A case study short story
Prologue
School has always been intimidating for me and as I reached my classroom, I could feel a weight coming over me like a suffocating blanket. The teacher's gaze was boring into me as I took my seat. I could practically hear the unspoken command to pay attention, to behave, to fit in. But fitting in was something I'd never been good at.
The instructions on the board seemed to blur – just words swimming in a white seafoam on the board. I struggled to make sense of them, my mind was in a fog and this only added to the pressure inside me. It’s a sense of impending doom.
"Do you understand, Sam?" the teacher asked, her voice piercing through the haze. I opened my mouth to speak, but the words caught in my throat, afraid I’d say the wrong thing.
In that moment, I felt small, insignificant, like I didn't belong. Insecurity washed over me, triggering a response I couldn't control. All I wanted was to disappear – to escape. But here I was, trapped in a world I didn’t understand and didn't understand me. And as the minutes ticked by, I couldn't help but wonder if things would ever get any better.
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I’m Sam
I’m 15 years old. I have been diagnosed with ASD, Asperger’s, BESD, and high anxiety. Super! I have a lot of stressors – things like noise, a mean tone of voice, not understanding instructions, and not being allowed to question things – and no one gets my sense of humour! It really gets to me. I feel scared and pressured all the time. So I react. I fight, I oppose, I clash – I don’t trust adults who have authority over me and I wonder why everyone is always over me.
So how can I learn anything? To tell the truth, I don’t. My attendance at school has basically been virtually non-existent for years. People don’t say anything I can understand. I take everything someone says literally. They don’t know how to talk to me. Teachers need to be more precise – I need to know exactly what they want me to do. Hell, I’ll never be independent at this rate. I’m so frustrated I want to burst.
My folks tried to help. They looked for alternatives to support my education and stumbled on Apricot Learning Online, an online school that tailored learning for students like me. Should I try it? I was intrigued by the chance at a fresh start, but I have my doubts and wonder whether I can bear another disappointment.
So I transitioned to online learning. This was completely new for me. I remember sitting in my room, staring at my laptop screen and feeling like I'd been dropped into a strange version of reality. My room, which had always been my sanctuary of solitude, suddenly became a classroom. It was weird. Who was this person I’d invited into my room?
On my first day I woke up late, of course, because what's the point of waking up early if you're not catching the bus, right? I rolled out of bed ten minutes before my first class, threw on a semi-clean shirt, and logged in. My hair was sticking up in ways that defied the laws of physics, but hey, nobody who cares can see me – so who cares!
Then I saw it. This was different.
My teacher was now just a voice on my screen. His disembodied instructions feltlike they were coming from the great beyond. It was something like being in a ghost story, where the ghost was trying to explain algebra! Ghost or not, I liked that we didn’t use webcams. My room was still my private domain. All the same, I felt stuck – interrupted – fragmented. I didn't want to talk, didn't want to participate. I just wanted to get through it.
My cat, Marmalade, decided that my keyboard was the perfect place to take a nap. I tried to shoo her away discreetly, but she just stared at me with that look that cats give when they're like, "Who do you think you are?”
Meanwhile the Voice from the screen guided me through a maze of images and activities, explaining concepts and asking questions. But it was still weird. And then surprisingly, as the session went on, I started to feel less disjointed. The Voice would explain something and then there would be a pause for me to “get it”. I often interrupted him or got interrupted by Marmalade, who decided this was the perfect time to leap onto my desk and take a nap, purring loudly. I tried to stop her but she managed to type some nonsense into the classroom chatbox.
“Are you okay, Sam?” the teacher asked. “Uh, yeah. Just my cat,” I typed in reply, pushing Marmalade off my keyboard. I started to feel disjointed again.
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Time passed
Lessons proceeded. And despite the interruptions and the occasional fragmented feeling, there were some surprisingly good moments – even my sarcastic sense of humour was somehow funny to the Voice, who laughed and egged me on. The Voice, who by now I knew as Tony, occasionally interrupted the lesson to share news articles or website links that related to areas of my interest. He knew I liked videogames, so he sent me a link to a website that showed how algebra is used in game design. He called it a “refresh point” – a moment to break from the monotony of equations and see real-world applications. I like this guy. He kinda gets me. I think I’m actually getting interested in this stuff.
“Sam, ”he said, “let’s take a quick break from algebra. I want to show you something,” and I could hear the click of his mouse in the background. “Check out this link. It’s a short article about the math behind the game mechanics of your favourite game.”
I opened the link and was immediately engrossed. We spent the next few minutes discussing the article; and, for the first time, I saw how the math I was learning applied to something I really cared about. It turns out that Tony had become less my teacher and more my coach. He wasn’t “over me,” but with me. He let me talk about ideas that were sort of on topic, but not strictly part of the lesson. The fog was lifting. This meant something. It meant something to me.
We never rushed me through lessons. Tony called it “pacing.” He regularly checked that the speed, content, and style of our work were good for me. He matched my abilities to the work he gave me and never rushed me. I was beginning to see that I was actually in control – not Tony. Tony gave me what I needed – lots of interactive activities, virtual Science experiments, and Maths games. He knew before I did that I did my best work when I was engaged in a fun or challenging activity. It took a little more time to work this way, but in-depth knowledge was always more interesting and important to me – I wanted to know one thing well more than I wanted to know many things poorly. Tony knew there would be time enough for extending knowledge and skills.
Our sessions continued and Tony patiently let me explain concepts using metaphors and analogies that related to my interests – making sure I understood everything. Every so often, he’d pause and ask, “Does that make sense, Sam?” I loved that. It gave me a chance to catch up, to process the information, and not feel rushed.
As I now remember it, this was when the miracle occurred. Towards the end of a session, Tony shared a website that let us manipulate different variables in algebraic equations and see the results in real-time. It was like playing a game. Much to my surprise that was the day I actually started to enjoy Maths. I couldn’t wait to tell my family.
“All right, Sam. I think we’ve covered a lot of this topic. How are you feeling about quadratic equations now?” he asked, his tone genuinely curious.
“Better, actually,” I admitted. “The simulation thing was really cool.”
“Super. We’ll do more of these interactives. You work really well with them.”
By the end of each lesson I was exhausted, but surprisingly satisfied. I flopped onto my bed, staring at the ceiling and processing the morning's events. Marmalade curled up next to me, purring softly, and I realised that this new way of learning wasn't so bad – in fact it was kinda great. It was strange, but it also had its moments of clarity and I began to hope again for a better life, really.
As the weeks went by, I got used to the strange quirks of these sessions. I learned to navigate the fragmented feelings – to find rhythm in the interruptions. I had Marmalade, my bed, and a whole lot of crazy and fun memories to keep me company. And who knows, maybe one day I'll look back on this time and laugh about how strange and wonderful it all was.
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Four years have passed
I’m Tony and it has been my pleasure to be one of Sam’s teachers. This is my summary report:
Sam has reinvented himself as a learner. He has gone from 0% attendance to 90%attendance. He comfortably completed KS3 in one year and moved into higher courses for both Maths and Science. He improved his spelling and reading ages to achieve academically to his age/level year group. He takes well deserved pride in his learning and in getting his family involved in his education.
He has moved from being an insular, non-communicative, distrustful, low-level performer to a confident, articulate, trusting, high achieving student. Sam has progressed from his interrupted beginnings to achieve the following exam results:
• English 9
• Higher Science 9,9
• Computer Science 8
• Psychology 7
• Higher Maths 7
Sam shares his love of learning confidently with his family and is looking forward to a productive future. He is completing his A Levels with Apricot (on par for As)and has already earned a place at the university of his choice: The Eden Project. His ambition is to make an impact on the world through nature, and I fully expect he will do just that.
