied boys were entertaining the crowd with their pugilistic skills.