5. S1 E1 Pilot (5)
My first class of the day was math. I walked into the classroom and took an empty seat, and the moment my bag dropped beneath the desk, Eileen claimed the spot right beside mine. Up front, some boy was holding forth on how much taller he'd gotten over the break, while the friend listening to him folded down the corner of his textbook like he couldn't have cared less.
"Yo, Andy."
In the back, Mac had spotted me and raised his hand. His face was exactly the one from the photograph — chubby, with a naturally likeable look that made you laugh just seeing it. A Black friend you warmed to on sight.
The moment he opened his mouth to say something, the classroom door swung open.
"Take your seats."
Harold Miller, the math teacher, walked in — a middle-aged man with his glasses perched low on his nose. He set the attendance book on the lectern and swept the room with a look, and the chatter died down in the exact order his gaze touched it. The gaze rested on me, too. I sat there quietly, the very picture of a model student.
Miller called roll and handed out the course syllabus. While he explained how the tests and assignments would be weighted, the rustle of turning pages rose from every corner of the room.
"Let's see whether you've forgotten everything over the break."
He wrote an equation on the board. I stopped halfway through opening my notebook and looked up — I could solve it. The answer was simply there, and stranger still, even the way I would explain it came to me, fully formed and effortless.
"Park. What's x?"
"Four."
Judging by how the very first question came flying straight at me, the teachers clearly still had faith in Andy Park, the model-minority Asian student. Miller nodded and turned back to the board.
"Good. Then—"
"If I also provide the full solution, will you end today's questions right here?"
The chalk stopped mid-stroke. Beside me, Eileen turned to look at me. Miller turned his head, slowly.
"What was that?"
"Statistically speaking, I appear to account for a significantly disproportionate share of the answers in this math class."
A short laugh escaped from the back of the room. Miller studied me for a moment, then held out the chalk.
"I'll consider it. Come up front and solve it."
I rose from my seat. The problem was a quadratic simple enough to crack in a single second of mental math. I wrote the solution on the board and stepped aside, and Miller checked the work — the arithmetic was right, and so was the explanation. He stared at it a beat longer with the eyes of a man hunting for something to mark wrong, then waved me back.
"Correct. Sit down."
I set the chalk down.
"Thank you."
"Regrettably, I must decline your request to end questions for today."
"I figured as much."
This time, a few more of them laughed. By the time I made it back to my seat, Eileen had her mouth hidden behind her notebook.
"What is wrong with you? It's the very first period!"
"I attempted a negotiation. It went poorly."
"Well, you're certainly diligent."
Miller rapped his knuckles lightly on the desk, and once the laughter subsided, the lesson moved on. I was in the middle of taking notes when I felt his gaze drift back to me.
When a lesson stalls, just call on Andy — among the teachers at this school, that was the semi-official, unspoken rule. Even in the memories of this body that I could dig up, it had always worked that way.
Andy always gave the right answer, and when praised, would dip his head a little before returning to his notebook. The teachers must have leaned on that short, safe little exchange for years. But this Andy was suddenly grinning ear to ear and looking him dead in the eye — and something about it must have struck Miller as ominous, because after a brief hesitation he called on a different student instead.
Under the desk, Eileen nudged my shoe and mouthed the words.
"Congratulations."
I answered with a raised eyebrow.
Much the same thing happened in my next class. The English teacher pulled out the summer reading assignment and called on me right away — she'd had me in her class before.
"Andy, do you agree with the protagonist's decision?"
I flipped through the pages. I'd already read this part. On top of my past-life memories, pencil notes along the margins caught my eye — apparently the original Andy had taken his summer reading quite seriously.
"No. He should have explained it to his friend first."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because once you hide something and get caught, the lie gets stacked on top of whatever you did wrong in the first place. He took something that would've earned a scolding and made it worse for no reason."
She nodded.
"Good. Then why do you think the character hid the truth?"
"He probably figured he'd never get caught. It's usually people like him who make the story longer — and he supplied the material for today's lesson while he was at it, so I'd say we should be grateful."
Laughter broke out over by the windows. The teacher's own mouth twitched upward, but she didn't let up.
"Care to read us the passage that backs up that judgment?"
I found the underlined paragraph and read it aloud, then went on to connect it to the earlier scene. She turned back to face the class.
"Anyone care to disagree with Andy's take?"
A few hands went up. Thanks to them, I didn't have to say a word for a while. I started to slouch back in my chair, then straightened up instead. It was fine. I had no trouble keeping up with the textbook, and my English didn't tangle when I opened my mouth — all I had to do was say whatever surfaced in my head.
Class ended, and I was gathering my books when the teacher called me over.
"Andy."
I went up to the desk.
"Yes?"
"Did you go to some debate camp or other over the break?"
"I believe I spent it living at Chuckily Cheese and the movie theater."
"Really? The way you talk has changed a lot. You used to answer only exactly what you were asked."
A student collecting assignments nearby glanced our way. I slung my bag strap over my shoulder.
"I have evolved into a kind of Asian that American society did not want."
The teacher's hands paused over the papers she was sorting. The student beside her ducked his head. She studied me for a moment, then adjusted her glasses.
"There's nothing wrong with speaking your mind. Just be sure to leave the other students time to talk as well."
"Yes, ma'am."
Out in the hallway, a boy who'd followed me out asked with a grin.
"Was that line rehearsed?"
"It was my summer homework."
He grabbed the shoulder of a friend standing in the corridor.
"Hey, did you hear what Park just said to the teacher?"
I passed them by and headed for my next classroom.
Before lunch, the incident finally happened. It was social studies. We were answering questions off a map the teacher had handed out, and the boy who'd drawn the question before mine stalled for ages. A friend whispered him the answer from behind — that was wrong too. The teacher sighed and looked at me.
"Shall we have Andy help out?"
I gave the answer and added which part of the map he should be looking at. And then someone in the back said:
"Guess those made-in-China calculators really are something else."
It wasn't said loudly enough to count as a shout, but it wasn't meant for his ears alone, either. The kid sitting next to him snorted. I turned my head. A boy with a short blond buzz cut — some minor extra named Nick or whatever it was — was leaning back in his chair.
"Hey, pal. I'll give you one chance to take that back."
"And if I'd rather not?"
"Then I shall bestow upon you shock and awe."
"What's that gonna be, exactly? You gonna pull your eyes all slanted for me?"
Just as the teacher opened his mouth to step in, I beat him to it.
"In The Sixti Censuses, Brood Williston turns out to be the ghost."
The classroom went dead quiet. The grin drained off the boy's face.
"...What?"
"The main character's been dead from the very beginning."
"Hey!"
A girl sitting by the window slammed her book down. Someone in the front row let out a long, wounded groan, and one student who had apparently already seen it slumped over his desk, shaking with laughter.
"I'm going to see it today!"
I turned around. That one, I hadn't seen coming.
"Sorry. That was meant for him."
"We have ears too!"
The teacher rapped on the desk.
"Quiet. Both of you."
The kid who'd thrown the racist remark spread his palms in protest.
"Sir, he just spoiled the ending of a—"
"I heard what you said first, too."
The kid shut his mouth. The teacher looked at me.
"Andy. Turn around and sit down."
I turned back around.
"I understand he upset you, but we're in class. There was no need to take revenge on the entire room."
"Great undertakings are always attended by innocent victims."
The kid slumped over his desk cracked up all over again.
"Andrew Park."
The teacher used my full name. His voice was low this time.
"I'm sorry."
"You and that boy — both of you stay after class."
I looked down at my notebook. I hadn't even survived the first morning of the school year. What was I supposed to tell Mom?
"Andy, you are seriously evil."
"Park, you son of a—"
When class let out, the kids filed past my desk, each tossing in a comment of their own. The ones who'd already seen the movie laughed; the ones who hadn't did not. The girl who was seeing it that evening glared at me right up to the end.
I apologized with complete sincerity.
"I don't think this is a matter for actual discipline, but you both stepped out of line. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
The social studies teacher then gave the two of us left behind our separate lectures. The other kid was told not to make a friend's background the butt of his jokes; I was told that if a problem came up, I should say so before wrecking an entire lesson over it.
"Especially you, Andy. You've never been like this before."
"I used to be."
"Then why start on the very first day?"
Answering that one with another round of "I've evolved into an Asian America doesn't want" felt like a one-way ticket to real disciplinary action, so I simply bowed my head. By the time I left the classroom, the hallway was nearly deserted — everyone had apparently gone ahead to lunch. The kid who'd stayed behind with me walked a few steps ahead, then looked back.
"Was it for real?"
"Was what for real?"
"The movie."
I considered it for a second, then smiled wickedly.
"Shall I spoil the ending of another one for you?"
"Ugh, get lost."
He trudged off, muttering curses.
In the cafeteria, Mac started laughing before I'd even sat down.
"Hey, Spoiler Man!"
I dropped my paper bag onto the tray and took a seat.
"You've heard already?"
"Eileen filled me in. Why on earth would you spoil a movie?"
"Because it's fun?"
"You're insane."
Across the table, Eileen stirred her drink with her straw.
"He did it to me yesterday, too."
Mac laughed even harder.
"So the crime did come with advance warning."
"I apologized to Eileen. Bought her pizza, too."
"So if I want to mooch pizza off you, do I just have to call you Chinese?"
"You can start by paying back your tokens."
Mac turned to Eileen.
"How many tokens do I owe you again?"
"Six, and that's just what I remember."
"Damn it."
He pushed out his lips in a pout and picked up a fry. While we were bantering, someone at the next table called me.
"Andy, could you tell me that thing you were talking about earlier? I already saw The Sixti Censuses yesterday."
The friend beside him smacked his arm.
"Don't ask! I haven't seen it yet!"
I spread my hands.
"I won't, as long as nobody attacks me first. Just eat your lunch."
Mac laughed so hard he choked on his cola, sputtering loud enough to turn heads. Eileen slid a napkin his way even as she clicked her tongue.
By the afternoon, more and more faces were grinning when they saw me. Every time we changed rooms, the kids from my morning classes were retelling my story to someone new. The moment the movie came up in the hallway, heads would turn my way. I didn't think a spoiler was that grave a sin — but honestly, thinking it over, it was a pretty antisocial thing to do. Then again, what could I do? It was fun.
When I stepped into my last class of the day, the teacher looked up from the attendance book.
"Andrew Park?"
"Here."
"I hear you've had a lot to say today."
Laughter broke out in a few corners of the room. I said it as I sat down.
"I haven't said anything yet."
"Good. Let's keep it that way for a while."
Behind me, Mac gripped his desk, shaking with laughter. I pulled my notebook out of my bag. The teacher wrote the date on the board, then turned back around.
"And no movie talk in here. I haven't seen it yet either."
This time, I laughed too.