I mean, for all we know, Sophie just lost it and took it out on him. Also, she’d punched him in the face, and he was probably grimacing instead of smiling. Yeah. Also, even if he was smiling, it has eff all to do with me. So. Head down, mind your own damn business, and everything will be fine.
“Welcome to English Literature 20B. I’m Mr. James Werner. You’ll have seen on the syllabus that this is a tightly packed course, reserved only for the most advanced students—” He stops. “Oh. I see a face I don’t recognize.”
It’s me.
He’s staring right at me with his dead-fish stare.
“What’s your name?”
“Lia. Setiawan.” So many eyes on me, none of them particularly friendly.
“Students are normally required to do an interview before they can enroll for this class. Please stay behind for a bit after we’re done.”
An interview? Nobody told me that. When I was signing up for classes, the guidance counselor was all, “Great choices, Lia. You’re good to go!”
I didn’t think it would be possible for me to feel even worse than I already did, but yep. Feeling so much worse right now. There is no way I’m going to be able to pass an interview on English Lit, but I need an English Lit class to fulfill my core requirements, and this is the only one that fits in with my hectic track schedule.
“At least we won’t have to deal with the smell for long,” Mandy says, just loud enough for me to hear. The kids around her snicker. Mr. Werner does nothing. Figures.
I struggle to pay attention to the lesson, taking notes like my life depends on it. Maybe it’s not so bad. The reading list is super packed, but I can make it work. When the class ends, I pack my stuff with sweaty hands. I wait for the others to file out of the room before making my way to Mr. Werner’s desk.
“Bring up a chair, Lia.”
My hands are so slick, the chair keeps slipping out of my grasp, but somehow, I manage to do as he says.
“So how are you finding it here?”
It seems like a really toxic environment, thanks to this app called DD, which should really get shut down. “Um. It seems really nice? The facilities are amazing.” That, at least, is true.
“Good, very good.” That possessed-doll stare again.
I squirm a little. It’s impossible not to, under that soulless gaze. What could possibly be behind it? It’s too easy to imagine some sort of wormlike alien creature lurking behind Mr. Werner’s face, trying its best to seem human.
“You seem nervous.”
Is that a question? Should I respond? “A little.”
“Tell me about the literature classes you took at your old school. South…Melrose?”
“Melville.”
“Right.” His eyes narrow for a second. Distaste? Silent laughter? I honestly can’t read any of his expressions.
“Last year we studied mainly American lit. We did, uh, To Kill a Mockingbird. And a few short stories.”
“What did you think about To Kill a Mockingbird?”
That it’s yet another white savior story in which the narrative is focused mainly on a privileged, white family and how racism affects its members.
But nobody wants to hear that. “I enjoyed it,” I lie through gritted teeth. “It’s really a story about courage in different forms.” For the next few minutes, I yammer on about how inspiring TKAMB was and how it made me want to go to law school. Completely untrue, but teachers love that stuff, right?
“I see,” he says, when I finish.
I beam at him.
“All right, I think I’ve heard enough. Please don’t take this personally, but I’m advising you to drop this class.”
Wait, what?
“Well, you have some good thoughts about To Kill a Mockingbird, but I’m looking for more depth. I treasure out-of-the-box thinkers. What you’ve shared with me so far, while competent, isn’t very different from what you might find on, say, CliffsNotes. My class moves very fast. Even students who have top marks and who were here as freshmen find it a challenge to keep up with the pace.”
Oh my god. I should’ve been honest with him, told him how I really feel about TKAMB. “Hang on. Truth is, I think the book’s a dumpster fire of white saviorism,” I say.
His eyebrows rise.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d like my honest take on it. All of my teachers have loved TKAMB.”
Mr. Werner smiles. “I appreciate your honesty. But again, I’m looking for something deeper. Your scholarship is dependent on you passing all your classes. I would hate to see you lose it. Why don’t you switch to Mrs. Brown’s class? It’s much less challenging than mine.”
“I could write you an essay on it—”
“There’s no need. I’ll write a note to Mrs. Brown. She’ll be happy to have you, I’m sure.”
What the hell. Could this guy be any more condescending? He says he wants an out-of-the-box thinker, and clearly, I’ve managed to challenge his preconceptions, but no, I’m still not good enough for him. He’s not even giving me a fair chance.
What he doesn’t know is that I live off moments like this. Every time someone tells me I can’t do something, all it does is fuel me. I’d take their nay-saying and pound it into a hot, angry kernel, and whenever I’m tempted to give up, I’d hold that kernel in my mind’s eye and let the rage push me forward. Pure fuel.
“With all due respect, Mr. Werner,” (everyone knows “with all due respect” really means “you’re ridiculous”) “I’m not going to move to Mrs. Brown’s class. I’ve read your syllabus, and I know I can manage it. I’ll be okay here, I swear.”
Mr. Werner frowns. “I really don’t think you are well-suited for my class.”
“Mrs. Brown’s class clashes with my timetable. I don’t have a choice.” I’m all fired up now and every atom inside me is banging the war drums. I’m going to ace his class if it kills me.
Mr. Werner regards me again for what seems like a heck of a long time. Finally, he sighs and says, “All right. I can see your mind’s made up, so.” He raises his hands. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”
I rush out of his class. There isn’t really time before the next one, but I slip into the bathroom and lean over the sink, taking deep breaths. What the hell just happened? It takes a while before my breath returns to normal.
The rest of my classes are also filled with snarky classmates. When lunchtime comes, I eat a couple of granola bars in the bathroom. Not the most pleasant of meals, but it beats risking going to the cafeteria to find Beth, Sam, and Grace ignoring me after all those posts on DD. I really need to find a way to deal with the whole DD mess. Later. Gotta get through the day first.
By the time school ends, I. Am. Beat.
I drag myself out of Highland Hall and across the quad. I can’t wait to flop into my bed and veg out over Netflix. Or maybe a short nap. Maybe a short crying session?
But when I get to Mather, I see Danny standing outside my room. My heart quickens.
“I came to say hi.”
I actually get tears in my eyes. That is how starved I’ve been for some friendly human interaction.
“This is a really nice surprise.” My voice comes out slightly choked with emotion.