"We have a new student," the teacher said ominously, giving his students that don't-scare-the-new-kid glare that only a teacher can give. His fourth grade class eagerly giggled and chatted, wondering why and how the odd boy had ended up in front of the class. "His name is Arnold."
Obviously, the glare hadn't worked. A girl in the front row, her blonde hair messily tied up and supported by a large pink bow, began to snicker. "What a weird head," she scoffed, squinting her eyes and focusing on Arnold. "Kind of like a football, isn't it?" The class burst into quiet giggles, forcing Arnold to flush a deep shade of red. He'd always been teased, no matter where he was, but he still couldn't really get used to it.
"Now, Helga!" The teacher was stuttering, as he sometimes did when the class had yet another improper outburst. "That's no way to treat the son of two of the most prestigious archaeologists in the country!"
Evidently, Helga wasn't impressed. "If they're such 'prestigious archaeologists'" - at this, her voice rose to a mocking whine - "then why are they in this neigbourhood? You aren't that old, are you, Mr. Simmons?" More laughter.
A small dark-haired girl with a curved set of glasses framing her tiny eyes began to speak. "But Helga, archaeology is…"
With a sharp glare, Helga stopped the girl mid-sentence. "I didn't ask for a science lesson, Phoebe," she growled.
"Understood," the girl said meekly.
There was a long pause, as if the room had become frozen. Nothing broke the silence but the slow wheezing of a boy in the back and the soft maniacal laughter of another. Mr. Simmons was flustered, new at the job since the last teacher had been driven away by the class. Arnold had a similar reaction, but, used to the turmoil of entering schools mid-year, was quite a bit calmer.
"You may be seated, Arnold," Mr. Simmons mumbled quietly, already weary of the students' defiance. He gestured toward an empty desk in the second row, and Arnold winced. The only available seat was next to Helga. He hesitated, but Mr. Simmons' usually composed glance was on the verge of anger, so Arnold silently moved toward the desk.
Wisely, Helga remained silent for the rest of the session and the teacher brightened considerably, thus plunging into a complicated lesson on something-or-other that no one but Mr. Simmons actually cared about. Even Phoebe, usually a bookworm of sorts, had her attention diverted from the lesson. She became fully focused on the new boy, and with good reason.
Arnold himself was cautiously playing with a piece of paper, half-listening and half transfiguring it into a neatly and strategically folded plane. It was a curious thing to watch - though probably usual for a child of scientists - and all the same new for the students, who were ignorant to most of the world outside their city. But perhaps the thing that amazed Phoebe and the others most was Helga. Helga, silent and equally focused on Arnold, was doing something no one had seen her do before.
She was smiling.
Obviously, the glare hadn't worked. A girl in the front row, her blonde hair messily tied up and supported by a large pink bow, began to snicker. "What a weird head," she scoffed, squinting her eyes and focusing on Arnold. "Kind of like a football, isn't it?" The class burst into quiet giggles, forcing Arnold to flush a deep shade of red. He'd always been teased, no matter where he was, but he still couldn't really get used to it.
"Now, Helga!" The teacher was stuttering, as he sometimes did when the class had yet another improper outburst. "That's no way to treat the son of two of the most prestigious archaeologists in the country!"
Evidently, Helga wasn't impressed. "If they're such 'prestigious archaeologists'" - at this, her voice rose to a mocking whine - "then why are they in this neigbourhood? You aren't that old, are you, Mr. Simmons?" More laughter.
A small dark-haired girl with a curved set of glasses framing her tiny eyes began to speak. "But Helga, archaeology is…"
With a sharp glare, Helga stopped the girl mid-sentence. "I didn't ask for a science lesson, Phoebe," she growled.
"Understood," the girl said meekly.
There was a long pause, as if the room had become frozen. Nothing broke the silence but the slow wheezing of a boy in the back and the soft maniacal laughter of another. Mr. Simmons was flustered, new at the job since the last teacher had been driven away by the class. Arnold had a similar reaction, but, used to the turmoil of entering schools mid-year, was quite a bit calmer.
"You may be seated, Arnold," Mr. Simmons mumbled quietly, already weary of the students' defiance. He gestured toward an empty desk in the second row, and Arnold winced. The only available seat was next to Helga. He hesitated, but Mr. Simmons' usually composed glance was on the verge of anger, so Arnold silently moved toward the desk.
Wisely, Helga remained silent for the rest of the session and the teacher brightened considerably, thus plunging into a complicated lesson on something-or-other that no one but Mr. Simmons actually cared about. Even Phoebe, usually a bookworm of sorts, had her attention diverted from the lesson. She became fully focused on the new boy, and with good reason.
Arnold himself was cautiously playing with a piece of paper, half-listening and half transfiguring it into a neatly and strategically folded plane. It was a curious thing to watch - though probably usual for a child of scientists - and all the same new for the students, who were ignorant to most of the world outside their city. But perhaps the thing that amazed Phoebe and the others most was Helga. Helga, silent and equally focused on Arnold, was doing something no one had seen her do before.
She was smiling.