Even while he waited anxiously for lunch, Simon was unbelievably glad to be in Algebra II. He'd forgotten, as he always did, what the middle of September really meant. It was, after all, easy to forget. No one marked it on a calendar or flew a flag at half-mast.

If he had been anyone else, as he used to dream he was, then this particular time of year would have meant nothing more than a greater ease in navigating his schedule and a lessening of his homework load. HE wouldn't have been painfully aware that just as students' schedules began to make sense, the teachers began to go beyond the introductory units and individualize their lesson plans.

But he was a Camden, albeit a rebellious one, and he could never escape for the middle of September. It had begun with Chemistry. He'd held his breath when Mr. Avon pulled him aside, remembering Biology. ("Simon," his teacher had said, "How's your brother? I hear he's going to be a doctor. Anyway, for the next month we'll be studying evolution. Maybe you'd prefer to work on astronomy?" What could he have said but yes?) Mr. Avon, though, merely handed him his first test, a red C at the top.

"I had your brother. Knowing him, and knowing you, this is not anywhere near your potential. Explain."

The command knocked him a little bit off balance. "There's nothing to explain. I just can't be expected to bother."

"If you were any other student, I'd ask if there were problems at home," his teacher said. 'If only you knew,' thought Simon. "But I'll assume that's unlikely. I hate to see a student fail out of his own pig- headedness, but there it is. Give your brother my regards."

Simon didn't answered, and Mr. Avon frowned. "I expected better from Matt's brother, but I suppose every family has some bad seed." Again, Simon was surprised, but not shocked. He knew what the general opinion of him around school was. "Worse than Mary," came the rumors. "She was still okay until they locked basketball. He doesn't care at all."

He knew the rumors. He knew his parents knew the rumors. But his life wasn't interesting anymore-he couldn't get married for a couple of years, at least. Biblical Literature wasn't any different either, but his teacher obviously couldn't change anything in a class already deemed acceptable by his parents.

For that matter, there were no real Camden assignments in Speech, but he knew from last years juniors that there usually was a speech on "Personal Ethics in Teenage Sexuality" that was conspicuously absent from the syllabus this year. And his parents wanted to know why he had no friends? 'Cause his very presence in their class caused his teachers to change their planning-usually taking away the most interesting parts.

In German II his teacher had added an introductory unit on the vocabulary for items and people in a church. Again, this earned him dirty looks from his classmates. They always blamed him for his parents hijinks-as if he wanted extra work anymore than they did.

Thankfully math would be a respite from all that-even though lunch would come next. 'Maybe if I sit out on those corner steps, no one will notice that I'm sitting alone.' Two weeks of no company in the lunch room were more than enough for him to get the hint. Morris has graduated, and so we're closing ranks against you.

In his less bitter moments, he couldn't really fault them. After all, they talked to him, and anything they say could get spread over the entire town. But at least when Morris had still been in town, they had pretended to like him. At least he had a date for tonight.

At least time passed for Camdens just as well as it did for the rest of the world. 'Otherwise,' he decided, 'I don't think I would survive.'

In U. S. History his teacher pulled him aside to tell him, "If anything about this course ever makes you uncomfortable, I want you to tell me right away. The last thing I need is someone trying to shut me down. Intelligent thought is more important than your parents' little crusade, so you can leave my class if something bothers you, got it?"

Simon got it. But at least he was honest, which is more than most people were to him.

His Late British Literature teacher was the nicest. "I don't know much about you. For all I know you would rather read 'Dracula.' I think it's got a good moral message. But I think your parents would feel more comfortable if you read Dickens instead. 'Hard Times' really is quite good."

'And when the day ends, I just have to go home,' he thought. 'I knew I hated the middle of September for a reason.'