Thank you for joining me in Chapter Three!
Copyright © 2021 to the author.
**
When Luke reported to his math teacher Monday after school, he didn't expect to see papers covering her desk. Normally, she kept it bare except for whatever she needed to complete the task at hand. He slipped into a chair, but she beckoned him forward.
"Well, Luke," she said, fixing him with a gaze which suggested he had better pay attention, "I took the liberty last week of requesting your transcript from your former school." She tapped one of the papers. "That's what this is."
Luke swallowed. This could be only bad news.
"Then I took the further liberty of calling a Mr. Washington, who, I believe, taught you last year."
She had called Mr. Washington? Luke's knees felt weak. The man had hated him from the day Luke had walked into his classroom.
"Do you know what he told me?"
Luke shook his head. He didn't trust his voice.
"He said you had struggled all year, and in his opinion, you lacked the foundation for that level of mathematics. He said he had recommended you take advanced algebra and trigonometry this year rather than pre-calculus because you need a firmer grasp of the basics."
Mrs. Shuman noticed then how pale the boy had become.
"Have a seat, Luke," she said, her voice kinder. "I concur with Mr. Washington. You do not have the foundation necessary to succeed in my class. You and I are going to the guidance office right now to transfer you to advanced algebra. Fortunately, it meets during the same period, so you don't have to juggle the rest of your schedule. I have already written your parents a letter explaining the situation, which will go out in this afternoon's mail."
Luke slumped forward, his hands covering his face.
"There's no shame in transferring to another class, Luke," Mrs. Shuman said, concerned at his reaction.
"You don't know," the boy finally said. "You don't know. My parents will kill me. Nothing I ever do is good enough for them, and this will just be another nail in my coffin."
"Surely it's not that bad," she said.
"Yes it is. They'll say I'm lazy, I don't work hard enough, all I ever do is let them down. And it's true. They're right. I'm a failure at everything."
"You know that's not true, Luke. Mr. Washington said you were the talk of the English department at your last school, that you wrote wonderful stories."
"Stories don't matter to my parents," Luke said. "Stories won't put food on the table."
"Tell that to Stephen King," Mrs. Shuman said dryly. "Getting back to the issue at hand, isn't it better to take a class you can handle and at which you may possibly excel, rather than one you're almost certain to fail?"
"That's not the point. The point is I
should
be able to handle it."
"What you should and should not be able to do are not the issues here. What you can do is. Now I'm sorry it has to be this way, Luke, but it does. You are simply not performing up to standard. The sooner you make the switch, the better off you will be. You can't afford to lose any more days in that class. It may be easier than pre-calculus, but advanced algebra is no picnic."
She stood, briskly smoothed her skirt, and looked expectantly at Luke. His eyes searched her face, but he could find no clue to her thoughts. Feeling like a rabbit caught in a trap, he picked up his books and followed her into the hall. They walked in silence to the office.
**
The next day, Luke reported to his new class as early as he could. His sneakers carried him silently to the teacher sitting at a battered metal desk. He wore a red and white polo shirt with "Coach" embroidered on the pocket. He appeared engrossed in a sports magazine, and Luke hesitated before speaking.
"Excuse me," he finally said as a few others students wandered in.
"Huh?" The man started, then frowned as he saw who had interrupted him.
"Uh, my name is Luke Tang. Mrs. Shuman switched me to your class yesterday."
The man tossed the magazine to a bare spot on his desk and sifted through some papers.
"Yeah. You're coming from pre-cal?"
Luke nodded.
The man appraised Luke's face for a couple of seconds.
"Wouldn't think
you'd
have any trouble with pre-cal."
Luke shrugged, unsure of what to say.
The man grunted, turned around and stretched a long, beefy arm out to grab a textbook from a shelf behind him. He slapped it down on his desk near the boy.
"Here's your book. Get a cover on it by tomorrow. We're in the middle of Chapter One."
He pointed at the third desk in the row nearest the window.
"That's your desk. Sit down. Oh, and we have second lunch. That means we're here for twenty minutes, then we go to lunch, then come back for forty minutes."
Luke picked up the textbook and edged to his seat, wondering if Mr. Spencer always acted that way. As he slid into the smooth plastic chair, the bell rang.
The teacher dug out his roll book and called the students' names in a bored voice.
"Beatty. Chester. Collins. Anyone know if Collins is here today?"
Luke tuned out the monotone and glanced around the room to see if he knew anyone. His gaze fell upon the profile of a blond boy two rows over. It seemed familiar, but Luke couldn't place it.
As Luke tried to remember, the boy turned toward him. His cold blue eyes passed over Luke's face, then locked onto it.
Luke's heart sank.
Jeff Rohrbach smiled.
**
Mrs. Shuman's letter arrived on Wednesday. Luke raced home after school to intercept it before his mother could arrive for her daily afternoon break from the restaurant. He had not yet told her about the switch, and he did not want her to see the letter before he had a chance to prepare her for it. He had a feeling she would not take it well.
He trotted around the corner, puffing from the exercise and the heat. He saw his mother's car parked in front of the house. Oh no. She had come home early. His trot slowed to a trudge.
His mother sat in the living room, her back straight and stiff as a sword. She called to him as soon as he opened the door. Wincing at the anger in her voice, he went to her. When he saw her face, he bowed his head.
"What is this?" she hissed, brandishing the letter.
"Uh, a letter from my teacher?" he stammered.
"School has not been in session two weeks, and already your teacher writes to tell me you're too lazy and stupid to do the work the other students have no trouble doing. She writes she had you transferred to another class, an easier one. Knowing you, it's probably the class they put the retarded boys in. How do you expect to get into college taking remedial courses?"
"Advanced algebra is not a remedial course," Luke whispered, staring at the family photographs covering the wall behind his mother. The face of his dead brother grinned at him over his mother's shoulder. "It's not for retarded boys."
"If you're in it, it must be," his mother spat, rising from the sofa and stepping up to him. Luke concentrated on his feet, as if by focusing on them, he could stop his mother's tirade.
"You will go back to your teacher and tell her you know you don't deserve another chance, but if she will give you one, you'll study all night if you have to."
"I can't," Luke mumbled, trembling.
"You will!"
"I can't. She told me she will not take me back, that her decision is final. She said advanced algebra is the best match for my abilities."
His mother's eyes widened. A fiery red blotch appeared on each of her carefully made-up cheeks.
"What?! First you contradict me, then you tell me she thinks you're too stupid for pre-calculus? How dare you speak back to me?"
Luke shut his eyes tightly and folded his arms across his chest.
"I'm not too stupid. I just don't have the background to do the level she expects."
"You stupid, stupid boy!" Luke felt a stinging blow as she slapped him. "You listen to me, you worthless, lazy piece of garbage. I know all about you. I know you spend your time reading useless trash and writing stupid stories instead of studying. And I know if you did spend your time well, studying and working hard instead of going off in a dream every chance you get, you wouldn't have to take slow learner math. Every night I pray for God to give you the kind of brains and talents He gave your brothers John and Mark, and every day you prove to me you have neither!"
She stopped speaking and took a deep breath, exhaling it through gritted teeth. When she spoke again, her voice had its usual tone.
"I will tell your father of your latest failure tonight, after the dinner rush," she said coldly. "Now go to your room and don't let me see your face again today."
Luke whirled and stumbled from the room. His face still felt the weight of his mother's hand. Tears burned twin trails down his cheeks. She was right. He was worthless and lazy. As he climbed the stairs, more portraits of John, Mark and Mary smiled at him. Only one image of Luke hung among them. In that picture, he had an arm around his twin as the two mugged for the camera.
Once he reached his room, he closed the door and crept onto his bed. Hugging his pillow to his chest, he sobbed, alone, and infinitely sad.
**
After the game Saturday, Pete had quietly cornered Melina and asked her again to go out Friday. Rather flattered, she had accepted. She liked the stocky blond. He always seemed to have a wry observation or funny story about the other kids. She could tell from the way others sought him out that they found in him the same charisma she did. That reassured her. She knew from past relocations that the first kid to try to make friends often turned out to be the one nobody else liked. When she told her parents that night that she had a date, they had seemed genuinely pleased, especially once she told them he wanted to come in and meet them before he took her to dinner.
"Sounds like a nice guy," her father had said. "And if his parents are both musicians, you may learn a few things about that world."
Her mother had given her a radiant smile.
"This is nice," she had said. "I'm glad you're making friends so fast here. We were worried you'd be lonely without Julie at home, but it sounds like we'd better worry we might forget what you look like."
