My Daughter’s Classroom Was 20 Degrees. The Teacher Told Her to Wear More.

The Vent

When my daughter came out of the school gate, she had her zipper pulled up to her chin. She pushed her hand into my pocket. Her fingertips were cold. The afternoon sun had gone weak, and the maple leaves along the fence had begun to curl at the edges.

“Mom,” she said. “The classroom is twenty degrees.”

“Where do you sit?”

“Second row by the window. Under the air conditioner.”

She lifted her wrist. Goose bumps covered her forearm. Wind came out of the classroom behind her and pushed her bangs to one side. Her school uniform jacket was stuffed in the side pocket of her backpack. She was not wearing it. I asked why. She said she had worn it, then took it off in the second period. Writing with it on made her arms stiff when they bent.

On the way home she told me. The first period was fine. In the second period the air conditioner was turned on, and the wind blew toward her side. She put her jacket on and pulled the zipper to the top. The boy next to her wore a short-sleeve shirt and said it was just right. The girl behind her put on a thick jacket and pulled the hood over her head. The teacher said, If you feel cold, wear more.

She asked me, “Was I not wearing enough?”

I touched her back. It was slightly damp with sweat. Her palms were cold.

A photo popped up in the parents’ group chat. There were forty-seven members in the group. The photo was blurry at the edges. The air conditioner showed twenty. Two wall units, blades flat. Someone replied, The teacher works hard. Someone replied, Wear more. Someone sent a smiley face. I typed: Can we turn it up a little? Deleted it. I typed again: The vent is blowing directly. Deleted it. I locked the screen.

I thought about my old office. The office was old, with a drop ceiling and a water stain shaped like a shoe. The vent was above my desk. In summer I wore a cardigan and laid a blanket over my knees. The colleague across from me said she was hot and pressed the temperature down to eighteen. We took turns going to the front desk to adjust it. Later I bought a deflector and clipped it to the louvers with long-tail clamps. The wind went toward the ceiling and folded down. No one mentioned it again. The deflector cost fifteen yuan. The clamps came from the finance office.

That night we looked for a jacket. She did not want the thick one. She said it made her arms stiff when they bent to write. She chose the thin school uniform jacket and put another short-sleeve shirt in the side pocket of her backpack. I taught her a sentence: “Teacher, I sit under the vent. Could you turn the blades upward?” She said it to the mirror once, like reciting a text. Then she laughed at herself.

The next morning I walked her to school. The hallway smelled of wet mop and chalk. A paper sign on the door said, Please keep quiet. The classroom door was open. The air conditioner hummed. The teacher stood at the podium collecting homework, a red pen clipped behind her ear. There was a small bite mark on the pen cap. I stood at the door and did not go in. My daughter looked back at me. I pointed at her jacket. She nodded, went in, and sat down in the second row by the window. The wind swept over the top of her head. Her bangs moved.

At noon I sent the teacher a WeChat message. I sat in the car with the engine off. The steering wheel was warm. I wrote, deleted, wrote, deleted. Finally I sent:

“Teacher X, my daughter sits in the second row by the window, under the vent. She says even with her jacket on, her arms feel cold from the blowing. I know it is hard to make everyone comfortable in a class. I am not asking you to turn up the temperature. Could you turn the vent upward, or lower the fan speed? We can buy a deflector. When you have time, please take a look.”

The teacher replied: “Okay, I’ll adjust it.”

That afternoon I picked her up. The sky had gone the color of old tin. When she came out, her zipper was half down. I asked, “Still cold?”

“A little. My hands aren’t icy.”

The boy next to her had taken off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. She put hers on and said, “I sit under the vent.”

On the way home she told me the teacher moved a chair, took a broom handle, and poked the blades. The wind turned upward. She looked up and said it was like the ceiling was blowing.

That night she did homework with the thin jacket over the back of her chair. I asked, “Did you talk to the teacher?”

“Yes.”

“What did you say?”

“I said, Teacher, I sit under the vent. Could you turn the blades upward?”

“And the teacher?”

“She said, Okay.”

She bent her head and wrote pinyin. Eraser crumbs piled up at the corner of the desk.

On the third day I walked her to the school gate. The gate was crowded with grandparents and delivery bikes. Before she went into the classroom, she pulled her zipper halfway up, then up a little more. I stood outside and saw the air conditioner blades turned upward. The wind folded back from the ceiling and blew toward the blackboard. Chalk dust floated in the light. The remote control lay beside the chalk box on the podium, its screen dark. In the side pocket of her backpack, the thin jacket was half stuffed in, showing a blue cuff.

In the parents’ group someone asked again: “Is the air conditioner still cold today?” No one replied. After a while the teacher posted: “The air conditioner vent has been adjusted. Children who feel cold, remember to bring a jacket.” Three people replied, Received. I put my phone back in my pocket.

My daughter came out of school holding a piece of chalk. She said she picked it up near the podium. I asked, “Are you still cold today?”

“It doesn’t blow on my head anymore.”

“Your hands?”

She held them out. Warm.

She put the chalk into the side pocket of her backpack, next to the thin jacket. Her zipper was half down. The wind came. She did not shrink her neck.