In the third grade hall of Westman Elementary, a boy with long, wavy, thick black hair and honey-golden eyes leans his head back against the wall, listening to his teacher and mother in the classroom. There are chairs lined up next to the door but he chooses to sit on the floor, knowing that if he accidentally shifts while sitting on a wheeled chair it'll make a noise and alert the adults – but if he sits on the floor, he won't make a sound.

"Bit of a class clown," his teacher says. "A joker. Don't worry about it; he'll probably grow out of it by fifth grade. My real worry is his grades – he's dropped to the forty-seventh percentile."

"I'm sorry," his mother says. "Remind me what that means?"

"His grade average is forty-seven percent. Which is failing. I know Jack is a very bright young man, Mrs. Napier. I just don't understand why his scores don't show it."

Jack runs his hand through his hair, pulling it back from his face, thinking that his natural black hair is very dull. It also gives his unblemished Irish skin a sickly white look. Perhaps he should dye it. Blue would be nice, or maybe a natural brown. Or green? Green is a good color.

"He doesn't like to draw attention to himself," his mother says. "If he got very good grades, he'd stand out. He's shy, is all."

I am not shy!

"I understand entirely. My daughter has the same problem."

I don't have a problem!

His teacher continues, "But these low grades are making him stand out almost as much. If you could just speak with him. I know he can do the work; he just needs motivation. Perhaps you could offer him something. I don't know."

Jack glares at the floor. Bribery isn't going to get you anywhere, Mrs. Erikson.

"I will talk to him, of course," his mother says. "Is there anything else you wanted to discuss with me?"

There's a pause. A brief hesitation that lasts almost too long.

"I discovered Jack's notebook the other day," Mrs. Erikson says, almost too quietly for Jack to hear. "He hasn't turned it in once since the beginning of the year."

No! No, no no…

"Some of the things he's written are somewhat disturbing. He hasn't done a single assignment I've asked, but he writes about the other students in the class, or about me. He doesn't seem to like any of us very much."

"Jack isn't fond of school," his mother says. "But I don't see why he should dislike the other students or you."

"Well, I'm sure it's just a phase," Mrs. Erikson says with false confidence. "He is a very clever kid. Very well liked by his peers, although I assume that's probably a result of him being – like I said before – the class clown. Everybody likes a joker, right?"

"Unless they have to discipline him," his mother replies, and the two of them laugh.

Chairs scrape across the floor as his mother and teacher exchange goodbyes. Jack stands up and trots down the hall a ways to the bathroom, then turns and begins walking towards the classroom as his mother comes out with his teacher. The two of them are still talking as he walks up.

"I will see you next term," his teacher says.

"Or sooner," his mother laughs, then glances down and sees him. "Hey, Jack. I've finished talking to your teacher. Shall we go home?"

"Yes," Jack says. "Let's go home."

Mrs. Erikson smiles down at him. "I'll see you on Monday, Jack."

He nods. "See you then."

His mother takes his hand and they walk out to the car. "Mrs. Erikson seems very nice," his mother says as she unlocks the doors.

"Yes."

"She seems to think that your grades are a bit low."

"What else could be expected of the class clown?" he asked, jumping into the passenger seat as his mother climbs into the driver's side.

She give him a look. "Eavesdropping, were we?"

He shrugs noncommittally.

"Just because you're a jokester doesn't mean you can fail third grade, honey. Can you at least get into the eightieth percentile?"

"I thought you didn't understand percentiles," he accuses.

She grins at him. "If you listen closely, Jack, things are very easy to understand. I didn't understand percentiles – at least not until today."

He laughs, then sighs. "Fine. I'll raise my grades a bit. But only if you stop calling me shy."

"What, aren't you?"

"No. I just don't like other people."

She give him a long look. "All right. Deal. I'll never call you shy again, and you'll get at least B's in school. Okay?"

"Okay."