He's already started his droning when she enters late.
"...we reviewed that the limit could be solved by 'substituting infinity' although we made sure to note that the idea is theoretically impossible and only a concept created in order to facilitate..."
The teacher is already used to all of it. Her whims. Her capricious mood. Her unwavering confidence. Her flawless grades. He had attempted to discipline her early in the year, before he had heard anything about her from numerous other teachers, and had been met with intercession by the administration on her behalf: 'She is needed this week after school for important school matters. Detention is not the most convenient response,' the official email had said. 'She has us strung up by our necks,' the subtext of the note lamented loudly.
"...that sometimes, pure substitution does not work perfectly. For example, the limit of sine of x over x as x approaches zero requires that..."
The students are murmuring. They always murmur a little bit when she comes in to classroom or convinces a teacher to excuse her from a test or makes a boy start stuttering merely by smiling. This time, there is something unusually loud about their hurried whispers. He tries to ignore it and move on with the review, but it's hardly the usual mutterings.
"...famous..."
"...I heard..."
"...chosen..."
"...a model?..."
"...I heard..."
"...was going to be in a movie!..."
"...such a total bit..."
"...I heard..."
"Alright, class! May I continue with the lecture?"
Grumbles of 'yes, Mr. Wright' reach the front and he continues writing on the board. He shakes his head as he does and wonders what sins he committed to be forced to deal with her, what tragic flaw cornered him into the infernal situation in which he found himself. He stops again when he realizes nobody is paying attention again. Spinning around, he throws her a look and motions challengingly.
"Would you like to tell us what the answer to the question is?"
She sits in her desk, legs crossed beneath a skirt, hands folded innocently on the top of her desk, mouth already formed to make a reply.
"The limit of sine of x over x as x approaches zero is one, Mr. Wright."
He's not surprised, she always knew the answer, but it made him feel a bit more in control of the class if he could pretend that he directed the attention of the students toward her, not their own insatiable curiosity.
"Also, Mr. Wright, if I could make a brief announcement to the class?" She doesn't even wait for him to reply as she stands up and faces her peers with a smile that makes several male breaths stop and even more female eyes stare with a mix of love and jealousy.
"I received a letter in the mail yesterday afternoon and, in a few short weeks, I will be a contestant on an upcoming reality television show called Total Drama Island."
The class is quiet.
"When I get famous, you can all say you know me."
The whispers are loud sarcastic-sounding comments of "Yeah, right!" that contain more honest appreciation than disdain for the granted acquaintanceship. More than one student makes up a story on the spot about how they became good friends with her before she was renowned.
"Also, I love you all and plan to share all the stories of my adventures when I return."
"Is there anything else you'd like to tell the class, Miss—"
She raises her hand and talks without permission again. "Oh no, Mr. Wright, that's not my name anymore..."
"Oh, is that so?" He crosses his arms with vague amusement. "And what is your name now, future detention resident?"
She smiles with absolute confidence and flips her blond hair. "My name is Bridgette."
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"...and we become the you and the me and the us... we become the we of designation, the us of product... We become. We become and we become and we become some more, and we lose the am and gain the will be of their choosing. 'Us and them' becomes 'we.'"
They clap softy. It's a dramatic reading, so it's expected that they give a mellow clap, but she knows that they just want her to get off the stage. She's not very good. She wishes she was good; more than anything in the world, she wishes she could express her thoughts in words without sounding like a whiny teenage brat, but she knows it's a skill that eludes her.
If only, she thinks to herself as she draws near the edge of the stage, I could get some help. But she knows it's useless, her school doesn't have accredited advanced placement classes, or even a tutoring program to speak of.
Still...
She reaches her table in the back, tosses her brown hair back, and drops her head into her palms, vaguely aware that other people in the room might still be watching her but not caring enough to indulge in her usual insecurities.
"...a broken pane of my mind..."
The readings continue onward.
Her mediocrity is forgotten beneath the better quality writing that follows. It is her only consolation, that her futile attempts rarely last long enough for anyone to call her out on her squandered efforts and convince her that she is wasting her time in the pursuit of a hopeless dream that...
There I go again, she thinks to herself. Stop oozing wangst!
She sighs and drops her head onto the table loudly. She prays no one notices and lifts her head slowly, trying to peer through the brown strands before realizing that there is a letter stuck to her forehead, making her look like a complete idiot.
It comes off easily enough and lays crumpled on the table before her.
She peers at it blankly, having already read it over a thousand times and discussed it thoroughly with both of her parents. It represents an opportunity for a break, a vacation away from her mediocre life and failed hobby.
She smiles and lets herself hope a tiny bit...
"I know I'll be a better writer as Lindsay..."
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They all love her.
And with good reason: she greets everyone by name, runs every volunteer organization in the school, and never disrespects her elders. She doesn't suck up and she's cut loose on the floor more than once at a school dance.
In spite of no make up and modest attire, a sizable population of the school's males go out of their way to talk to her between classes, and the school chapter of Habitat for Humanity is almost entirely composed of hopeful friends.
Simply put, everyone loves Heather.
She's already practicing responding to her new name, even writing "Heather" in her school planner and – only once – in her diary. It's an interesting name, nothing like her real one, but she thinks it will be fun to go incognito for a summer and get some exposure to the natural elements.
Even as she sits at the booth framing the entrance to the cafeteria — a giant poster with the words "Donate to Breast Cancer" propped against the bottom and a warm smile on her face — she already sees the friends she'll make.
Maybe they'll even be friends I can really talk to, she hopes to herself, with confessions and secrets and trust. The thoughts disappear as she calls out a plain-looking girl by name and asks her to help the cause. The girl jumps to life and trips over herself to give money, but doesn't ask her any personal questions.
She's packed, ready to go, and eager to begin a new, brief life. Excited doesn't begin to describe her state. Nervous is closer but still wrong. Her load is light and her expectations are high. It's all set to be the best summer yet.
The best summer of Heather's life.
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