I was circulating between tables, checking in on students’ group work, when a boy asked me, “Dr. S, can I ask you something? Is it worth taking the AP test for AP Human Geography? My friend said it isn’t worth it.”
This is how all the best mentoring conversations happen — they’re impromptu and genuine.
“Ohh — that’s a great question! Let’s figure that out! Get out your Chromebooks.”
They groaned and I grabbed my laptop from my desk before pulling up a stool to their table. My students both dread and yearn to ask a “great question.” All four young men pulled out their Chromebooks and logged in. In my classroom, questions are as much work for the asker as they are for the answerer. But this is how people learn. We all get on the same side of the table.
“O.K., go to APstudents.collegeboard.org.” I waited a moment while they typed.
One boy looked over at another’s Chromebook. “You have to turn it on.”
I chuckled. “Click on ‘More’ and then ‘Getting Credit and Placement.’ Do you want to click on the ‘Next Steps’ link or the big blue box?”
There was a moment of silence while they scanned the page. The whip-smart funny boy with the black curls and dancing black eyes answered, “Always the big blue box.”
We all clicked on the big blue box.
“O.K., S.F. State is next door, so let’s type that into the ‘Name of College’ field.” Everybody typed and clicked return. A PDF of “AP Scores and Credit” came into view in the browser window.
I asked, “Is AP Hum Geo on this list?”
Everybody scrolled. Everybody nodded.
“How many credits do they give you?”
Another boy answered. “Three.”
There was a pause, and I asked, “How much does a credit cost?”
Everybody shrugged. Then we all laughed.
“O.K., let’s look at their tuition page. Go to sfsu.edu.” Everybody typed and hit return. “Which tab do we need to look at?”
They read silently. There’s a beautiful moment when boundaries dissolve during group work and individuals melt into a single organism. Their postures were loose. They were leaning in, curious. If you’re a first-generation college-bound student, this is the practical stuff you need help learning about. These kids were hungry for it. Somebody said, “Admission plus Aid.”
“Let’s go there.”
When the page finished loading, the boy who had posed the original question pointed at his screen. “See? This is what my friend said. Tuition only costs $8,000 for the year.”
I smiled. This is the eternal battle in high school — fighting kid logic and hallway rumors that choke off understanding before it has a chance to take root. “Are you not planning to eat that year?”
They looked up and laughed.
“So since we’re all planning on eating that first year and doing other normal stuff, let’s use the bottom line number — $26,384. You’ll take 24 credits full-time, so how much is that per credit?”
There’s a beautiful moment when boundaries dissolve during group work and individuals melt into a single organism.
My student reached for the calculator in the middle of the table because phones are not permitted. He punched in the numbers and hit Enter. “One thousand ninety-nine dollars and thirty-three cents.”
“Let’s call that $1,100 per credit. So three credits is going to be … ?”
“Three thousand three hundred dollars.”
I inhaled and exhaled, giving the numbers time to land. “Does anybody here have a spare three thousand dollars lying around? Because I sure don’t.”
They nodded. They were reading, absorbed.
I continued. “So let’s say you take the AP test and pass it — which your teacher is going to help you to do — what does that mean?”
My student furrowed his brow. “Does that mean you get to skip that class?”
I nodded. “You also get to save $3,300. So which is the better deal — to take the class now — for free, and take the AP exam? Or skip the AP test because your friend gave you foolish advice?”
The boy who posed the original question poked his tablemate in the ribs and mouthed the words, “I told you so.”
I closed my laptop. “O.K., let’s get back to work.”
