“Fuck your polar bears.”
He placed the emphasis on the profanity; his central incisors catapult the stinging statement off of his bottom lip and it hits the target at the front of the room. He looks back at his crew; their skinny bodies crouched over the gaming system. They glance back and grin, then move their eyes to the facilitator at the table and smirk. The smirks hurt more than the curse.
The facilitator shuffles through her cue-cards, gleaning for material she feels would be better suited for the group of teens. She nervously flips through diagrams of dishevelled polar bears trapped on melting icebergs, of colourful arrows depicting the imminent crash of environmental cycles . The thumping bass of the speakers increase her heart rate and she drops a few of the cards on the linoleum floor of the drop-in centre.
“Jay’s black ass don’t even know what a polar bear looks like!” Another retorts. This time the boys let out exaggerated wails. Jay resolutely arches his back and fakes a yawn. He doesn’t deny or confirm the remark.
The facilitator regains her composure and decides to end the workshop early. She leaves a stack of evaluation forms for the youths to fill out, and encourages them to take the time needed to answer all the questions. A sheepish smile decorates her rosy cheeks and she slides out of the room into the hallway order to respect confidentiality. “Yo miss, I figured out how I can re-use!” The excited voice lured the facilitator back into the den. The tip of a pointy paper airplane crashes into her stunned face. The uproar is now uncontrollable.