James Does the Homework

Fairy’s Drink—an accursed little town that had the sense of decency to hide itself and its foolish, outlandish name in the hills of Northern Idaho—was my new hometown, so far away from New Jersey, where I’d actually grown up. The name actually seemed kind of appropriate; the number of individuals in the town who were sober was infinitesimal, and, probably in direct relation to this fact, so was school attendance; my first-ever class at Fairy’s Drink High School was study hall, and aside from myself the only other occupants of the room were three ratty kids who laughed quietly in the corner. I had trouble believing this could be a school and restrained myself from checking that the people at the front office were actual employees, that they wouldn’t suddenly burst out laughing at the joke they’d pulled on me, only with great difficulty.

By the end of the day it seemed no less criminal, although it was no longer surprising, that only seven students beside myself were in English class. However, there was a proper teacher in this class by the name of Ms Smith. Our only assignment was to read the first chapter of To Kill A Mockingbird, which she handed out to us, I thought, wearily.

I had no other homework. Ms Smith, it would appear, was new to the district as I was and had not yet given up hope in her students. The rest of the teachers were quite as apathetic as the teenagers they taught, and the distinct possibility that the condition was catching paralyzed me from the moment I noticed the phenomenon. The bus ground to a tired stop, kicking up amber clouds of April dust in front of my new house. The first thing I did, once inside, was fall disconsolately onto my bare futon in my bare room. Apparently, although my parting with New Jersey had been tearful, I had not dreaded the move as much as it deserved.

The second thing I did was take out my shiny, unread book, bound in lavender; the new house had not been hooked up to the internet and the last thing I wanted to do was remind myself of where I wasn’t by unpacking; I liked the two boxes that crouched in the center of the room because they seemed to promise me that the move was temporary, that the next day I’d be back where I belonged, Fairy’s Drink an abortive bend in the road.

The assignment, as I have noted, was to read simply the first chapter; I can’t explain why I kept reading besides the fact that I didn’t notice when it ended. I read, as steadily as I ever have, as the sky darkened and the moon came out. I was, in fact, captivated, and I continued to read until the lack of pages under my right hand arrested me. The blank green numbers on my clock astounded me; it was almost midnight. I’d never have believed I could spend nearly nine hours reading if I hadn’t seen it for myself. I rolled over and fell asleep where I lay.

The next day was another lesson in futility, until English. Ms Smith, looking as though she’d been taking the same lesson I had, asked for a show of hands by those who’d read the previous night’s assignment.

The class showed no upward movement; a boy and a girl in the back row giggled as they tried to fit into one of the dinky chairs; the rest of the class was nearly comatose, slumped at desks, chewing gum or other things, counting the spots on the ceiling tiles; and Ms Smith sighed. The despair in her face and body was too much for me to take; my hand rose into the air. I had no idea why it hadn’t been there in the first place.

To look at Ms Smith’s face you’d thought the sun had just come out, like some kid in the movies had just opened the door of an abandoned shed, revealing contents blanketed in dust and begging to be discovered.

“Well, class,” she breathed to a room empty, practically, of everyone but ourselves, “James has done the homework.”