| It was so strange. Here he was, sitting in his eleventh grade history classroom, listening to his eleventh grade history teacher rattle on and on . . . and on about World War II. *There was a reason I graduated high school. It was so that I wouldn't have to listen to Mr. Williams ever again . . . Hey. How come everyone's staring at me?* "Xander?" Mr. Williams looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Care to enlighten us?" Oh, god. He had been asked a question. Okay. He could handle this. Um . . . what was the question? "Uh, sure," he stammered. "About what?" Xander sank down in his seat as the class burst into laughter. Mr. Williams let out a sigh. "Never mind. Sarah, why don't you tell us the answer?" Xander wanted to die. He knew that his face must be bright red. Three years, and the class still thought he was a dweeb. Luckily, the bell rang shortly afterward. He hurriedly scooped up his books and made his way toward the door of the classroom. Just as he was about to make his getaway, however, Mr. Williams called him back. "Mr. Harris, can I see you for a moment, please?" Xander stopped in his tracks. *Please tell me there's another Mr. Harris in the class.* When he turned around to look at the teacher, however, he found that Mr. Williams gaze was pointed straight at him. Oh, boy. He donned his Xander grin, and headed over to Mr.Williams' desk. "Sure. What's up?" Mr. Williams gave him a tight smile. "The problem, Mr. Harris, is your apparent lack of interest in my class. Can you tell me why that is?" "Uh . . ." Why did teachers always have to ask the difficult questions? "I'm sorry?" he tried. The teacher leaned back in his chair, running his fingers over his beard. After several seconds, he finally spoke up. "What do you see yourself doing with your life, Xander?" "My - my life?" Xander stuttered. What was he supposed to tell him? That he was going to become a professional bowler and general handyman? Yeah, right. "Well . . . I don't really know." Mr. Williams sighed. "Xander, I want you to know that I think you're an incredibly bright young man. You have the potential to do anything you want . . . you just have to be willing to work for it." Xander smirked. "Listen, Mr. Williams, I appreciate what you're saying. I do. But I'm not bright. I'm not even semi-bright. So before you waste any more words, do you think I could get going?" Again the teacher paused for several moments. When he finally spoke, his voice was mixed with sympathy and determination. "You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age, Xander. So I'm going to do you a favor. I'm going to require that you join my after-school study group. It's for kids like you who are in danger of not doing well. It's not just for history, but for every subject. I think it will be good for you." Why hadn't he let that demon kill him? "You want me to join a study group?" Mr. Williams shook his head. "No. I'm requiring you to join a study group. Consider it a new class. One that you won't be skipping." He stood up and gathered some papers. "I'll see you here after school, Mr. Harris," were his final words before he left the room. "Great," Xander muttered as he watched the teacher leave. "Just great." |
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