TEACHERS and education experts often ask what a particular reform or innovation looks like in the classroom. We say the classroom, as if an ideal classroom exists that somehow resembles every other classroom in America. In reality, every classroom has its own dynamic, and every class I’ve ever taught looks different from every other class. Perhaps more important, they also sound different.

Middle school students engage with text the way they engage with the world; they search for signs of weakness, and prepare to feel contempt. Sometimes the opposite happens, and they are genuinely moved. I’ve had to remind kids it’s not the Super Bowl; there’s no cheering in reading.

Earlier this school year I told a class of eighth graders that if they finished an assigned short story, they could work for the last 20 minutes of the period on homework. It was the end of the day, and everyone was antsy. The response I got from one girl was I don’t bang homework. Hair in a bun twisted like an elaborate seashell, hand on hip, she repeated the phrase with emphasis on the word bang. I got the meaning, but it was a new phrase. Was there a way to convince her she should bang homework?

At home, I look up I don’t bang. According to the indispensable urbandictionary.com, it means “to believe in,” and there’s a rap on YouTube that uses the phrase. The emphasis on bang, the single rhythmic syllable, is catchy. But you can’t reverse it, bring it to assertion. I bang homework. The best slang is intuitive, its meaning inherent in sound. There’s instant poetry in what bangs and what doesn’t.