"And so the subject of race," Mr. Fredrikson was saying, "features predominantly in Huck Finn – " he waved about his own copy of the book, " – but the question is, was Mark Twain less racist than his peers or moreso, for addressing it? What about the portrayal of Jim's intelligence? Tony."
Tony put his hand down. "I don't think he was racist," he said. "If he was he wouldn't have made Jim such a good character. He would have made him stupid."
"He's kind of stupid," argued Kate after Mr. Fredrikson spotted her waving hand and pointed to her with his book. "I mean, he doesn't know a lot of things. I mean, he wasn't taught stuff, like in school."
"That doesn't make him stupid," Tony argued. "It just means he didn't go to school. Big deal."
"Well, he's kind of stupid."
Naomi raised her hand and was called on. "I'm glad Jim's the way he is," she announced. "If he had been educated it wouldn't have been realistic. So I don't think Mark Twain was racist just for making a realistic character."
"But Jim is kind of stupid," Kate spoke up again.
"Well…yeah, I guess he's kind of stupid," acquiesced Naomi.
"I don't think he's stupid."
Everyone twisted to look at Terrence, who had spoken out of turn. Mr. Fredrikson looked at him with interest. The English teacher had made a point of complementing Terrence on his new glasses when the latter had walked into class this morning, but this was unexpected. "And why not, Terrence?"
Terrence rolled his eyes. "Well, everyone knows that racism is stupid, right? I mean, everyone's the same, right?"
"Right," said Mr. Fredrikson, intrigued. Terrence had never joined in a class discussion before.
"But back then almost nobody had figured that out yet, right?"
"That's right."
"So…cats and cows."
The class was silent.
Tony, who like most kids at school, didn't like Terrence, narrowed his eyes. "What?" he snapped.
Mr. Fredrikson leaned backwards on his desk, waiting expectantly, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
"The cats and the cows," answered Terrence, shooting Tony a glare. "And the…and the French people." He waved his copy of the book around a bit. "Jim said it. Nobody else back then could have or there wouldn't have been so much racism. Well I guess really Mark Twain said it – and I'm pretty sure he was really smart. He made Jim say it so he made Jim the smartest guy in the book. Period." He looked triumphantly at Tony, who sneered back.
Mr. Fredrikson opened his book and read: "'Is a cat a man, Huck?' 'No.' 'Well, den, dey aint no sense in a cat talkin like a man. Is a cow a man? - er is a cow a cat?' 'No, she aint either of them.' 'Well, den, she aint got no business to talk like either one er the yuther of em. Is a Frenchman a man?' 'Yes.'"
The class oh'ed a little in recognition of the passage.
Mr. Fredrikson closed the book, keeping his finger on the page, and stepped away from his desk. "Does anyone think Terrence is right?" he asked the class, walking slowly back and forth. Nobody answered right away but at last Tina, in the back, waved her hand around.
"I do. Me," she said.
A slow chorus of "Me too"s spread around the class. "Well, I guess so," Kate gave in finally. Tony slumped in his seat and just shrugged.
"I believe you've won your argument," Mr. Fredrikson told Terrence with a small nod, before moving on to the next discussion.
First period went pretty well.
Chemistry wasn't too bad. There hadn't been any homework assigned the day before, although Mrs. White did give the students a few equations today to solve by the next class, but the good news was that it was a lab day. Piece of cake.
Spanish was a chore but Terrence read very carefully when it was his turn and pronounced everything correctly and Senora Masters was forced not to focus too much time on him.
Terrence felt so good at Lunch that he chased a group of male seventh-grade band geeks into a girl's bathroom and wedged the door shut, and then booked it before he got caught.
Geometry got him worried, though. He discovered to his disappointment that being able to read the whiteboard did not instantly equal understanding of its contents. He sat there and tried to look interested while pointedly ignoring Jimmy Taylor's constant attempts to get his attention. When fourth period was over and the class filed past Ms. Yeates' desk dropping off the day's work, Terrence didn't make his customary dash for the door. Ms. Yeates looked up in surprise when she found him lingering by her desk as everyone else left.
"I didn't do my work," he said, not looking her in the eye.
Ms. Yeates looked at him curiously. "Yes," she said.
"I don't understand it."
The teacher broke into a reserved smile. "I see," she replied. "Why don't you sit down for a moment, Terrence? I'll write you a late pass."
Ms. Yeates, who didn't have a class fifth period, listened patiently as Terrence explained that he just had no idea how to do any of the work, but he was ready to try. Ms. Yeates offered to make him some study materials, and asked him to try to do some problems from the very beginning of the textbook in the meantime. She gave him a late pass, he thanked her haltingly, then he headed to History class.
"Oh, you've decided to stop by after all, have you?" Mr. George interrupted his own lecture icily as Terrence opened the door and stepped into the classroom. The other students, who knew better than to laugh, remained deathly quiet as Terrence closed the door after him.
"I have a late p – "
"I don't care what you have," replied Mr. George, taking the offered late pass and tossing it onto his desk. "Take your seat at once and stop wasting my valuable time."
Terrence slunk to his desk at the back of the room and hunched down as he always did, trying to remain inconspicuous. He did this until Mr. George called for the assignments to be passed to the front, at which point he smugly pulled his essay out of his backpack and handed it up. Peter, the kid in front of him, had to be poked impatiently in the shoulder to take it, as he wasn't accustomed to anything coming from behind him.
Terrence left the room at the end of the period feeling very accomplished. He shot a glance at Mr. George (who wasn't currently looking in his direction), wondering how surprised the old fart would be when he found Terrence's completed assignment in the pile later. Ha. He went cheerfully to Gym.
In the locker room he encountered a bit of a problem, however – what was he supposed to do with his glasses when he was in the pool? He tried to recall if he had ever seen anyone wearing glasses while swimming before and thought he remembered some kids laying their glasses on the edge of the pool while they were in the water. The thought of just setting his new glasses on the ground like that to be stepped on or kicked around alarmed Terrence, however, and he finally decided on putting them away in their case and leaving them in his backpack, in his locker. He'd do all right without them for one period, it was just swimming.
Partway through class Terrence was called out of the pool by the teacher, Mr. French, who held up a slip of yellow paper. "A student brought this over," he said, giving it to Terrence. "They'd like to see you in the office."
Completely mystified, Terrence got dressed in the empty locker room, but decided to leave his backpack where it was, figuring he'd be back for it soon enough. He forgot entirely about his glasses.
When he got to the office he was directed to the Vice Principal's private office. He knew it well. He got a cold feeling, like his spine had frozen. He couldn't be in trouble, could he? He stepped in and was greeted by a glare from Mr. George, who was sitting in one of the two chairs in front of Vice Principal Healey's desk.
"Close the door, Terrence," said Mrs. Healey evenly.
Terrence closed the door, staring uncertainly at Mr. George.
"Have a seat." Mrs. Healey indicated the second chair in front of her desk. Terrence sat on the very very edge of it, still watching Mr. George warily. The History teacher was looking especially red-faced, and he was clutching some papers tightly in one hand.
"Now," said Mrs. Healey, sitting back in her own chair and folding her hands on her desk. "Explain it again, Mr. George."
Mr. George swallowed and leaned forward towards Mrs. Healey, but he turned his head so that he was looking directly at Terrence. "This boy," he said slowly, "has turned in someone else's work."
Terrence felt the ice around his spine melt and slither coldly down his back. "Huh?" he gasped.
Mr. George held up the crumpled papers. "This boy," he went on, "who never pays attention in my class, who shows up late, who makes a mess around his desk every day, who constantly distracts me when I am speaking, and who never does his assignments had the audacity today to hand in copied work." The History teacher slapped the papers on Mrs. Healey's desk with a grunt and sat back with an air of finality, still glaring at Terrence.
"Terrence?" said Mrs. Healey smoothly, turning her attention to the boy. "Is this the paper you turned in today in Mr. George's class?"
Terrence perched horrified on the edge of his seat a moment before reaching out unsteadily to take the essay. He looked at the first page and stared at the slightly blurred words printed on it. He had forgotten to take his glasses out of his backpack. The coldness in his body turned to heat as he sat there, unable to easily ascertain if this was his essay or not. His eyes started to water, making it even harder to make out his own name typed at the top.
"I…" he stammered, feeling Mr. George's hate-filled stare on him as well as Mrs. Healey's unsympathetic one. "I…I think so – "
Mr. George slammed his hand down on the desk, making Terrence jump and very nearly fall off of the chair entirely. He dropped the three-page essay and it fluttered to the floor. "The boy is an idiot!" shouted Mr. George, his whole face and neck red now. "He's never done a lick of work in my class all year, and he expects me to believe that he wrote an essay, out of the blue? He's a liar!"
"Mr. George," said Mrs. Healey calmly, indicating that that was enough. The Vice Principal turned to Terrence. "Terrence, did you write that essay?" she asked.
Terrence, who was trembling, clung to the chair as if he would fall into the sky if he didn't. "Yes!" he blurted desperately, trying to hold it together. "I did it last night!"
Mr. George stood up and retrieved the fallen essay, and shook it in Terrence's face. "Read it to us, then!" he snarled, his spectacles glinting. "Wrap your tongue around those hard words, boy, and prove that they're yours!"
Terrence flinched back from the paper, suddenly terrified of it. He couldn't. He couldn't read it. He forgot his glasses…He forgot his glasses…He shivered on the chair, feeling like his insides were dissolving. "I wrote it," he whispered, and turned to Mrs. Healey. "I did," he implored feebly. Mr. George huffed and looked triumphant.
"Terrence, you are excused; go back to your class. I will be speaking with your mother. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr. George."
Mr. George grunted, dropped the essay on the Vice Principal's desk, and left the room.
With a great act of will Terrence wrenched himself off of the chair and managed to make his legs carry him out of the office. He wanted to go home. Now. He didn't even care that school wasn't over yet. Deciding to leave his backpack in the boy's locker room he started walking, shakily.